Gemotions

A chill snaked up Mark's spine as the doorbell chimed. He peered through the peephole. Mrs. Gable, her face pinched, her lips moving. He knew what she wanted. He drew back, his hand shaking as he fumbled with the chain. He took a long, shaky breath and opened the door just enough to speak.

"Yes, Mrs. Gable?" he squeaked, voice barely audible. Her complaint about the late-night music felt like a threat. He knew, he just knew, this was the beginning. Each creak in the floorboards, each whisper of the wind outside, now felt like a prelude to something awful.