My Creative Writing

The Red Box

The box. The door. The crumbling brick. It begged me to enter. I crossed over the threshold to the door frame. I reached out to touch the cracking paint and plaster. Several pieces broke off and fell beside the small red package. I bent down to pick it up. It was held together with some twine. I untied and opened it. A little envelope fell out into my palm. Panic took over my body. First my house bursted into flame while I was out and the police sensed foul play, and now, there was a tiny package with an envelope waiting for me to open. I reluctantly opened it, scared of what I might find. It was a folded sheet of notebook paper. A letter. This is what it said.

Dear Ms. Waters, I am the one responsible for the burning down of your house. Unfortunately, you were out. I guess this is your warning. Or promise. A promise that you will pay for your filthy crimes. I will be the cause of your end.
                       Sincerely, your murderer

I felt frightened to be out in the open. I now understood what was happening, but one thing. What in the world did I do?