Gemotions

The wind howled, a banshee wailing in his ears. He squinted out the kitchen window, watching the oak next door. It loomed, a skeletal giant against the bruised sky. Each gust sent shivers down his spine. It had been leaning that way for months, and he'd sworn he'd mentioned it to Mr. Henderson at the HOA meeting. No one ever listened.

He checked the locks on the doors again, even though he'd done it just five minutes before. The click of the deadbolt offered little comfort. He paced the living room, listening to the creaks of his own house, convinced they were warnings. He grabbed his phone, ready to dial 911 – not for the tree, but for the impending disaster he felt in his bones.

He glanced at the TV, but the cheerful news anchors felt like conspirators, their smiles too bright, their voices too smooth. He switched it off, preferring the silence. He thought he heard footsteps outside, a shuffling sound. He held his breath.