Gemotions

The attic door seemed to exhale a sigh as she pushed it open. She didn't want to go up there, not today. But she had to. The realtor had been very clear: everything left behind was hers to dispose of. Her footsteps were hesitant as she began to climb the steep, narrow stairs.

The air felt dead and the only light came from the single, dust-covered window. There was a faint, metallic tang in the air that she couldn’t place. She spotted a collection of old toys, scattered across the floor.

A music box sat on a shelf, its painted ballerina frozen in mid-twirl. She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly, and gave the winding key a turn. The melody that filled the space was eerily beautiful, and completely unfamiliar. She stepped back, suddenly feeling trapped.