Gemotions

He’d always loved the house. The Victorian architecture, the wraparound porch, the stained-glass window in the foyer. But now, after the detective's grim briefing, all he could see were shadows. He ran a hand through his hair, over and over, as if trying to smooth away the unease.

The creaks of the floorboards, usually a comforting sound, now made him jump. Each one was a potential footstep, a ghost in the making. He found himself avoiding the hallway, the scene of the crime.

He poured himself a stiff drink, pacing the kitchen. The kitchen! Where they'd found her. He swallowed the liquor in one gulp, the burn doing little to soothe the growing tension in his chest. He looked at the door. He didn't want to be in the house anymore.