Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the dusty windows, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the air. The smell of old wood and something else, something metallic and faintly unpleasant, hung in the silence. Clara leaned against the doorframe, trying to gather her strength. She wanted to unpack.

The previous owners, she had learned, had died here. A husband, a wife, and their child. The details were graphic, the story gruesome. She'd been a fool to ignore the warning signs.

A wave of nausea washed over her. The very thought of touching the furniture, of sleeping in the bed, made her stomach churn. Her shoulders slumped. Her limbs felt heavy and unresponsive.