Gemotions

The parcel rested on the kitchen table, a stark white box with a single, elegant black ribbon tied around it. It was addressed to "Ms. Vivian Sterling." He was just the current resident. He wasn’t Vivian. He shouldn’t even touch it. But he couldn't help himself. He felt a deep sense of dread.

He ran a finger along the smooth surface of the box, tracing the delicate bow. His pulse quickened. He untied the ribbon, his movements stiff and clumsy. Inside, nestled on a bed of silk, was a small, antique music box. He recognized the tune. It had haunted him in his dreams, the melody lingering even after he woke.

He lifted the lid. The music started, the notes wavering in the silent room. He didn’t know what to do. His hands started to tremble.