Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the frantic drumming in Amelia's chest. She’d seen the delivery truck – a behemoth unloading crates of something ungodly expensive – and now, every creak in the old house across the street sounded like an impending threat. Her hand tightened on the curtains as she peered through the gaps. Mr. Henderson, usually a picture of cardigan-clad normalcy, was now a silhouette against a lit window, moving with an unfamiliar, swift grace.

The knowledge was a cold knot in her stomach. He’d always seemed so… ordinary. Now, the ordinary felt like a carefully constructed facade. She replayed their casual conversations, searching for hidden meanings, for signs she’d missed. His gentle smile, the weather chat, the shared complaints about the noisy squirrels – all felt tainted.

She started checking the locks on all the doors and windows. Again. Just to be certain.