Gemotions

"Okay, breathe," Martha muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible. She'd been practicing her deep breathing all afternoon, but it hadn't seemed to help. The old house always seemed to amplify every little sound.

The attic stairs groaned ominously as she climbed, each step a protest. Her vision swam slightly, and she paused on the landing, leaning against the wall for support.

An old trunk sat in the corner, covered in a thick layer of dust. She reached for the latch, her hand trembling. A small, tarnished silver locket lay on top of the trunk. She picked it up. Her heart thumped in her chest.