Gemotions

The morning crept in, slow and unwelcome. John felt a deep, pervasive fatigue that even a full night’s sleep hadn't touched. He lingered in bed, the covers a cocoon against the world. He didn't want to face anything.

The house had a history of violence. The realtor had called it "a fixer-upper" but had failed to mention the previous resident had been the victim of a home invasion. Finding out felt like he had been sucker punched.

He stood in the hallway, now, the scene of the crime. The cold, echoing silence pressed in around him. He felt a deep, chilling dread, the kind that steals your breath. He leaned against the wall, his legs threatening to buckle.