Gemotions

He’d always felt a draft in the library. Now, staring at the exposed brick behind the bookcase, Michael understood why. He fumbled with the loose stone, his hands slick with sweat, and it gave way with a groan. A narrow staircase spiraled downwards into an inky blackness. He stood frozen, his jaw tight, completely unprepared for this.

His stomach lurched as he descended. The air grew colder, and a dampness clung to him like a shroud. At the bottom, a heavy wooden door loomed, its iron hinges rusted and creaking. He pushed it open, a groan escaping his lips as he did.

The room beyond was lit by a single, flickering gas lamp. Scattered across the floor were old maps and scientific instruments, all covered in a thick layer of dust. In the corner, a figure lay draped in a tattered sheet. Michael's breath caught in his throat. He should have just stayed outside to paint the damn fence.