Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Clara tugged at the string, the bulb casting a sickly yellow glow on the boxes. Her fingers, despite the summer heat, prickled with a chill. She’d been avoiding this task for weeks, ever since the unsettling phone call from her estranged brother. Now, here she was, sorting through her late mother’s belongings.

A worn leather briefcase sat atop a stack of faded photo albums. Inside, nestled amongst brittle newspaper clippings and a tarnished silver pen, was a folded letter. The stationery was cream-colored, the handwriting elegant but shaky. Her mother's signature, a familiar flourish, appeared at the bottom. It was a draft resignation letter from a job she'd held years before Clara was even born. What was it doing here?

She reread the letter, the words blurring at the edges. A coldness crept up her spine, tightening her chest. Every creak of the house, every rustle outside the window, felt like a deliberate intrusion. Someone, or something, was watching. She quickly refolded the letter, shoving it back into the briefcase and slammed it shut, before turning off the attic light and racing downstairs.