Gemotions

Michael couldn’t shake the knot in his chest. He’d spent months renovating his dream house, pouring his heart and soul into every detail. Now, a detective's visit – the polite questions, the veiled hints – had shattered his peace. The previous owner, a man he'd known only through deeds and paperwork, had died in the house.

He slammed his toolbox down on the workbench, the metal clanging sharply in the sudden quiet. He pictured himself, hammer in hand, a few inches from where a body had once lain. A chill ran down his spine. The air felt thick, heavy, as though soaked in unseen, unspoken history.

He needed to get out. He grabbed his keys, the weight of them suddenly oppressive, and left the house, the unfinished projects now seeming like an impossible task. He drove, aimlessly, just to get away from the oppressive, silent house.