Gemotions

The real estate agent's cheery voice still rang in his ears. "Charming history," she had gushed. "A little bit of character." Liam wanted to scream. He'd found the newspaper articles, the grainy photographs of the crime scene. The house, once a beacon of hope, now felt like a mausoleum.

He tried to focus on the work, on the tasks that needed doing. But the images, the stories, invaded his thoughts. The silence of the house, usually a comfort, now felt oppressive. He couldn’t shake the sense of an unseen presence, a lingering echo.

He slammed the hammer down, the sound echoing through the empty rooms. He wanted to break something, to destroy the memories that haunted him. He stopped, suddenly exhausted. He rested his head on the cool wood of the window frame. This wasn't home, anymore. It was a prison.