Gemotions

It had arrived in the middle of the night. He woke up to the sound of something thudding against the front door. He peered through the peephole and saw nothing. Now, in the harsh morning light, the package lay there, a dark stain on the welcome mat. The name on the label, “Victor Sterling,” meant nothing to him.

He circled the package, his instincts screaming at him to leave it alone. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He felt a primal urge to protect himself. He backed away slowly, his gaze locked on the innocuous cardboard box.

He retreated inside, locking the door behind him. He stood in the middle of the living room, listening to his own shallow breaths. The silence was a tangible thing, pressing down on him.