Gemotions

He had sworn he’d cleaned out the attic. Robert cursed under his breath, swatting at a cobweb that brushed his cheek. He hadn't expected this. A trunk, tucked away in the shadows, its brass fittings tarnished with age.

His breath hitched in his chest. He didn't want to open it. It felt like trespassing, like prying into someone’s most private belongings. But the pull of curiosity was too strong.

He pried open the heavy lid. Inside, stacked neatly, were photographs. Old sepia-toned images of a family he didn't know, their faces frozen in time. A coldness settled in his stomach, a feeling of being watched. He slammed the lid shut, then backed away, needing to put distance between himself and the trunk.