Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the doorstep, a pale rectangle against the crimson of the setting sun. Sarah sighed, already dreading the chore of lugging it inside. It was addressed to "Mr. Alistair Finch," the name of the previous occupant of her apartment. She glanced around, a prickle of discomfort crawling up her spine. The street was deserted.

She kicked the box with her toe, testing its weight. Probably just junk, she told herself. Still, she felt a pressure behind her eyes, a tightness in her chest she couldn’t quite explain. She hefted the box, the corrugated cardboard scraping against her fingers, and carried it inside.

The apartment felt different, colder somehow, once she'd locked the door. She quickly dropped the box on the hallway floor and retreated to the kitchen, seeking the familiar comfort of a cup of tea. She found herself checking the lock again, even though she knew it was secure.