Gemotions

The attic felt like a forgotten tomb. Amelia gripped the flashlight tighter, its beam cutting through the oppressive darkness. The air tasted of mildew and decay. This whole house was a mistake. She thought to herself.

She had been told, by her partner, that the attic could provide useful storage space. She felt a shiver crawl down her spine as she glanced at the shadows cast by the objects beneath the tarpaulin.

She pulled the canvas back, expecting disappointment. A series of long, wooden crates. She lifted the first lid with a grunt, expecting nothing of interest. Inside lay a collection of what looked like antique tools. Carving chisels, awls, and oddly-shaped hammers. *Useless.*

She slammed the lid shut, her heart skipping a beat. She'd get rid of these as soon as possible. She hated this house.