Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Amelia's throat as she hauled herself up the pull-down stairs. She'd just closed on the house, and the previous owners, the Stillsons, had left a chaotic mess behind. Boxes overflowing with knick-knacks and old clothes. She sneezed, the sound echoing in the confined space.

A glint of metal caught her eye. Hidden beneath a pile of moth-eaten blankets was a tarnished silver picture frame. Inside, a faded photograph depicted the Stillsons, smiling smugly, standing in what was now her garden.

Amelia clutched the frame, her knuckles white. She wasn’t sure why, but the photograph filled her with a simmering anger. She would find a use for it. A very specific use.

She would be sure to place the frame where it would be most easily seen.