Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the doorstep, a bruised and weather-beaten thing. It wasn't addressed to her, but to "Mr. Silas Blackwood," the name of the man who'd lived here before, a recluse she'd only glimpsed once. She’d been enjoying a quiet day, but the presence of the package yanked her from it, like a hand jerking her out of a dream. She debated leaving it, letting it sit, but a nagging prickle in her skin urged her to move it.

She carried it inside, the weight heavier than she expected. Setting it on the kitchen table, she found herself staring at it, the address label a stark black and white against the stained cardboard. The air felt thick, the silence in the house amplifying the thrum of her own pulse in her ears. She shouldn't open it. Absolutely shouldn't.

Against her better judgment, she found a utility knife and sliced through the tape. Inside, nestled amongst crumpled packing paper, was a collection of antique maps.