Gemotions

The basement was always cold, but today, Michael found it bone-chilling. He shivered, despite the heavy work gloves he wore. He had been meaning to organize the boxes down there for weeks. He'd found a box filled with old newspapers and magazines. He sifted through them, looking for old advertisements.

He stopped, his breath catching in his throat. One headline screamed at him: "Local Businessman Found Dead in Home." The photo accompanying the article showed the exterior of his house, but it looked different. The front porch was different, the windows mismatched. This couldn’t be right. He skimmed the article, his heart beginning to thump erratically. The address… was his.

He sat on an old crate, the newspaper trembling in his hands. The air felt thin and difficult to breathe. He stared at the article. The description of the crime scene felt vaguely familiar, the way the details were laid out and the way the body was described. He reached for his phone, then stopped, his hand hovering in midair. Why did he feel like he already knew all of this?