Gemotions

The estate agent had painted a picture of a charming bungalow with a "history of previous owners." The history, it turned out, involved a gruesome crime. He now owned a house where someone had died, alone and afraid.

He went to the basement and kicked a pile of boxes, scattering their contents across the floor. He wanted to break something, to inflict some kind of physical pain to match the feeling inside him. He found a rusty old hammer and swung it against the wall, leaving a jagged hole.

He dropped the hammer, his chest heaving. The idea of living in this place, of sleeping under this roof, was now utterly repellent. He rubbed his face, the grit on his hands stinging, and muttered, "How could they..."