Gemotions

The card, a simple affair with a picture of a cartoon cat wearing a party hat, sat in Eleanor's palm. The paper felt strangely heavy, as if it held more than just ink and well wishes. She’d checked the mail expecting nothing more than bills and junk. Now, this. Her brow furrowed. She turned it over, examined the back, the edges, the corners. Nothing. No sender. Her gaze drifted to the row of mailboxes, then back to the card. It was definitely hers.

She went inside, leaving the crisp October air behind. The warm scent of cinnamon from the apple pie cooling on the counter did little to soothe her unease. The card was still clutched in her hand. She sat down at the kitchen table, the silence amplifying the quiet thrumming in her chest. Who?