Gemotions

The realtor had said, “Lots of character.” Now, Margaret understood what that truly meant. The police report detailed a brutal assault in her kitchen. Her kitchen. She touched the smooth surface of the countertop, imagining what had transpired there, the stain of dried blood.

She retreated to the bedroom, pulling the covers up to her chin, even though it wasn't cold. Every shadow in the room morphed into a lurking figure.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the stillness. The thought of sleeping, of closing her eyes, was nearly unbearable. The house felt like it was closing in on her, the walls pressing inwards.