Gemotions

It arrived at the worst possible time. The package sat on the doorstep, a plain brown rectangle. "To the current occupant," the address read, impersonal and menacing. Sarah hadn't slept properly in days. She'd been jumping at shadows, her nerves frayed. She was sick of this house.

She forced herself to go to the door. Her hands were ice cold. She picked it up, the cardboard rough against her skin. She had no idea who "Ms. Evelyn Reed" was. She sliced the tape with a shaky hand. Inside, she found a book. A worn leather-bound volume, the pages brittle with age.

She opened the book. It was a diary. The first entry, dated over a century ago, read: "They say this house is cursed." The words swam before her eyes. Sarah threw the book across the room, a sob escaping her lips.