Gemotions

The old oak tree in the backyard had seen a lot, she thought, as she ran her hand over its rough bark. She remembered her father teaching her to climb it when she was a little girl, the feel of the sun-warmed wood beneath her small hands. Now, nearly forty years later, the tree stood sentinel over a different life, a life built within the very walls of a house that held a dark secret. The realtor hadn't mentioned it.

A cold shiver snaked up her spine, even though the late afternoon sun beat down. This house, her haven, had been the stage for a tragedy. The detective's words, delivered with a detached professionalism, still echoed in her ears: a double homicide. A husband and wife, a stolen heirloom, a locked room.

She picked a fallen leaf and rubbed it between her fingers. The leaves were starting to change, just like they had in her childhood. She closed her eyes, remembering her father’s laughter, her mother's gentle touch. It was the good times she wanted to remember, not the dark past that clung to the house like a persistent shadow.