Gemotions

“This old house,” Martha muttered to herself, staring at the recently exposed hidden chamber in the dining room, behind what had once been a built-in cabinet. It was a space so small that it could barely hold a child’s toy. It contained nothing but the rotting wood of the structure itself. Her shoulders slumped.

The feeling of being overwhelmed, of carrying a weight she couldn’t name, had intensified since she discovered it. She was always on edge, jumpy, like a coiled spring ready to break. The house was whispering secrets, taunting her with the unknown.

She went back to the kitchen, poured herself a cup of tea, and sat at the table. She stared out the window, her gaze unfocused. The feeling of dread was always there, a shadow at the edge of her vision.