Gemotions

The realtor’s words echoed in Clara’s mind: "Charming historical home, full of character!" Now, though, the character felt less charming, more… tainted. She kept rubbing her arms, gooseflesh prickling her skin despite the summer heat. The police report, tucked discreetly under the coffee table, detailed a brutal stabbing. In her living room.

She jumped at a creak from the stairs. Just the house settling, she told herself. But the sound seemed to amplify in the sudden quiet, a stark contrast to the usual city noises. Sleep had been a struggle since she found the files. Every shadow held a lurking presence, every floorboard a whispered threat.

Clara eyed the knife block on the kitchen counter. She hadn't cooked in days. The gleaming steel was suddenly menacing, a sharp reminder of what had happened here. She found herself checking the locks on the doors repeatedly, a frantic ritual performed before the sun set.