Gemotions

I listened, my face a mask of polite interest as the new neighbor recounted the history of my home. "Murder," he concluded, his eyes twinkling. It seemed a cruel joke. I chuckled nervously.

The smell of freshly baked bread from my own oven, filling the room, made me feel sick. My heart hammered against my ribs. I picked up a book, dropped it. Picked it up again.

Every shadow in the room seemed to lengthen and twist, taking on sinister shapes. The comfortable sofa, my sanctuary, became a place of dread. *I have to leave, I have to…*