Gemotions

The newspaper clipping, tucked away in a dusty drawer, felt heavy in Emily's hand. The headline screamed: "Woman Found Dead in Elm Street Residence." *Her* Elm Street residence. She’d always loved the sense of history that came with an older house, the stories held within its walls. Now, she felt a profound sense of unease.

She wandered through her home, tracing her fingers along the familiar surfaces, the smooth wood of the banister, the cold tile of the kitchen floor. Each touch now felt tainted, a violation of sorts. A phantom smell of dust and something… metallic… clung to the air.

“It’s just a house,” she whispered to herself, the words failing to convince her. She pictured the police tape, the flashing lights, the grim process of investigation. She sat down and pulled her knees to her chest, trying to make herself small and hidden.