Gemotions

He glared at the collection of cheap trinkets, the sad-looking mismatched plates, the chipped garden gnome. A festering pile of other people’s castoffs. He’d only come along to humor his wife. Then, wedged between a tarnished gravy boat and a broken radio, he saw it. The bear. He knew that stitched button-eye stare instantly.

"How much?" he asked, his voice tight. The elderly man running the sale squinted, his face crinkling like a dried apple.

“Five bucks. Good bear, that one.”

He almost choked. Five *dollars* for that… *thing*? He dug the money out of his pocket, the bills feeling heavy, almost burdensome. He snatched the bear, ignoring the old man’s attempts at conversation, and stalked away. He couldn't shake the unwelcome shiver that ran down his spine. The bear’s presence felt… wrong.