Gemotions

The realtor had been so sickeningly enthusiastic, practically bouncing with manufactured joy as she’d unlocked the front door. "Welcome to your dream home!" she’d chirped. *Dream home*, Sarah had thought, taking in the chipped paint and the stained carpet. Now, standing in the cramped, dusty closet under the stairs, her fingers tracing the outline of a seam in the back wall, she almost wished the place had a nightmare or two. She'd pushed on the panel, and it swung inward, revealing a dark recess. Sighing, she pulled out her phone's flashlight.

The smell was immediate: damp earth and something else, something metallic and sharp. A chill prickled her skin, not from the cold, but from a creeping sense of…well, irritation. This was just her luck, wasn’t it? Another problem to add to the already overflowing list.

The room was small, barely larger than the closet itself. A single, rickety wooden chair sat in the center. The only other feature was a small, grimy window high up on the wall, letting in only a sliver of light. She didn't want to touch anything.

She retreated, slamming the panel shut. The house was a mess.