Gemotions

The realtor had gushed, "A charming fixer-upper!" Now, Sarah stood in the dusty basement, flashlight beam dancing across crumbling brick. The house was anything but charming. A loose stone, seemingly out of place, caught her eye. She poked at it. It wobbled. Probably just shifted over the years, she figured.

With a grunt, she shoved harder. The stone gave way, revealing a dark recess behind it. Her pulse quickened, but she told herself it was just the stale air. A storage area, perhaps? An old coal chute? Anything but what her imagination, always too eager to please, was already suggesting.

She bent and peered inside. The flashlight illuminated a narrow doorway, barely wide enough for a person. It smelled of damp earth and something else, something metallic and…old. She told herself she was being silly. It was probably just the crawl space.

“Well, don’t just stand there, go see what it is,” she mumbled to herself, her voice raspy. She considered calling her husband, but dismissed the idea. He was probably already watching football.