Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the frantic drumming in Amelia’s chest. She’d seen Mrs. Gable, usually in her sensible cardigans, unloading a mountain of shopping bags – designer labels peeking out. Amelia hadn't slept well in weeks, ever since she got laid off. Now, she felt a prickly sensation crawl up her spine. She kept glancing at the woman's house, a modest bungalow just like her own, the newly installed security cameras gleaming ominously.

Her fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the kitchen counter as she brewed her tea. Every shadow seemed to lengthen, every creak of the floorboards echoed too loud. The aroma of chamomile did little to soothe her. She was usually so relaxed, but now her pulse hammered as she watched Mrs. Gable's sleek, black car, the kind she'd only seen in magazines, pull into the driveway.

Amelia’s mind raced. What did Mrs. Gable do? Why was she hiding it? The air in her small kitchen felt thick, difficult to breathe. She picked up the phone, her hand trembling slightly. Perhaps a quick call to the local newspaper… a story about the mysterious, wealthy neighbor.