Gemotions

A coldness gripped him, a sudden and profound chill that had nothing to do with the pre-dawn air. Michael fumbled with the deadbolt, the key refusing to cooperate. Finally, the door yielded. He stepped out onto the porch, intending to grab the newspaper.

His gaze snapped to the concrete where his truck should have been. It was gone. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat that echoed in his ears. His throat tightened, making swallowing difficult.

He felt the ground tilt beneath him, as if the entire world were suddenly unstable. He gripped the porch railing, knuckles white, desperately trying to anchor himself to something solid. "What...?" he croaked, the word barely formed.