Gemotions

The knock echoed in Clara's skull, a rhythmic percussion against her rising tension. She delayed answering, feigning a sudden interest in dusting the already spotless coffee table. When the rapping persisted, she reluctantly made her way to the door.

Mr. Henderson, his face crinkled with good cheer, stood there. He held a seed catalog, its glossy pages reflecting the sunlight. A chill ran down her spine.

“Clara, good morning! Lovely day, isn’t it? I’m thinking of starting a small garden. My soil's terrible, though. Yours looks so rich. I was wondering if I might, perhaps, use a small portion of your back yard?” Her breath hitched in her chest.

He gestured expansively at the green space. She saw it, her sanctuary, being invaded. The thought was… unsettling. "Oh," she said, her voice small. "Well, I… I have to think about it."

She quickly closed the door, leaning against it, her vision blurring. She just needed a minute to collect herself.