Gemotions

He had told her to leave it. “Don't touch anything,” his brother had warned, pointing a finger. “Just let the professionals handle it.” But Liam wouldn't. The musty smell of the basement, the damp chill, it had called to him. It had taunted him.

The old house, a Victorian monstrosity, held secrets, he was sure of it. His brother, bless his heart, knew nothing. He, however, felt a current, a pull toward the unvisited corners.

He found it behind the loose paneling in the dining room. A small, wooden door, tucked away. He ran his hand over the wood; his knuckles turned white as he dug in his nails. The door wouldn’t budge. He found a rusty crowbar in the garage and began to pry.