Gemotions

From the moment I pushed open the hatch, a strange feeling washed over me. The attic felt wrong, out of place. The Johnsons, the family who'd lived here before, hadn't been known for their clutter. This was a treasure trove of cast-offs.

I found a child's rocking horse, its paint chipped and faded. As I touched it, a wave of nausea rolled over me. I turned to leave, and my foot bumped against something hidden beneath a dusty sheet. It was a framed portrait, the face of a stern-looking man staring out at me. A tremor ran through me; I didn't want to linger.