Gemotions

The attic door groaned open, spewing dust motes into the shaft of sunlight. Sarah squinted, already regretting her impulsive decision. She’d promised herself she’d start decluttering, but the sheer volume of… everything… in this house felt suffocating. A musty odor, like old paper and dried flowers, filled her nostrils.

She pushed aside a moth-eaten trunk, her heart hammering. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed lace and mothballs, was a collection of letters. Each one meticulously penned in a flowing script, addressed to a woman named Eliza. Sarah felt a prickle of unease.

“Hello?” she called, her voice thin in the echoing space. No response, just the insistent thump of her pulse and a feeling of being hemmed in.