Gemotions

The chamomile tea warmed Sarah's hands as she sank into the plush armchair. Sunlight streamed through the bay window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. She hummed softly, turning the pages of her book, the scent of old paper and leather filling her nostrils. Outside, the sounds of the neighborhood were muted – a distant lawnmower, the occasional car passing. This was precisely what she needed after a hectic week at the office.

Her phone vibrated on the side table. Annoyed, she reached for it, expecting a work email. Instead, it was a notification from the town's historical society. They had some interesting information about her house, apparently. She figured it was just some mundane history, the kind that might mention a previous owner’s quirky profession or the year the house was built. She briefly considered ignoring it, before clicking the link.

The documents they provided mentioned a murder. A brutal, unsolved murder, that had occurred in her living room, almost a century ago. A cold dread seeped into her bones, chilling her from the inside out. The book slipped from her fingers, landing with a soft thud on the floor. Her comfortable life had been an illusion.