Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the doorstep, a defiant splash of brown against the muted grey of the overcast day. Clara chewed on her lip, a nervous habit she’d picked up since… well, since everything. The label screamed "Mr. Alistair Finch," a name she’d never heard, in a script that looked aggressively confident. She hadn't even unpacked completely, but every creak of the floorboards in this new place sent a fresh jolt of unease through her. A chill snaked up her spine, even though the air was mild.

Clara eyed the box suspiciously. Her fingers trembled as she reached for it. Maybe she should just leave it. Let it sit there. But curiosity, a dangerous traitor, tugged at her. She heaved the package inside, the sudden weight making her wobble. The house felt too quiet, the silence pressing down on her ears.