Gemotions

A tremor of excitement ran through Mark as he pulled the loose brick free from the fireplace. He'd known, somehow, that this house, with its rambling layout and odd angles, held a secret. Now, the space was revealed. A doorway, previously disguised, led into darkness. He gripped his flashlight tightly, eager to explore.

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got here,” he whispered to himself, the beam of light dancing across the stone. He ducked under the low ceiling, entering what looked like an old root cellar. The air was cool and earthy, but his pulse was quickening. He examined the rough-hewn shelves, imagining them filled with jars of preserves, and his shoulders seemed to broaden, and he grinned, picturing his wife's face when he showed her.

His fingers brushed against something cold and metallic. He picked it up, a small, tarnished key. What did it open? He grinned. The possibilities were endless, and he relished the hunt.