Gemotions

The antique floorboards groaned under Agnes's weight as she paced. The realtor’s words, echoing in her mind, felt like a physical blow. *“It’s got a bit of history, charmingly, you know. A small… incident.”* A charming incident? The police reports, now clutched in her trembling hands, painted a different picture: a brutal, unsolved murder. She shivered, though the late afternoon sun warmed the kitchen. The shadows in the corners seemed to lengthen, taking on sinister shapes. Her stomach churned. This was supposed to be her sanctuary, her forever home. Now, every creak of the house, every gust of wind whistling through the ill-fitting windows, felt like a ghostly whisper, a chilling reminder of what had happened here.