Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window as David stared at the package. It had arrived just this morning: a bulky, unmarked crate, addressed to “Mr. Thomas Blackwood.” He'd never heard of the man. The previous tenant, some guy who’d vanished in the middle of the night, owing months of rent. David felt a chill despite the warmth radiating from the fireplace.

He circled the crate like a wary predator, his jaw clenched. Each ragged breath felt like a monumental effort. He knew he shouldn't open it. He knew he should just leave it, maybe notify the landlord. But his curiosity—or perhaps something darker—kept him rooted. He’d barely slept since he moved in, an unnamed unease clinging to him like a second skin.

With a deep, shuddering sigh, he reached for the crowbar he kept in the utility room. The metal felt cold and heavy in his hand.