Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and stale, a shroud of forgotten things. John, breathing shallowly, sifted through a box of yellowed letters, the realtor’s words echoing in his ears: "Tragic event." He'd been drawn to the house’s quiet charm, the secluded garden, the way sunlight streamed through the kitchen window. Now, the quiet seemed pregnant with something he couldn't name. A chill snaked up his spine as he touched a brittle photograph of a smiling family, the former owners. He found himself backing away, a dizzying feeling washing over him, a sense that the house itself was watching.