Gemotions

He’d inherited the house from his grandmother, a woman whose absence still throbbed in the silence of his days. The weight of her absence was a physical ache, a constant companion that settled in his bones. He was supposed to be unpacking, but mostly he just stared out the window, watching the leaves fall, each one a tiny, fluttering reminder of inevitable loss.

The basement was a labyrinth of shadows and cobwebs. He was searching for the holiday decorations, something, anything, to distract him. A loose brick, wedged behind the furnace, caught his eye. He tugged at it, a faint click the only sound.

Behind the brick, a narrow passage opened. He pulled himself through, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and something else, something sweet and cloying, like dried flowers. A small room awaited, filled with her possessions, a time capsule of a life now gone.