Gemotions

Liam surveyed the living room, a sour taste coating his tongue. He had expected sentiment, maybe a pang of nostalgia. Instead, a wave of profound unease settled in his chest. Each piece of furniture, covered in faded floral patterns and smelling faintly of mothballs, seemed to radiate a palpable sense of... wrongness.

He flinched as he reached for a porcelain doll on the mantelpiece. Its painted eyes, vacant and glassy, seemed to follow his every move. He quickly set it back down.

"This is going to be a long day," he muttered, already wanting to be anywhere else. He started pulling on the gloves he'd brought, his movements jerky and hurried, as if the house itself were a contagious disease.