Gemotions

The musty scent of the attic clawed at Amelia’s throat as she hauled the trunk down. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight. Inside, nestled beneath moth-eaten blankets, was her mother's bucket list, scribbled in elegant, looping script. "Learn to Tango," the first item read. Amelia’s pulse quickened. Tango? Her mother, a woman of quiet routine?

She slammed the trunk lid shut, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the silence. Did her mother have a secret life? A thrilling, dangerous life? Amelia found herself jumping at the creak of the floorboards above. She was convinced someone was watching, waiting.

Later that night, every shadow seemed to stretch and twist into menacing shapes. She checked the locks on all the windows, then the front door. Twice. Three times. Her breath hitched as she heard a rustling outside. The wind? A prowler? Maybe someone knew about the list. Maybe someone was after something.