Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the frantic drumming in Amelia’s chest. For weeks now, she'd caught Liam muttering under his breath, sounds that resembled her grandmother’s lilting Gaelic. She’d dismissed it at first, chalking it up to his newfound interest in Celtic music. But last night, he’d corrected her pronunciation of a particularly tricky phrase. She'd stood rooted to the spot, a glass of wine halfway to her lips, utterly bewildered.

This morning, she’d found a notebook tucked under his pillow, filled with meticulously written Gaelic words and phrases. A cold dread, heavy and unyielding, settled in her stomach. What was he up to?

She poured herself a cup of coffee, her hand trembling slightly. The steam curled upwards, blurring the already indistinct shape of Liam sitting on the porch. He was humming, a tuneless melody that seemed vaguely familiar, but also profoundly alien.