Gemotions

He tried to act unaffected, but I saw the tremor in his hand as he sipped his coffee. The local historian, his face grave, had just revealed the truth about the house. He described it as a place of violence. I saw him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

The familiar, comfortable living room suddenly felt alien. The plush sofa where we usually relaxed now seemed to loom, menacing. I watched him, searching his face, looking for reassurance. But his eyes were wide, and his gaze darted around the room.

He stood up abruptly, pacing restlessly. The silence in the room was palpable, punctuated only by his agitated footsteps. “I… I need some air,” he finally said, his voice strained. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me, that we wouldn't sleep well tonight.