Gemotions

The attic door groaned open, a sound that sliced through the quiet of the afternoon. Liam slammed the door shut behind him, the force a physical manifestation of the unease churning in his gut. Dust motes danced in the lone shaft of sunlight, illuminating a forgotten world. He’d told himself it was just a chore, a necessary evil, but now, staring at the layers of neglect, he felt a sudden weight on his chest.

He hated this house, with its echoing emptiness and the ghosts of lives lived before his. A trunk, bound in cracked leather, sat in the corner. He ran a hand over the cold surface, a tremor running through him. He didn’t want to be here, surrounded by the remnants of other people’s stories.

The lock clicked open with a protesting sound. Inside, faded photographs stared back, faces frozen in smiles, secrets he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He picked up a small, wooden music box, its delicate carvings hinting at forgotten melodies. The silence felt heavy, suffocating. He slammed the lid shut, the sharp clap echoing in the stillness.