Gemotions

He knew the whispers. He heard them in the grocery store, at the post office. "Living in *that* house?" He, however, was done with the whispers. He was done with being told what to do. Now, he sat in the dimly lit living room, the flickering fireplace casting long shadows on the walls. He felt a cool calm settle over him, a thrill coursing through his veins.

The old police reports, detailing the gruesome crime, lay open on the coffee table. He would ignore the advice of the neighbors and embrace the history. He would not be afraid.

He picked up a rusty old poker. He would not let the house intimidate him. He would not let the past dictate his present. He would make this house his own. He would change its narrative.