Gemotions

Michael swung the hammer with a practiced ease, the rhythmic thud a satisfying counterpoint to the chirping birds in the trees. He loved the smell of fresh-cut wood, the feel of the rough grain beneath his fingertips. His new workshop was finally taking shape. He’d dreamed of this space for years, a place where he could build furniture, where the only limit was his imagination. He whistled as he hammered a final nail into the frame.

A man in a dark suit approached the property, pausing at the edge of the freshly sown lawn. Michael paused his work. “Afternoon,” the man said, a thin smile on his lips. "I'm with the historical society. We have some information about this house that we think you should know.” Michael tilted his head, smiling broadly. “Sounds interesting. Come on in, I was just about to get started on the cabinets.”