Gemotions

He’d always loved old houses, the history they held. But Ben found himself unsteady as he pushed the attic door inward. The lock was rusted, the wood warped. He found himself pausing to take a deep breath.

The flashlight beam danced across stacks of boxes. He barely glanced at them, instead focusing on the floor. Everything was covered in dust. He saw a worn photo album. He reached for it, and his fingers brushed the cold, brittle pages. He felt a sharp jab of awareness; this was not his history.

His stomach clenched when he saw a trunk. It was old, wooden, with iron bands. He found himself unable to move. What secrets did it hold? What stories were locked inside? He backed slowly away from the trunk. The air in the attic felt suddenly thin.