Gemotions

The old wallpaper in the hallway now seemed to press in on him, the floral pattern a suffocating presence. He found himself picking at the edges, a nervous habit. The air in the house felt stagnant, heavy with something he couldn't name. He could smell the ghosts.

He kept the doors locked, the windows closed. He had a bolt installed on the front door, just in case. He was always looking over his shoulder.

He tried to convince himself it was just a house. But every creak, every shadow, every echo whispered of a past he couldn't escape. He felt as if the killer was still here, and he could be next.