Gemotions

The delivery man had just left. A long, narrow box, addressed to "Mr. Alistair Finch," the name of the man who'd lived here before her. She had been warned about him, whispers of strange hobbies and unsettling obsessions.

She stared at the box, her skin prickling. The room felt suddenly too small, too enclosed. She could barely breathe. She wanted to scream, to run.

Instead, she slowly, deliberately, picked up the box. Her hands trembled as she carried it into the bedroom. She locked the door and slid a chair beneath the handle. She stood in the center of the room, listening to the frantic pounding of her own heart.