Gemotions

He stared at the dented tin, unearthed from beneath the oak tree. The label, yellowed with age, read, “To the Future.” Michael's stomach churned. He hadn't a clue when he'd hidden this. He felt a cold dread creeping into his bones.

He picked at the rusty latch, his fingers clumsy with a strange unease. Inside, a cassette tape, a handwritten note, and a small, tarnished silver locket. He recognized nothing. His pulse quickened. He hated not knowing.

The words of the note swam before his eyes. He squeezed them shut for a moment. He glanced around his yard, then back at the box. He took a few shuffling steps toward his back door, as if trying to find his way out.