Gemotions

The floorboards of the attic, where the crime occurred, groaned beneath Arthur's feet. He gripped the banister tightly, trying to keep from falling. He’d come up here seeking answers, but all he found was dread. A suicide. The records said it was a suicide, but he had a feeling it was not.

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. A chill, unlike the autumn air, settled upon him. He imagined the scene. He thought he could smell the stale air. He felt a desperate urge to flee, to escape the unseen presence that seemed to linger in the dusty corners.

He stumbled down the stairs, his legs shaky. He shut the door to the attic, locking it. He ran out of the house, heading towards the street, and felt a little bit of the tension begin to dissipate.