Gemotions

"Just a quick look," the note from the previous owners read. "We left some sentimental items." Sentimental. Sarah snorted, the sound echoing in the close, stale air of the attic. She really didn’t want to be here.

The air was thick with the scent of dried lavender and something else, something metallic and faintly unsettling. She spotted a battered wooden box beneath a faded floral bedspread. She bent, slowly, deliberately, not wanting to give the impression she was in any rush.

She poked at the box with the toe of her boot. It didn’t budge. Fine. She crossed her arms, a muscle twitching in her cheek. She was not going to spend her Saturday sorting through some strangers' "sentimental items." Not a chance. The yard needed tending, and she'd been putting it off. The sun was calling. She'd deal with this nonsense later.