Gemotions

The attic door creaked open, releasing a gust of stale, warm air that ruffled Sarah’s hair. Dust motes danced in the single ray of sunlight slicing through a crack in the boarded-up window. She’d been avoiding this room for weeks, the thought of it settling in her stomach like a cold stone. Now, she held her breath, flashlight beam trembling slightly as she ventured inside.

A child’s rocking horse, chipped and faded, sat in the center of the space. Her pulse quickened. She shouldn’t be feeling like this. It was just an old house; this was probably normal. The air felt heavy, like it was pressing in on her, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t come alone.

She stepped gingerly around the horse, her flashlight beam sweeping across the clutter: moth-eaten blankets, stacks of yellowed newspapers, and something glinting faintly in a darkened corner. Curiosity battled with a reluctance she couldn’t quite explain. Her breath caught in her throat as she approached the object, a tarnished silver locket.