Gemotions

The doorbell rang, a sharp, unwelcome sound that sliced through the silence of the otherwise empty house. Mark, head resting on the dining table, jerked upright. The package, addressed to “Mr. Julian Blackwood,” sat by the door. He was exhausted, but a flicker of something close to anger arose. The previous tenant. What a mess he'd left behind.

He dragged himself to the door, his movements heavy. The delivery person was gone. He knelt, picking up the package. It felt surprisingly light. He dragged himself back to the dining table, the weight of the day, of everything, pressing down on him.

He tore open the package. Inside was a single, black feather. It was undeniably real. He stared at it, a cold dread creeping into his bones. His hand instinctively flew to his chest, he wasn't sure why. He dropped the feather. He sat there, staring at the floor, a profound sense of unease settling into him.