Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. The attic's heat was oppressive, but that wasn't why beads of sweat were already forming on his brow. The flashlight beam danced, illuminating piles of forgotten things.

He’d always considered himself a practical man, but the sight of a vintage wedding dress, still on its hanger, draped over a mannequin, made his breath hitch. He hadn't expected to find *them*.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice sounding thin in the stillness. Only the settling of dust answered him. He turned abruptly, a sudden urge to flee seizing him. He felt as if someone was watching him, judging him.