Gemotions

The sudden cold in the room made Eleanor's skin prickle. She clutched the phone tighter, her knuckles bone-white. Her sister's words, about young Emily's drawings, echoed in her mind. A tall, pale man with a crooked smile. Just like the one she used to talk to, the one only *she* could see.

The pictures lay on the table. Each one sent a fresh wave of unease. Her gaze kept darting to the corner of the room, expecting to see something, something *there*.

She couldn’t catch her breath. The air seemed to be thin. She needed to leave, to get away from the growing dread. "I’ll come over," she managed to say into the phone, her voice barely a thread. She hung up, and grabbed her keys with shaking fingers.