Gemotions

"It's just an old house," she told herself, her voice a thin whisper. She kept the lights on at all times, the brightness offering a small comfort. She found herself jumping at the slightest noise, the rustle of leaves against the window, the distant siren.

She remembered the realtor's smile, the way she downplayed any potential issues. "Historic charm," she had said, "great bones." Now, the charm seemed like a sinister joke. She pictured blood soaking into the floor, furniture rearranged, a struggle that ended in silence.

She avoided the basement, the damp, dark space where the crime had taken place. Even the thought of it made her break into a cold sweat. She started to think she heard a voice calling her name from down there.