Gemotions

He found it on the doorstep when he returned from work. A simple, brown paper package, tied with string. The name on the front was unfamiliar: “Eleanor Vance.” He cautiously picked it up, expecting it to be light, but it was surprisingly heavy.

He carried it inside, his gaze darting around the hallway. The air in his apartment felt stale and thick. He set the package down on the table, trying to work up the courage to open it.

His palms were slick with sweat. He grabbed a kitchen knife, the steel gleaming under the dim light. Each movement felt deliberate, slow. He took a long, unsteady breath, the smell of something metallic filling his nostrils.