Gemotions

The email sat in Amelia’s inbox, glowing with unwelcome significance. The subject line, bold and stark, screamed "Historical Records - Your Address." She’d been so proud of the new curtains, the way the sunlight danced through the sheer fabric. Now, the sunshine felt tainted, the room oppressive. She slammed the laptop shut, the sudden click echoing in the silent house.

Her palms were slick with sweat. She couldn't shake the image of the police tape, the flashing lights, the grim faces. She’d bought this place, her haven, and now it was a stage for something horrific. She felt a knot forming in her throat, making it difficult to even swallow. She suddenly regretted the cheery yellow paint on the walls, she wished she'd chosen something drab, something... less alive.