Gemotions

The realtor’s words still echoed in Martha's mind. “Lovely old house. Tons of character. Just… a little history.” Martha had dismissed it then, focused on the spacious kitchen and the wrap-around porch. Now, staring at the faded newspaper clipping the detective had left, she felt a chill creep up her spine. The headline screamed about a murder, the address – *her* address – printed in bold. Her hands trembled as she clutched the paper, the ink smudging under her fingertips. A sudden creak from the hallway made her jump, her heart hammering against her ribs.

The house seemed to shrink around her. Sunlight streamed through the windows, yet the rooms felt dim, the shadows elongated and menacing. Martha found herself backing away from the front door, though she had intended to start unpacking. Each floorboard groaned underfoot, each whisper of the wind a potential threat. The air thickened in her lungs, making it hard to breathe.