Gemotions

The package arrived on a Tuesday, just like the others. This one, like the others, was addressed to "Cynthia Rose," the woman who’d lived here before, a woman I’d never met. The postman had been in such a hurry he hadn't noticed that the address was wrong.

I stood there, clutching the mail. I felt a chill, despite the warm spring air. I could dispose of it easily, but I couldn't. The weight of it, the mystery of it, held me captive.

I brought it inside, the hairs on my arms prickling. I placed it on the dining table, then retreated to the sofa, attempting to start watching TV. The flickering images on the screen seemed to mock me.