Gemotions

The key felt heavy in Leo’s hand, a cold brass weight against his palm. He stared at the house, the peeling paint like a forgotten skin. He hadn't been here in years, not since… well, not since the last Christmas. The porch sagged, the swing creaked a mournful song in the breeze. He unlocked the front door, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet. He stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of dust and something else, something familiar, yet utterly unplaceable. He took a step, then another, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the wall.

He knew he should start with the attic, the lawyer had said, but his feet carried him towards the kitchen. He glanced at the stove, the chipped enamel almost exactly the same as he remembered, the shadows dancing in the dim light. He blinked, rubbing his eyes. Had the walls always been this yellow? He wasn't sure. He felt a need to sit, a powerful urge to just stop and… think. He couldn't quite remember what he was supposed to be thinking about.