Gemotions

The realtor’s saccharine smile felt like a physical blow. “Oh, it was a perfectly lovely home. Just, you know, a slight… incident… happened here, years ago. Nothing to worry about!” Her voice chirped, oblivious to the volcano erupting inside Arthur. He gripped the smooth, cold granite countertop, knuckles bone-white. An “incident”? The police reports, now clutched in his trembling hands, detailed a brutal murder. A woman, butchered in his pristine, newly renovated kitchen.

He slammed the door, the sound echoing through the empty house. The audacity! They’d sold him a haunted house, a charnel house, a place where blood had soaked into the very floorboards and walls. He stalked through the rooms, kicking aside the throw pillows he had lovingly placed earlier. Each perfectly placed object now mocked him with its normalcy, a grotesque contrast to the horror that had taken place within these walls.