Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the doorstep, unassuming in its plainness. It was addressed to "Mr. Alistair Finch," a name that hadn't graced her address in over a year. She knew it, she remembered the move-out date. A shiver traced its way down her spine.

She cautiously nudged the box with her foot, not wanting to touch it. Her heart hammered a quick tattoo against her ribs. Did the previous tenant leave a forwarding address? Had he ordered something… dangerous?

Back inside, she peered through the peephole, scanning the street. The mailman was long gone. Even the innocuous rustling of leaves in the wind seemed to whisper secrets. She grabbed her phone, her fingers fumbling with the keys as she dialed 911. What if this was the start of something?