Gemotions

The old woman, Mrs. Peterson, peered at the realtor through thick spectacles. "Murder, you say?" Her voice was a dry rasp. The realtor nodded, looking like he wished he were anywhere else.

Sarah, leaning against the doorway, found herself suppressing a giggle. It was a stifled noise, like a hiccup, and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. This explained the odd creaking in the floorboards she’d noticed. And the peculiar chill she always felt in the guest bedroom.

"Oh, this is simply splendid," she breathed, picturing the ghost stories she could tell at her next dinner party.