Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Agnes’s throat. A single bare bulb cast a sickly yellow glow, illuminating a mountain of forgotten things. She’d been expecting cobwebs and maybe a trunk, but not *this*. Her cheeks burned.

A chipped porcelain doll with vacant eyes lay sprawled amidst yellowed lace doilies. Agnes instinctively recoiled, a shiver running down her spine. The previous owners, the Bradleys, had been such a sweet old couple, always waving from their porch swing. This...this felt like an intrusion, a secret revealed.

A tarnished silver locket lay open on a faded velvet cloth, displaying a tiny, sepia-toned photograph of a stern-faced woman. Agnes’s fingers trembled as she picked it up, feeling a wave of deep embarrassment that someone, a long time ago, had treasured this. She dropped it back, quickly, as if it burned.