Gemotions

The lawyer, a nervous type with a sheen of sweat on his forehead, was listing the legal implications, the potential problems. "It's a matter of disclosure, Mr. Harding," he stammered, flipping through the papers. "You *must* inform the neighbors."

George gripped the arms of his chair. He hated lawyers. He hated paperwork. He hated anything that threatened his carefully cultivated peace. The house was his sanctuary, a quiet retreat from a world he had long lost patience with.

"I've got a perfectly good contract," George grumbled, staring out the window at his immaculate lawn. The lawyer continued his dire predictions. George felt his jaw tighten. He refused to admit the house’s bloody history had any effect on him. It was just a house. He’d dealt with worse.

The lawyer finished his speech and asked for a decision. George looked back at the lawyer, fixed his gaze. "No," he said, his voice flat. "I'm not going to tell anyone."