Gemotions

The old trunk sat in the storage room of the antique shop. It was empty. All the price tags he had put on it had vanished. He felt a nagging sense of unease. He knew he'd put *something* inside.

He began searching. A drawer, a shelf, the backroom. There were no clues. He started to sweat, his palms damp. He didn’t want to be alone.

Then, he heard a sound. A faint scratching coming from inside the trunk. He slammed it open, heart racing. Empty. But on the inner lid, there was a single word, scrawled in what looked like his own handwriting: “Run.” He froze, his gaze darting around the room, the feeling of being pursued almost overwhelming.