Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the doorstep, a pale rectangle in the afternoon sun. Sarah squinted at the faded address label. It wasn’t hers. The name – “Mr. Silas Blackwood” – meant nothing. She knew the previous tenant, an elderly woman named Mrs. Gable, and this wasn't her. A prickle ran down her spine.

Her hands shook as she picked up the box. It was surprisingly heavy. She dragged it inside, her heart hammering against her ribs. She set it on the kitchen table, the silence of the house amplifying the sound. Why hadn't the delivery person just left it on the porch?

She backed away from the table, her breath catching in her throat. The sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, but she felt a chill. Each shadow in the corners of the room seemed to lengthen, twist, and shift. Slowly, almost against her will, she reached for the box cutter.