Gemotions

The realtor’s assurances about the house’s “charming quirks” now felt like a thinly veiled warning. Sarah, standing in the musty basement, ran a hand along the cold, stone wall, her fingers tracing the mortar. A draft, almost imperceptible, tugged at her hair. Something wasn’t right.

Her breath hitched. She had been here for hours, unpacking, and had dismissed a few things she felt were off as jet lag. Now, with the setting sun casting long shadows, the silence of the old house pressed in on her. The air hung thick and expectant.

She strained her ears, listening for any telltale sounds. Nothing but the faint thrum of the old refrigerator. Cautiously, she ran her hand along the wall again, and felt a slight give. The stone seemed looser here. She pushed gently. It moved.