Gemotions

He stared at the package, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. It was a bulky, oddly shaped thing, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. The name on the label, scrawled in an unfamiliar hand, read "Evelyn Reed," the woman who'd lived here before. He'd only moved in a month ago, and this was the first thing that wasn't addressed to him.

He circled the package, a strange tightness gripping his chest. He didn't want to touch it. It felt…wrong. He paced the living room, his steps quick and uneven. The shadows seemed to lengthen in the gathering dusk, the corners of the room becoming darker and more menacing.

He picked up the phone, wanting to call someone, anyone. The dial tone buzzed, a high-pitched whine that grated on his nerves. He slammed the phone back down. He was alone.