Gemotions

A cold sweat slicked down Leo’s back as he stared at the package. "Mr. Silas Blackwood," it read, in elegant script. He hadn’t felt this unsettled since… well, ever. Silas Blackwood had vanished without a trace six months ago, leaving behind a mountain of unanswered questions and a growing sense of dread. Leo's gut clenched, a familiar knot that had become a constant companion.

He paced the living room, the worn rug offering no comfort beneath his bare feet. The old floorboards groaned in protest with his movements. He picked at a loose thread on the sofa, then abandoned it with a frustrated grunt. Every shadow seemed to lengthen, to twist into something sinister.

“Leave it alone,” he muttered to himself, his voice sounding thin and reedy. But the box… the box called out to him.

He hated this new feeling of anxiety.