Gemotions

The moving boxes seemed to multiply overnight. Sarah kicked one, sending packing peanuts scattering across the newly polished hardwood floor. Honestly, after a month of renovations, she just wanted to *live* in the damn house. Her realtor, bless her heart, had neglected to mention the peculiar smell that clung to the west wing – a musty odor that reminded her of forgotten libraries and damp cellars.

She tugged at the handle of the wall panel again. It wouldn't budge. "Come on, come on," she muttered, her frustration bubbling. Her husband, Mark, was out of town for the week, leaving her to deal with this alone. Just her luck.

She slammed her fist against the wall in a final attempt. A hollow *thud* resonated from behind the panel. She pressed her ear against the surface, listening intently. *Click*. The panel swung inward, revealing a dark, dust-filled room.