Gemotions

The detective, a man with a tired face and a rumpled suit, kept repeating the same phrases: "routine investigation," "historical record," "unsolved cold case." He’d brought a file, thick with paperwork, that he’d been leafing through while I made tea. He looked like he'd seen everything.

"The previous owner," he said, finally looking up, "disappeared. Vanished into thin air, seemingly." My eyebrows shot up. Missing, not murdered? That was a plot twist I didn't see coming.

I leaned back in my chair. The detective's voice droned on, but I wasn't listening. I thought about the creaking floorboards, the strange shadows that played in the corners of my eyes, and the persistent chill I couldn't seem to shake. The detective’s words were like a bad joke. He didn't seem to care, and that made me care even more.