Gemotions

The attic door creaked open, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Sarah felt a prickling at the back of her neck. She’d been up here before, but something about today felt different. The air hung thick and stale, heavy with the scent of forgotten things.

She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. A child’s rocking horse sat in the corner, its painted eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Sarah took a step back, her hand automatically reaching up to touch the wall for support.

An old trunk, its leather cracked and peeling, sat prominently in the center of the room. She felt a magnetic pull towards it, despite the growing sense of unease. Her fingers trembled as she lifted the heavy lid. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed fabrics, lay a collection of tarnished silver lockets.