Gemotions

"Just go, Sarah," Mark had told her, his voice tight. "Get it over with." Sarah hadn’t said anything, but she knew. She knew the way her heart hammered in her chest, the way her vision seemed to sharpen, making the world almost too vivid.

The scent of dry rot and damp earth assaulted her as she stepped inside. The floors creaked beneath her feet, a chorus of protest against her intrusion. The air hung still and heavy, the ghosts of laughter and whispered conversations clinging to every corner.

Her throat constricted. A photograph lay on the dusty mantelpiece, a picture of her as a young child. She picked it up, her fingers tracing her young face. A strange, almost unfamiliar feeling washed over her, and she suddenly couldn't breathe.