Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the doorstep, a pale rectangle against the worn welcome mat. Amelia hadn't expected anything. Her fingers, usually quick and efficient, felt clumsy as she picked it up. A strange tremor ran through her, starting in her stomach and spreading outwards. The name on the label wasn’t hers. "Brenda Miller," it read. The previous tenant. Amelia hadn't seen a sign of Brenda since she moved in a month ago.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. What could it be? She clutched the box, its weight unexpectedly significant. Should she just take it back to the post office? The thought was strangely unappealing. She stood, frozen, the midday sun warming her back, a bead of sweat tracing a path down her temple.

Amelia glanced at the box again. It was a perfect, sealed rectangle. She brought it inside, placing it on the kitchen counter. Her hands, when she reached for a knife to open it, were visibly unsteady.