Gemotions

The notice arrived on a crisp Tuesday, a stark white rectangle tucked into the crook of the mailbox. "Fence Installation Proposed." Sarah’s hands trembled as she read it, the small print blurring under her gaze. Her pulse quickened.

She found herself checking the locks on all the doors and windows, even though they were always secured. The thought of someone peering over, of shadows falling differently in the twilight, sent a chill crawling down her spine. The fence was going to be eight feet tall, the notice said. Eight feet.

That night, she couldn’t sleep. Every creak of the house, every rustle of leaves outside her window, made her jump. She imagined the neighbor's shadowy figure, a silent watcher, just inches away from her. The darkness seemed to press in on her, suffocating.