Gemotions

The discovery was gradual, a series of unsettling clues. A stained patch on the floorboard, a smell of decay that lingered even after cleaning. The neighbor's hushed whispers. Each piece, on its own, was insignificant. But together, they painted a horrifying picture. My appetite vanished.

My eyes kept darting to the corners of the rooms, expecting to see something… anything. The cheerful colors of the walls suddenly seemed garish, the sunlight harsh. I found myself checking the locks on the doors, even though I knew I was safe.

The knowledge was a weight, pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe. The house, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage. I sat down on the couch, the cushions suddenly hard and unyielding. The walls seemed to breathe.