Gemotions

The grandfather clock, a relic from her grandfather, loomed in the hallway, its pendulum a slow, rhythmic sway that felt ominous. Her brother, Michael, had taken a sudden interest in it. He'd been poking and prodding at it all afternoon, examining the intricate carvings, murmuring about its "historical value."

She flinched every time he approached, convinced he was sizing it up, calculating its worth. The silence in the house amplified her unease. Every shadow seemed to lengthen, taking on a sinister quality.

“It's not worth much, is it?” she asked, her voice tight. She watched him carefully, searching for a tell, a flicker of greed in his eyes. He smiled, a bland, unsettling expression, and she knew.