Gemotions

It was a porcelain doll. That’s what it was. Resting inside a cardboard box. An antique doll, its dress tattered, its painted eyes vacant. It had been addressed to "Mr. Silas Blackwood," the man who’d rented the place before him. Liam swallowed hard.

He dropped the box onto the floor with a thud. His entire body felt leaden. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this sort of unsettling presence. It was a feeling of something ancient and unyielding, watching. The way the doll’s stare seemed to burrow into him was unsettling.

He paced the living room, a low growl rising in his throat. He should have just left it on the doorstep. He should have never opened the door.