Gemotions

"Everything feels… right,” Emily murmured to herself, pulling another weed from the garden. The sun was warm on her skin, the air perfumed with the scent of blooming roses. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the old oak tree in her yard. It was her sanctuary, her haven, and she loved it.

A loud thud from the attic shook her from her pleasant thoughts. She frowned, brushing the dirt from her hands. She really needed to get up there and organize the space. She’d put it off for weeks, but the unsettling noise had to be addressed.

With a deep breath, she went inside, her boots clicking confidently across the hardwood floor. The stairs were well-built and sturdy. The attic, as always, was hot and stifling. She flipped the switch, and a bare lightbulb cast a weak, yellow glow over the space.

Stacked against the far wall were several old suitcases. Each looked different. She took a step toward them, her interest piqued.