Gemotions

The realtor’s words, “charming fixer-upper,” now echoed in Eleanor’s mind like a mocking laugh track. She stood in the kitchen, the scent of fresh paint failing to disguise the phantom smell of something… metallic. Her hand instinctively drifted to the newly installed cabinet doors, knuckles white as she gripped the wood. She kept feeling like someone was watching her, even when the house was empty.

A floorboard creaked upstairs. Her breath hitched. Eleanor quickly grabbed her phone, the screen lighting up her face in the dim kitchen. She dialed her husband, voice trembling as she spoke, "I think I heard something. Can you come home?"

The wind outside suddenly picked up, rattling the windowpanes. Shadows danced across the walls, fueled by the late afternoon sun. Eleanor was unable to shake the feeling of being enclosed, observed. She needed to leave. She grabbed her keys, her movements jerky and rushed, and left, the door slamming shut behind her.