Gemotions

The attic door creaked open, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Sarah tugged the string, the bulb casting a sickly yellow glow on the forgotten space. Her breath hitched. She hadn't wanted to come up here, not at all. But the realtor had mentioned "some items," and her budget was already stretched thin.

She took a step, then another, the floorboards groaning under her weight. Her heart thumped a frantic tattoo against her ribs. The air was thick, stale. She reached out, her fingers brushing against a cobweb.

A trunk, half-hidden beneath a faded sheet, caught her eye. Slowly, hesitantly, she pulled the sheet away. Inside, a collection of old photographs stared back at her, their subjects unknown, their stories lost to time. She swallowed hard, a knot tightening in her throat.