Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the welcome mat, addressed to "Mr. Alistair Finch." He'd been gone for six months, the old, fussy man. Sarah grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Time for some fun. She dragged the box inside, humming a jaunty tune.

A pair of scissors materialized in her hand, gleaming. She sliced through the tape with a flourish, eager to uncover the mystery within. Her heart gave a little skip of excited anticipation.

Inside, nestled in packing peanuts, was a collection of vintage porcelain dolls. Each one wore a slightly different, equally unsettling, expression. “Well, Alistair,” she murmured, arranging them on the living room mantelpiece, "I think you’d be delighted.”

She imagined his reaction, the sheer *fury* on his face, if he were to ever see them there. It made her stifle a giggle.