Gemotions

“Just a few boxes,” she’d told herself. “Nothing to worry about.” Now, standing in the dusty attic, she found her voice caught in her throat.

She found a set of old vinyl records, their covers worn and faded. As she pulled one out, the air around her felt heavier, as if an invisible pressure were bearing down. The record's label was smeared with something dark and sticky.

She touched it with a tentative finger, then recoiled. Her breath grew shallow. She tried to turn and leave, but her legs felt leaden, rooted to the spot.