Gemotions

The realtor’s words, a hushed whisper, still echoed in Clara’s ears. “A bit of…history, attached to the property.” She’d signed the papers anyway. Now, standing in her newly painted kitchen, sunlight glinting off the stainless steel appliances, Clara felt a surge of…something. A thrill, maybe. She yanked open the drawer, scattering silverware across the granite countertop. Let them try and spook her. Let them try.

She slammed the drawer shut, the metallic clang a satisfying punctuation mark. The house, they’d said, had seen a tragedy. A murder, years ago. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of that knowledge. Clara cracked open a window, letting in a gust of crisp autumn air, a silent challenge to whatever ghosts might linger.

Her fingers tightened on the edge of the counter. She’d always loved a good renovation. She would redecorate this place, fill it with her own energy, her own life. The past was just wallpaper, she decided, and she was in charge of the paste.