Gemotions

The moving boxes seemed to jeer at Amelia. Cardboard monuments to a life she’d swiftly and decisively walked away from. Each time she glanced at the overflowing stacks, a knot tightened in her stomach. The new house, a sprawling Victorian with too many gables and a decidedly unsettling silence, felt more like a tomb than a fresh start. Today, while attempting to organize the linen closet, her fingers brushed against something solid behind the back panel. A firm push revealed a hidden door, previously masked by a clever use of wallpaper.

She hesitated, a tremor running through her. Should she? Or should she just get on with the mundane tasks? Her reflection in a nearby mirror showed a face etched with weariness. With a sigh, Amelia pulled the door open. Dust motes danced in the lone shaft of sunlight that breached the darkness. Inside, a small room, filled with forgotten trinkets and antique furniture, waited.

A heavy, ornate music box sat on a small table. Amelia carefully wound it up. A tinny melody filled the space, and for a fleeting moment, a sense of quiet curiosity overtook her.