Gemotions

The key scraped in the lock, a sound that sliced through the silence of the abandoned house. Michael, her brother, unlocked the door. The wood was swollen, sticking and resisting before giving way. The air inside hit her with a palpable force, a wave of stale, stagnant air filled with the scent of mildew.

He went bounding inside, calling out, excitedly. She hesitated on the porch. She didn’t want to go in. Every step felt like wading through thick mud. The overgrown yard felt threatening, the windows like vacant eyes watching her.

He was already halfway through the living room, pointing out details, assessing the space. She stood frozen by the front door, her chest tight. Images of her grandmother, her illness, her final days, flashed before her eyes. “Michael, wait,” she whispered, but the words were swallowed by the oppressive quiet. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. The house felt like a cage.