Gemotions

It was her first house, and the attic was the last place she’d explored. Rain lashed against the roof, each gust rattling the ancient windowpanes. He’d told her to check for leaks, but her resolve had been flagging all day. Now, armed with a flashlight, she started up the stairs, each tread complaining in protest. A strange premonition, like a knot tightening in her stomach, told her to turn back, and she wished she would.

The air smelled of decay and forgotten things. She scanned the gloom, her breath coming in shallow gasps. A child’s rocking horse sat forlornly in the center of the room, its painted eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. A chill wind seemed to seep through the walls.

In the corner, under a tattered sheet, lay something large and shapeless. Her hands began to tingle. She kept her distance but focused the beam on it. Hesitantly, she moved closer. The sheet slipped slightly, revealing a portion of a mannequin, its arm extended toward her. Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. She backed away, her heart hammering against her ribs.