Gemotions

He gripped the flashlight so tight his knuckles were white. The attic stairs groaned under his weight, each step amplified in the stillness. Mark had been thrilled to buy this house, a charming Victorian. Now, the darkness of the attic was a different matter entirely.

Cobwebs brushed his face as he ducked under a low beam. He swept the beam across the floor, revealing trunks and boxes. A child’s drawing, depicting a monstrous creature with too many eyes, was tacked to one trunk.

He stumbled backwards, knocking over a stack of old books. A chill ran down his spine. The air grew suddenly cold.

“Is someone there?” He stammered, his voice tight. Only the gentle creak of the house answered. He felt compelled to flee, to abandon this exploration entirely.