Gemotions

The flashlight beam danced nervously across the corroded metal, illuminating the contents. Mark, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool evening air, felt an overwhelming sense of unease. He didn't know how this time capsule, buried decades ago, ended up in his cellar.

He reached for a cassette tape, his fingers clumsy, and the casing cracked. He recoiled, his stomach lurching. The recording, a distorted voice repeating his name, sent a fresh wave of ice through his veins. Every shadow in the cellar, every creak of the floorboards, seemed malevolent. He wanted only to get away.