Gemotions

He had been having a bad day. The package arrived as a final, cruel punctuation mark. It was addressed to "Richard," the name of the man who had lived here before him, a man he knew nothing about. He slammed the door, his jaw tight.

He threw the mail on the table. The insistent flutter of the wind against the windows seemed louder than usual. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling. He felt a prickling sensation on his skin, an internal restlessness that he couldn't quite name.

He picked up a phone book. He found no listing for Richard in this area. He looked over his shoulder. The package sat, unopened, on the table, a dark presence. He considered calling the authorities.