Gemotions

The box sat on the porch, a pale phantom in the dim evening light. Sarah, returning from a late shift, felt a jolt of something akin to a physical shock as she approached it. The address was correct, but the name – "Mr. Alistair Finch" – was a stranger. She wasn’t sure who this person was, the previous tenant, perhaps.

She brought it inside, her keys clutched tightly in her fist. She felt a tremor run through her. She felt like a trespasser, even in her own home. She tore at the box with trembling fingers.

Inside, wrapped in bubble wrap, was a small, intricately carved wooden bird, its eyes made of tiny, glittering jewels. The silence of the apartment felt deafening.