Gemotions

The antique music box sat on Mrs. Gable's desk, a gleaming, intricate thing, completely out of place amongst the scattered papers and half-eaten apple. It had arrived that morning, hand-delivered with a note: "For the best English teacher. Ever." No name. Her brow furrowed as she picked it up, the cold, smooth wood strangely unsettling in her grasp. Why? Who? She hadn't seen any of her students, not even the graduating class, in almost a decade.

She carefully opened the lid. A tinkling melody, thin and fragile, filled the otherwise silent classroom. *Fur Elise* – a song she’d played for her students while they wrote poetry, ages ago. A wave of unease washed over her, a prickling sensation at the back of her neck. Was this a prank? A forgotten memory surfacing?

She spun around, scanning the empty rows of desks. The sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The silence felt suffocating.