Gemotions

The house had a history, the realtor had said. A long history. She didn't want a long history, not anymore. She didn't want any history at all. Every photograph on the walls, every antique piece of furniture, felt like a judgment.

The hidden room was in the library, concealed behind the bookshelves. It was a narrow space, damp and cold. Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. Each footfall echoed in the silence.

She found a journal. Its pages were filled with a spidery script, recounting events that made her shudder. She read the last entry.

Suddenly, she heard a scratching noise.