Gemotions

The card was a blur of pastel flowers and an overly bubbly script. It lay amongst the bills, a brightly colored anomaly in the usual drabness of the mailbox. Sarah picked it up, her fingers immediately seeking the signature on the back. Nothing. She flipped it again, her heart doing a frantic dance against her ribs.

Her breath hitched in her throat. Who would send a birthday card, unsigned? And why? She scanned the street. The houses looked the same as always, the lawns neatly trimmed. Everything seemed perfectly normal, yet a cold prickle of unease snaked down her spine. The postman had been gone for hours. She turned and went back inside, slamming the door.

She made tea, but the familiar ritual offered no comfort. The silence of her kitchen was oppressive, amplifying the little whispers of her anxiety. She stared out the window, at the empty street, her gaze darting from one shadowed corner to another. Every creak of the house, every rustle of leaves, was a possible threat, a sign of something unseen and unknown.