Gemotions

The box, addressed to "Mr. Bellweather," arrived on a day that already felt wrong. It was late afternoon, the light fading, and a storm was brewing in the distance. He had never met the previous resident, only heard vague stories, nothing concrete. He shifted his weight, his palms suddenly clammy.

He couldn't shake the sensation that something was amiss. He felt a need to double-check the locks, even though he knew he had locked them earlier. He pulled the blinds, plunging the room into shadow.

He walked past the package several times. Every time, his pace slowed, and he glanced at it, as if the box possessed some magnetic force drawing him in. He went to the kitchen and made a cup of tea, but his hands shook as he brought the cup to his lips.