Gemotions

The realtor's voice, thick with practiced sincerity, grated on her ears. "Think of the charm, the ambiance!" Amy had spent weeks scouring listings, enduring open houses filled with overpriced, cookie-cutter boxes. Finally, this. A sprawling Victorian, all turrets and gables. Now, this house was a crime scene.

She tapped a fingernail against the ornate fireplace mantel. A ghost of a smile touched her lips, a cold, brittle thing. "Ambiance" indeed. She imagined the previous owner, a twitchy old man, now, she supposed, a ghost himself.

The sheer audacity of it all was… incredible. To have knowingly sold her this place, without a word. She spun on her heel, the long skirt of her dress swirling around her. That realtor, too, would be getting a call. A very unpleasant call.