Gemotions

He’d insisted on moving the heavy grandfather clock himself. Michael, always the show-off, wanted to prove his strength. Now, as the clock stubbornly refused to move an inch, he felt a heat creep up his neck. The house, purchased on a whim, seemed to mock his efforts. The clock, a supposed antique, was probably glued to the floor.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. He heard his new wife, Emily, laughing from the kitchen. "Need some help, tough guy?" she called. He felt the blood drain from his face. Suddenly, with a final, desperate heave, the clock shifted, revealing a narrow opening behind it. He peered inside, his jaw tight. A small room, filled with cobwebs and forgotten things. He mumbled something about needing to inspect it for leaks, anything to hide from Emily.