Gemotions

He hated attics. The low ceilings, the smell of forgotten things, and the silence. The silence was the worst. He’d told the realtor he’d clear it out, but he’d kept putting it off. Now, though, the contractor was coming tomorrow. He had no choice. He pulled the string and the bare bulb cast a sickly yellow glow over the room.

His hands felt clammy as he began to move the boxes. Each one seemed heavier than it should be. The air was thick and close, making him feel a little out of breath. He found a trunk, its leather cracked and peeling. He hesitated.

He heard a floorboard creak. He spun around, heart hammering, but there was nothing. The shadows seemed to deepen, twisting into strange shapes in his peripheral vision. His gaze kept darting from one dark corner to another. He forced himself to lift the trunk’s heavy lid, peering inside.