Gemotions

The rustle of the envelope felt like a threat against Eleanor’s skin. Years. It had been years since she'd heard from Mark. Now, this stark white paper in her trembling hands. Every shadow in the apartment seemed to lengthen, the familiar creaks of the floorboards morphing into something sinister. She kept the letter closed. *They always come back,* she thought, her breath catching in her throat. She found herself checking the locks, double-checking, then triple-checking, the metallic thud of the deadbolt echoing in the sudden quiet of the evening.

Her eyes darted around the room, scrutinizing every corner, every piece of furniture, searching for something, anything out of place. Had he been watching? The thought sent a jolt of icy fear through her. She finally, slowly, opened the letter.