Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest brewing inside Ben. His sister, Clara, hummed a tuneless song, pulling open drawers. "Imagine, Ben," she said, her voice bright with excitement. "A fresh start! A place all our own." Ben ran a hand through his hair, the damp strands clinging to his forehead. He stared at the chipped paint on the kitchen cabinets. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole inheritance was some sort of elaborate prank.

He watched Clara survey the garden, her face lit up with plans. "We could grow herbs, maybe a few vegetables," she mused. Ben remained silent. He found it difficult to imagine himself tending a garden, especially in a house that seemed to sigh with every movement. He ran a hand along the dusty surface of the grand piano, and it creaked ominously.

The lawyer had said there were no debts, no hidden encumbrances. But Ben couldn’t shake the knot in his stomach. The house itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting. He would have to see the title deeds for himself to be convinced.