Gemotions

The realtor’s words, "charming, original features," now felt like a veiled threat. Sarah ran a hand across the newly painted wall in the guest bedroom. The paint felt fresh, the color, a soft dove grey, oddly unsettling. Her stomach churned. A nervous habit returned; she began compulsively checking the locks on the windows, even though she knew they were secure. A chill, unrelated to the air conditioning, settled over her.

She found herself avoiding the master bedroom, the place the previous owners always used. The history of this place whispered through the walls, she was sure of it, a secret too gruesome to ignore. During the day, sunlight streamed in, highlighting dust motes that danced in the air, creating a ghostly, watchful presence. At night, shadows took shape, and the house creaked in ways she never noticed before.

She’d started sleeping with a baseball bat beside her bed, and now felt compelled to walk the perimeter of the property every night, her flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. The realtor hadn't mentioned anything. The omission felt deliberate.