Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and stale, a blanket of dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Amelia coughed, her hand flying to her mouth. She’d promised her mother she’d sort through the boxes, a task she’d been dreading for weeks. Now, kneeling amidst forgotten memories, she felt a prickling unease.

Her fingers brushed against brittle paper. A book report, written in her childish scrawl, with a crayon drawing of a cat pasted haphazardly on the front. A wave of… something… washed over her. She pulled back her hand as though burnt.

The next box was worse. A seemingly endless supply of graded papers. Arithmetic tests, history quizzes, art projects – all painstakingly preserved. She picked up a particularly gruesome self-portrait, all sharp angles and mismatched colors. A shudder ran through her, a physical reaction she couldn't explain. She slammed the lid shut.