Gemotions

The historian pointed to a faded photograph. “The victim… he was found in what is now your dining room.” A wave of dizziness washed over me. The dining room, with its antique table and the chandelier I’d spent hours polishing, was now part of a nightmare.

I stumbled backward, my hand flying to my mouth. The air in the room felt thick, heavy, difficult to breathe. I fought the urge to run, to escape the confines of the house that had suddenly become a prison.

The friendly, familiar room had morphed into a stark, forbidding space, filled with a silent, unseen presence. The memory of the meal I had eaten there yesterday now soured in my mouth.