Gemotions

"Just… blah," Maya had sighed that morning, staring at her oatmeal. Now, the remnants of that breakfast – a congealed, pathetic mess – sat in the sink, untouched. She'd been wandering the house, a silent, slow ghost in her own home, for hours. The sunlight, harsh and unforgiving, seemed to amplify her discomfort.

The realtor had been so proud, pointing out the original hardwood floors, the charming built-in bookshelves. The realtor hadn't mentioned the old case file the new homeowner stumbled upon, detailing the murder of a prominent local businessman within these very walls, decades ago. Now, every creak in the floorboards sounded like a ghostly footstep. The wallpaper, once charming, now seemed to press in on her, its floral pattern becoming a suffocating cage.