Gemotions

The wallpaper peeled away under Amelia’s frantic fingers, a familiar dance of frustration. She'd been in the house a month, and the silence of the place, usually a solace, had morphed into a suffocating presence. This latest bout of restless energy led her to the guest bedroom, where she suspected a draft. Pressing against the wall near the window, she felt a give. Her breath hitched. A wooden panel, cleverly disguised, swung inward with a groan, revealing a dark, claustrophobic space. She stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of dust and decay, her heart hammering against her ribs.

The narrow space contained nothing but a single, antique rocking chair. Its dark wood seemed to absorb the meager light filtering in from the opening. She reached out and touched the cold, unyielding back. A wave of nausea surged through her, and she had to grip the wall for support.

Returning to the main space, Amelia slammed the wall shut, her knuckles white. She paced the guest bedroom, her hands clasped in front of her. Why now? Why this? A cold dread settled in her stomach, like a stone.