Gemotions

“Dad, come look!” Eight-year-old Leo shouted from the den. He had been bored, restless. He'd been looking for something, anything to occupy him. He was a curious kid. He always noticed what other people missed. He paced the room, running his small hands across the walls. He felt a different texture near the fireplace.

His father, a pragmatic man, hurried over, but Leo was already tugging at a loose brick. It shifted, revealing a dark recess. The air within seemed colder, still. The boy's eyes grew wide.

"Wow," he whispered, his voice full of wonder.