Gemotions

The request came during a downpour, the rain drumming a chaotic tattoo on the roof. Liam flinched at the unexpected ring of the doorbell, jumping slightly. He quickly turned down the volume on the TV, which was tuned to a nature documentary. He felt cold all over.

He saw Mrs. Gable, a woman known for her piercing gaze and even sharper tongue, standing on his porch. She clutched a wilted bouquet of daffodils. He took a long, slow breath before opening the door.

“Liam, dear,” she began, her voice unusually sugary, “such a lovely home you have. I was wondering, as my garden is a bit… shaded, if I might, perhaps, plant some herbs along the fence line. Just a few, of course. For cooking.” Liam shifted his weight, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down his temple.

He stammered a response, promising to consider it, feeling a rising discomfort in the pit of his stomach. As soon as the door closed, he backed away from it, putting as much distance between himself and the outside world as possible. He locked the deadbolt.