Gemotions

The offer of gardening assistance was almost insulting. The old man, always hunched over and muttering, now wanted to tend a corner of *his* land. He saw the gleam in the old man's watery eyes, and he was immediately wary.

He imagined the old man, silent and observant, digging in the soil. Watching. Waiting. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was some kind of elaborate ploy.

He refused, curtly. The old man just shrugged, but his gaze lingered, a little too long. He quickly shut the door.

He spent the rest of the day obsessively checking the locks, peeking through the curtains, expecting the old man. Each creak in the house made him jump. The silence felt heavy, oppressive.