Gemotions

The realtor’s words, a cheery little jingle, echoed in Eleanor's head. "Charming history! Such character!" Now, standing in the living room, the newly-purchased, antique furniture seemed to loom, the shadows in the corners deepening as the sun dipped. A chill, unrelated to the October air, prickled her skin. She touched the smooth, cold surface of the antique table, a gesture she’d never done before. The police report, tucked discreetly in her purse, detailed a robbery, a struggle. Someone had bled out right where she was standing. She had a sudden urge to scrub the floors raw.