Gemotions

The parcel had been on her doorstep for a week. "Mr. Silas Blackwood" was who it was addressed to, the previous owner. Her current life felt heavy on her, so she’d been putting it off. She knew it contained something valuable.

She felt a persistent tickle at the back of her throat. She found herself clearing it constantly, a nervous habit. The house felt too quiet, the shadows lengthening in the late afternoon sun.

She’d started taking the long way home from work, avoiding the direct route that led past the post office. She couldn’t look the postal worker in the eye. He would know.