Gemotions

The flashlight beam trembled in Arthur’s hand. He'd dreaded this. The attic was always the final frontier, the last place to look for any lost or forgotten items. The house had been a foreclosure, a whirlwind of legal jargon and frantic inspections. Now this.

A dusty collection of old hats lay scattered on a shelf. A fedora, a bonnet with wilting ribbons, a child’s knitted cap. He prodded at them with a hesitant finger. The fabric disintegrated at his touch. What was the point? He was tired.