Gemotions

The attic door creaked open, a sound that sliced through the silence of the house. Sarah had been putting off this exploration for weeks. Now, armed with a flashlight, she edged into the gloom. Dust motes danced in the beam, illuminating forgotten treasures, or so she'd hoped. Instead, the beam caught on a child's rocking horse, its painted eyes staring blankly.

A coldness seeped into her bones. Her breath hitched. She backed away, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The air felt thick, heavy, as though pressing down on her chest. She wanted to bolt, to slam the door shut and pretend this attic, this house, didn't exist.

The horse’s rocking motion started, very slowly. “Hello?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. The wood groaned in reply.