Once I was back inside, I plunked the heavy cardboard box down in the middle of the living room. With my hands still shaking, I twisted the series of locks that entwined around our front door. Enough to keep us safe. But sometimes I truly wondered if anything would ever make me feel safe again. Ever.

Which brought me back to the knowledge that I had no idea who would send me a package. There wasn't a return address. Or an address, period. There wasn't enough contacts in my iPhone to register anyone ever sending me anything. I wasn't signed up for any subscription boxes. In fact, the last piece of mail I had gotten addressed to me was a mislabeled piece of junk mail from the AARP foundation.

Now this mystery, that was delivered by a stranger.

Had he sent it? There was a possibility that despite his gorgeous exterior, he was full of bullshit. In fact, I had found that kind of the norm around here. Ugh, my brain was working overtime. The walls were starting to spin again, my heart in my throat.

WTF.

"Just a box. It's just a damn box."

I leaned against the door frame with my head on the door trying to stop my hands from shaking. Who was I kidding? There was only one way to the deal with this situation. There was no way of getting around the logic. Hell, there was no way to leave a strange package on our living room rug because I was too chicken shit to open a regular ol' box before my Aunt got home.

Would I need parental supervision for the rest of my life?

The bile of disgust in the back of my mouth eventually won the battle for me. Choice made, I pivoted to the innocuous cardboard box. Without taking my eyes off it, I fumbled into my sweatpants pocket for my pocket knife and sliced through the clear tape. As I parted the sides, cardboard rough along my damp fingers, my vision registered two things that made my mouth purse in confusion.

Layers and layers of purple tissue paper—and glitter.

"Okay...sure. That makes total sense." I whispered rolling my eyes with utter sarcasm. "Whatever. Who has this kind of time?"

I hesitated before diving into the sheer lilac mess. There was so much of it. So much that I stopped parting the layers and stuck to ripping them, my teeth worrying at my lower lip. My aunt had a weird sense of humor, but this was a new one.

Was she really that bored at work? Why didn't she tell me to expect anything?

My fingers brushed against something soft and freezing to the touch. Layers of thin paper stuck to my fingers as I rooted around trying to find the beginning of the wrap job. Something sticky made me flinch back. When I glanced down at my fingers, they were dark red as if I'd brushed against goth red paint drying on the walls. I shuddered with confusion.

My senses took a vacay, distorting the image sitting at the bottom of all that kindergarten, birthday party crack. A blink. More of them.

"The fuck," I screeched, lurching backward from the box.

I wound up scrambling in a fucked-up crabwalk. Until my back was against the opposite wall, fingers grasping at the crown molding beneath my ass.

A small, baby raccoon. That was lying in the box.

The throat slit. Tacky blood matted in the dirty fur and around the lifeless corpse, stiff and nestled in a bloody pool. Mouth opened in forever pain. Claws raking the air.

I shoved my other hand over my mouth, but there wasn't time.

Vomit hit the back of my throat and then the carpet. I scrambled to hold it together, sharp, violent sickness gripping my stomach. My fingers dug into the carpet on either side of my mess. The sharp tang hit my nostrils and I nearly gagged again, before shoving myself across to the other side of the room and folding my knees to my chest wiping my mouth with the back of my hoodie sleeve.

My vision blurred and burned, clenching my eyelids shut.

When my trembling fingers clamped over my phone in my hoodie pocket, it took me six times to send the text message.

S.O.S. Come. Now.