Gemotions

Michael stretched, limbs loose and yielding, as he considered the best spot for his morning coffee. The sun-drenched kitchen felt warm against his skin, and the aroma of brewing beans promised a fine start to his day. He decided on the back porch, where he could listen to the birds and watch the dog romp in the grass.

He was thumbing through the local news on his tablet when an article about a cold case caught his eye. The old house on Elm Street – the one he’d just purchased last month – was the subject of the investigation. He’d thought the house was a steal. Now he knew why.

His pulse quickened as he read about a missing person, and the bloodstains that had apparently never been fully cleaned from the floorboards. He felt a sudden, inexplicable chill. The coffee, forgotten, grew cold in his mug. He rubbed his arms, suddenly aware of the shadows cast by the trees, long and ominous across the grass.