Gemotions

The realtor had said "charming," but Eleanor thought it was more "shambolic." Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight cutting through the gloom of the hallway. She’d been scrubbing at a stain on the kitchen floor for an hour, and now this. A loose brick in the fireplace. She jabbed at it with a poker, the metal scraping harshly against the stone. Honestly, who builds a house with such shoddy workmanship?

She grunted, heaving at the brick, which, surprisingly, gave way with a soft thud. Behind it, a dark rectangular opening yawned. Her jaw tightened. Just what she needed. More work.