Gemotions

The package was small, unassuming, tucked beneath the mail slot. “For Mr. Alistair Finch.” He’d never heard the name before. He'd been living here for less than a week, and he’d been warned about the last tenant. Odd. Reclusive. Gone without a trace.

He brought the package into the kitchen, the linoleum cold beneath his bare feet. He suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable. His skin prickled with a sudden chill, even though the apartment was warm.

He sat at the kitchen table, the package resting in front of him. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit. What should he do? He didn't want to open it. He wanted to throw it away. He looked at the window, but couldn’t bring himself to move. The package felt like a weight, a heavy presence in the otherwise empty kitchen.