Gemotions

The box landed on her porch with a satisfying thud. "Mr. Archibald Finch," the label stated. Archibald Finch had been a recluse, a collector of arcane oddities and moth-eaten maps. She’d always found his stories, as he told them to her over the fence, utterly ridiculous.

She ripped open the packaging. A collection of intricately carved wooden spoons, each one depicting a different mythological creature. She inspected them closely, running her fingers over the smooth wood.

A small smile played on her lips. She would never use them, of course. But they would look wonderful on the kitchen wall.