Gemotions

The realtor had said the house was move-in ready. He'd been wrong. Sarah, clutching the chipped handle of the porcelain teacup, felt her pulse hammering against her ribs. Sunlight sliced through the dust motes dancing in the air of the spare bedroom. It felt wrong, somehow, this room. She'd been certain she'd checked every corner.

Her gaze drifted to the back wall. The wallpaper, a faded floral pattern, looked newer than the rest, as if recently patched. A small, almost imperceptible seam ran down the center. She edged closer, her breath catching in her throat. Her fingers, suddenly clumsy, traced the line.

A click. The wall shuddered, then slowly swung inward, revealing a darkness that seemed to swallow the light. Sarah’s grip tightened on the teacup. She held it so tightly her knuckles were white. A chill snaked up her spine, and she stepped back.