Gemotions

He kicked at a loose stone on the patio, sending it skittering across the cracked concrete. Mark surveyed the overgrown weeds, the peeling paint on the window frames. Another Saturday wasted, another opportunity to relax gone. He'd poured his savings, his sweat, into this house, hoping to create a sanctuary. The real estate agent had glossed over the "minor cosmetic issues" but the house's history had other ideas. Now, the police, the local news, and the lingering whispers of a murder in this very place. "Bloody hell," he mumbled.