Gemotions

The old house felt hostile, like a silent accuser. Her attempts at normalcy – baking cookies, tending to her garden – felt hollow. The details of the crime, a brutal assault, played on a loop in her head. She kept jumping at every sound, every shadow.

She found herself avoiding certain rooms, especially the master bedroom. She felt an invisible presence, a palpable sense of dread. The sunlight seemed to have diminished, the colors of the house dulled.

She decided to call a priest.