Gemotions

The last box was unpacked, and the house was quiet. A little too quiet, thought Michael, as he wandered through the rooms. The anticipation of the move had faded, replaced by an unsettling stillness.

He’d found the room while trying to find the source of a persistent draft. He had traced the chill to a panel behind a bookshelf in the living room. Pushing it open, he revealed a small space. Inside, was a single, dusty, leather-bound journal.

He picked it up, his hands trembling slightly. He opened it, and a strange, unfamiliar script filled the pages. He had no idea what it said, but he knew he didn't want to know. The house, suddenly, felt very different.