Gemotions

The attic stairs groaned beneath Amelia's feet with each upward step. She gripped the wooden banister, her knuckles white. A strange tingling sensation ran up her spine with every creak of the old house.

The air grew musty and close as she reached the top. Cobwebs brushed her face, and she swatted them away with a sharp movement. A dusty trunk sat in the center of the room, its metal clasp glinting ominously.

"Don't worry," she muttered to herself, her voice barely a whisper. She took a step back from the trunk. She needed to breathe, but the air felt thin, inadequate.