Gemotions

I hated attics. Always have. The air always felt heavy, the silence oppressive. This one was no exception.

This attic had a window with a view. He stared out, but there was nothing to see but branches and leaves and the endless grey sky. He picked up an old, leather-bound book. The cover was blank, save for a single, tarnished silver clasp.

He tried to open it, but the clasp was stuck. He pulled harder, the metal biting into his skin. His heart pounded in his chest, and he dropped the book.