Gemotions

"Just breathe," Mark muttered under his breath, repeating the mantra he'd read online. His palms were slick with perspiration. He kept wiping them on his jeans. The attic door loomed before him, an ominous portal to who-knew-what. He really should have brought a friend.

He pushed the door open. A wave of cold air washed over him. He scanned the room, every shadow a potential threat. He really did not want to be here.

He spotted a stack of old letters tied with a faded ribbon. He picked one up, his hand shaking slightly. The handwriting was elegant, unfamiliar. He quickly put the letter down and backed away.