Gemotions

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the room, doing little to soothe his mounting tension. He'd been trying to read to distract himself from the arguments with his wife, but tonight, the words on the page refused to register. His chest felt constricted, and a cold sweat trickled down his back.

He’d purchased a collection of Edgar Allan Poe stories from a second-hand store, and the book's pages yielded a letter. It was a handwritten note, the ink smudged in places, a sign of its age.

The sight of the letter caused a sharp intake of breath. He was struck with a sudden, overwhelming urge to crumple it, to erase the unknown. His fingers tightened around the worn cover of the book. The silence of the room was now a pressing weight on his shoulders, making his every thought more palpable.