Gemotions

The chipped porcelain cat on the shelf seemed to leer at him. Arthur, normally a casual browser, felt a prickle of unease crawl up his spine. He reached for the teddy bear, a familiar, moth-eaten thing with one button eye missing. It was Barnaby. His Barnaby. He hadn’t seen it in over twenty years. A cold sweat beaded on his forehead. "How much for the bear?" he rasped, his voice sounding foreign even to his own ears.

The woman running the yard sale, a woman with a kind face and a floral apron, smiled and said, "Oh, just a couple of bucks. He's been sitting there for ages." Arthur fumbled in his pocket, his fingers clumsy on the bills. He wanted to flee, to run from this place, but something held him rooted to the spot.

He clutched Barnaby to his chest, the musty scent of the bear filling his nostrils. The scent was a portal, dragging him back to a past he’d carefully locked away. Why was it here? How had it ended up here? He needed to get away, to understand.