Gemotions

The hidden room was behind the master bedroom closet. Sunlight, streaming in through the cracks around the door, illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air. Michael, crouched on the floor, felt his skin crawl.

He pushed the door open, the hinges groaning in protest. He covered his nose, the smell of mildew and decay assaulting his senses. He found himself unable to move.

Inside, on a rusted cot, lay a collection of dolls. Porcelain, their painted eyes staring up at him with unnerving intensity. Their clothes were tattered and stained. His throat constricted, his pulse quickening with an unnatural rhythm. He wanted to flee, but he was frozen.