Gemotions

The attic air hit Clara like a stale, damp blanket. Sunlight sliced through a crack in the boarded-up window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the gloom. Her nose wrinkled involuntarily. She’d been up here a grand total of zero times since moving in. This was a mistake.

She’d pulled the cord, the attic door clattered down, and now she was here, gagging slightly. The previous owners, bless their hearts, had left… things. A moth-eaten armchair, a chipped porcelain doll with vacant eyes, and a collection of what looked like old newspapers. All of it coated in a thick layer of grime.

Clara took a hasty step back, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. She felt a prickling sensation on her skin, as if something was crawling on her. “Oh, for crying out loud,” she muttered, already planning a trip to the hardware store for industrial-strength cleaning supplies.