Gemotions

The attic door slammed shut behind him with a resounding echo. I felt my chest compress, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. This whole thing was a bad idea.

A collection of dusty record albums lay scattered across the floor. Each album cover depicted a different smiling face. I couldn't look away.

I found myself stumbling backwards, my hands outstretched as if to ward off some invisible presence. My legs felt weak. I needed to escape.

I saw a single, framed photograph propped against a stack of boxes. I didn't want to look. But I did.