Gemotions

He flinched as a gust of wind rattled the windows. The living room, bathed in the sickly green light of dusk, felt cold and unwelcoming. The furniture, draped in white sheets, looked like spectral figures. Mark kept his hand close to the door.

He felt the familiar knot of unease tighten in his stomach. The house had always given him the creeps. He’d hated visiting Grandma, even when she was alive. He imagined things lurking in the shadows, waiting for the dark.

He took a step backward, his gaze darting from corner to corner. He could hear his own shallow breaths. The thought of spending the night here, alone, filled him with a profound sense of dread.