Gemotions

“Honey, just check the attic, will you?” Her husband had asked, his voice easy and absent. She hated being asked to do things like this. Now, she ascended the attic stairs, her every movement tense.

She found a collection of old paintings, their canvases cracked and peeling. They depicted scenes of a town she didn’t recognize. The eyes in the portraits followed her, she was sure of it. Her breath hitched.

One painting, larger than the others, featured a dark, ominous forest. He felt a sharp pang of anxiety. A chill ran down her spine, and she quickly turned away. She couldn't breathe.