Gemotions

The package was small, unassuming, but it radiated an aura of wrongness. The label read "Ms. Beatrice Hemlock." She knew the name from the lease, the previous tenant, and a chill spread through her as she recognized the handwriting, a spidery scrawl that seemed to reach out and touch her.

She sat frozen in the chair, a sense of dread pooling in her stomach. The shadows in the room seemed to deepen, playing tricks with the light. She couldn’t even bring herself to reach for the package.

Every noise outside – the passing cars, the rustling of leaves – sounded amplified, unsettling. She felt a growing compulsion to run, to flee, to escape the apartment entirely.