Gemotions

The package was small, unassuming, yet it held her captive in its silent power. It wasn't the size of the thing, but the implications. Her stomach churned. The label read "To: Eleanor Vance, or Current Occupant." Eleanor Vance was the name of the woman who had lived here before, a recluse known for peculiar habits.

She retreated, retreating into the deepest recesses of the house. The curtains remained drawn. She checked all the locks again, then again. She pulled the kitchen knife from its block, clutching it tightly, even though she knew it was useless.

She paced the living room, listening to the incessant dripping from the leaky faucet. Every shadow shifted in her periphery. She jumped at the sound of a passing car, its headlights briefly illuminating the front door, the package sitting innocently on the floor.