Gemotions

He’d always felt a cold draft near the attic door. Now, standing within the cramped space, he understood why. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. Toys, forgotten dreams, and a child's art projects were scattered everywhere. He clutched his chest, squeezing his eyes shut.

A music box sat on a shelf, its painted ballerina frozen mid-pirouette. He reached out to touch it, then recoiled as if burned. A wave of nausea washed over him. The air seemed thick, suffocating. He backed away, bumping into something solid.

It was a mannequin. Dressed in a moth-eaten wedding dress, its blank face a horrifying mockery of life. His breath caught in his throat. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run.