Gemotions

The old house groaned around him, a symphony of creaks and whispers. He sat on the floor, surrounded by scattered photographs, each one a fresh assault on his carefully constructed reality. The woman in the pictures, his aunt, the quiet librarian, was smiling at a party with a man that was not her husband.

A wave of nausea washed over him. His hands were clammy, and he wiped them on his jeans. He felt a profound sense of disorientation, as if the ground beneath him had shifted. The shadows in the room deepened, twisting the familiar objects into monstrous shapes. He had to get out, he couldn’t stay here any longer.