Gemotions

He had been warned. By his parents, by the contractors, by everyone. "Don't go poking around in the attic," they'd said. "Leave it be." They said it with that tone, the one that made his jaw clench. The house was his now, and he'd do whatever he pleased.

He found the access point tucked behind a stack of moth-eaten blankets. The air above was stagnant, choking, but he dragged himself upward. The attic was enormous, crammed with forgotten furniture and cobweb-draped boxes. He sneered at a handwritten sign, nailed to a beam. “DANGER – KEEP OUT.”

He found a loose floorboard near the far wall. He pried it up with a crowbar he’d grabbed on the way up, enjoying the satisfying *crack* as it gave way. Beneath, a narrow set of stairs descended into blackness. He didn't hesitate. He took his phone and switched the flashlight on.

He descended the stairs, each step a declaration. The hidden room at the bottom was cold and empty, except for a large, ornate mirror. He glared at his reflection. He would make this place his own, regardless of the whispers of the past.