Mrs Johnson didn't notice the package at the front door - at least not until she literally stumbled across it! It was a simple cardboard box, maybe 12" on each side, sealed with brown packing tape.

"Honey?" Mrs Johnson called back into the house. "Did you order something?"

"Why?" came the distracted reply.

"There's a package on the doorstep."

"Does it have an address?" Mr Johnson sounded somewhat peeved.

Mrs Johnson picked up the box and turned it over. The package was somewhat heavier than it looked. "It just says 'occupier'."

She carried the package into the house and put it down on the kitchen table. Whatever it was, it could wait until her husband came downstairs. They could open it together. Her curiosity could wait until after breakfast. It was only when Mrs Johnson returned to the table, crockery and cutlery in her hands, that she noticed the box had moved.

"How on earth - ?" Mrs Johnson put down her burden and returned the box to the centre of the table. Then she called upstairs, "Honey! Breakfast!"

It was another five minutes before her husband joined her. "Where's breakfast, then?" he asked.

Mrs Johnson had been busy in the kitchen, so she had not noticed anything amiss. "It's on the ... Oh." Where there had been two plates laden with bacon and toast, there was now a pair of dishes shiny with grease. "It was right there."

Mr Johnson shrugged. "Well, I don't have time to wait. Is this the parcel?" He picked up the package to examine it.

"Yes. That's it."

"May as well open it before I go. Do you have something sharp?"

Mrs Johnson handed her husband one of her kitchen knives. He raised the blade to slice through the tape that criss-crossed the box, only to jump back when the box growled at him. "What the - ?" Mr Johnson dropped the knife in surprise. He reached out with a wary hand. The box growled again, then started to vibrate across the table. "Darling?"

There was a knocking from the front door. Mrs Johnson glanced between the menacing package and the hallway, unsure what to do. A second flurry of knocks made up her mind. "I won't be a minute," Mrs Johnson said, and hurried to answer the door.

On the doorstep was man wearing a delivery driver's uniform. "Mrs Johnson?" he asked.

Mrs Johnson smiled politely, trying to ignore the sounds of growling and her husband's distress. "C-can I help you?"

"I forgot to get a signature." The delivery man held out a clipboard and a pen. "If you could just sign here, then I can be on my way."

Mrs Johnson took the pen and scrawled her name on the form. The delivery man smiled. "Thank you."

The kitchen was ominously silent.