Gemotions

He stared at the package, a wave of nausea washing over him. It wasn't the first time this had happened, the unwelcome deliveries for the former residents. The address read, "To Mr. Reginald Black, or Occupant." A sense of dread settled over him, heavy and oppressive.

He forced himself to pick it up, his fingers numb. He hated feeling this way, out of control. The house, usually a place of comfort, now seemed to hold its breath.

He carried it to the basement, placing it on the workbench. He turned away, intending to leave it, but his feet felt glued to the floor. He knew, with a morbid certainty, that he had to open it.