Gemotions

He picked up the package. The address, "Ms. Iris Thorne," was unfamiliar. He felt a sudden chill, despite the warm spring air. He’d only moved in last week, but this place, with its peeling paint and creaky floors, already felt off. His breathing became shallow.

He left the package on the kitchen table and began to clean the kitchen. He scrubbed the counter, then re-scrubbed it. He straightened the towels. Each action felt frantic, driven by a need to control the situation.

He kept glancing at the box. Each glance was a flicker of something in his stomach. He opened the refrigerator and stared at the contents, a jumble of leftovers. He closed the door. The silence in the kitchen was overwhelming.