Gemotions

The attic door slammed shut behind Martha, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent house. Dust motes danced in the single ray of sun slicing through the gloom. Her hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists.

“Unbelievable!” she spat, kicking a discarded, moldy box across the dusty floor. It skidded and cracked against the far wall. The previous owners, the Smiths, had promised the house was completely empty. Obviously, “completely empty” translated to “abandoned hoard of useless junk, just waiting for the next sucker to stumble upon it.”

Her jaw was tight, muscles aching. She grabbed a chipped porcelain doll by its vacant eyes and hurled it against a wooden beam. The head shattered, and she felt a brief, hollow satisfaction.