Gemotions

The rusted metal of the capsule lay exposed, half-buried in the overgrown yard. Sarah knelt, the late afternoon sun beating down. A trickle of sweat snaked down her temple. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden quiet. She hadn't the faintest idea how it got there. She’d been raking leaves, just this morning. This…thing…wasn't there then.

Her hands shook as she worked to pry it open. The latch, brittle with age, yielded with a protesting creak. The air inside smelled of dust and something indefinably older. Images, fragmented and disjointed, flashed in her mind – a younger version of herself, giggling, burying something. But the memory evaporated as quickly as it came.

"Hello?" she croaked, her voice barely a whisper. The only answer was the rustling of leaves and the distant bark of a dog. She felt a prickle of unease crawl over her skin. This was wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen. She shouldn't be here, opening this, whatever it was.