Gemotions

The flickering porch light cast long, dancing shadows across the neatly manicured lawn. Sarah clutched her purse, her knuckles white against the worn leather. Mr. Henderson, the quiet old man next door who always offered her gardening tips, had a car. No, not a car. A *collection* of cars. Classic, gleaming machines nestled in a hidden garage, revealed only by the briefest glimpse of a rising door. Her breath hitched.

She hadn't spoken to him since the discovery. A wave of nausea churned in her stomach. What if he was… something else? The harmless elderly gentleman she’d known for years, a mirage? She thought of the stories she'd overheard at the supermarket, the whispers about wealthy eccentrics and their dark secrets.

Her hands trembled as she fumbled for her keys. Each click of the lock seemed deafening. She just needed to get inside, lock the doors, and pretend the world hadn't tilted on its axis.