Gemotions

Thomas hated this house. The air hung thick with the ghosts of his grandmother's scent: lavender and decay. He kept the lights on everywhere, a futile attempt to push back the encroaching darkness.

He caught his reflection in the hallway mirror and jumped. The face staring back at him was pale, eyes wide and darting. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being observed, of invisible eyes studying his every move.

He started locking doors, then re-locking them. He moved furniture in front of windows. He listened intently for any creaks, any sighs, any indication that he wasn’t alone.

The silence was the worst. It pressed in on him, a stifling blanket that muted every sound and magnified every imagined threat. He felt a constant prickly sensation on his skin, as though invisible insects were crawling over him.