Gemotions

The old, wooden rocking horse in the corner. That’s what started it. Mary knew it was supposed to be a sweet, nostalgic find. But there was something about the way it stood in the shadows, its empty eyes fixed on her.

Her heart pounded in her chest. She forced herself to approach it, slowly. She reached out to touch its mane, but stopped. She could feel a cold breath on the back of her neck.

She backed away, then turned and fled the attic, slamming the door behind her. She spent the rest of the day by the windows, peeking through the blinds, convinced someone was outside, watching the house. She refused to eat anything.