Gemotions

She scrubbed at the kitchen floor, the bleach stinging her nostrils. The old woman who’d lived here, the one who’d met her end in this very house, had probably done this too. Maybe she’d mopped the blood. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, a cold prickle of discomfort she couldn't shake. Her husband, oblivious, hummed along to the radio. He didn’t understand the knot in her stomach, the constant feeling that she was being watched. He'd dismissed her unease as "silly," but she knew. She *knew* something was off.