Gemotions

The attic door creaked open, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Amelia clutched the flashlight tighter, her knuckles white. A strange scent, like old paper and something else, something she couldn't quite place, filled the space. She took a hesitant step inside, the wood of the floorboards groaning under her weight.

A cobweb brushed against her face, and she flinched, batting it away with a sharp movement. In the dim light, she saw them: boxes, stacked haphazardly. Each one seemed to press against her with the weight of unseen histories. She wondered what she would find.

She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat. She should just turn around and leave, call her husband, maybe. But the curiosity, the morbid fascination, pulled her forward like a tether.