Gemotions

The attic door creaked open, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Sarah swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She’d been putting off this inspection for weeks. Now, armed with a flashlight, she pushed the door wider.

The air hung thick and stale, pressing down on her chest. A musty scent, like old paper and forgotten things, filled her nostrils. She took a hesitant step inside.

A child's rocking horse, its painted eyes vacant, stood in the corner. Her heart gave a sudden, hard thump. Sarah found herself taking another step back, as if the horse might lunge.

“Hello?” Her voice was a shaky whisper. Silence. Only the rustling of unseen things. She shone the flashlight across the dim space, the beam catching on a dusty, tarnished mirror. She could have sworn she saw a flicker of movement within its reflection.