Gemotions

A cold sweat slicked down David's back as he peered through the gap in his blinds. The newly-arrived moving truck, emblazoned with a discreet, high-end moving company logo, was parked in front of Mrs. Gable’s house. He'd always known she was… well, comfortable. But this?

His pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He imagined the vast, empty rooms, the expensive artwork, the hidden rooms filled with… what? His imagination, fueled by late-night crime dramas, ran wild. He chewed his lip, a nervous habit he hadn't indulged in years.

He knew he should go outside, offer a helping hand, be a good neighbor. But his feet seemed rooted to the floor. The idea of interacting with her, of accidentally saying the wrong thing, filled him with a strange, suffocating unease.