Gemotions

The key scraped in the lock, a sound that sliced through the quiet like a shard of ice. Margaret jumped, her hand flying to her chest. She chided herself, but the old house just felt…wrong. Every shadow seemed to lengthen, to twist into something menacing.

She checked the windows, even though she'd locked them hours ago. Each latch, each pane of glass, was a potential entry point for…someone. She didn't know who, but the feeling that she was being watched gnawed at her.

The wind howled outside, and the curtains billowed. She flinched, sure that she saw movement, a figure lurking just beyond the glass. Her breath hitched, and she told herself to be rational, but her heart hammered against her ribs.

The grandfather clock in the hall struck midnight, the chimes echoing through the empty rooms. She spun around, convinced she heard footsteps upstairs. She slowly, cautiously, grabbed the old, rusty poker from the fireplace.