Gemotions

The local history buff, a woman with a relentlessly cheerful demeanor, had been the one to break the news. "Oh, didn't you know?" she’d asked, her eyes sparkling with morbid delight. "The 'Crimson Corner' as it was known." Clara had always loved gardening; she’d spent hours tending her roses. Now, she felt a profound unease while standing in the backyard. She could almost *see* the bloodstains, the way the wind whispered secrets through the leaves. She felt a burning need to disrupt something, to ruin something. She planted a patch of aggressively thorny brambles directly in front of their picture window, a fortress of spite.