Gemotions

The antique music box sat on her desk, nestled amongst a pile of grading papers. It was ornate, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and playing a tinkling, off-key rendition of "Für Elise." Sarah recognized the handwriting on the accompanying card: Michael, a student she'd had ten years ago. He'd been…difficult. Prone to outbursts, disruptive in class. She felt a cold dread creep up her spine.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the card. "Thank you for the inspiration, Mrs. Peterson. I finally found a way to express myself." Beneath the saccharine message, a faint scent of something metallic lingered. A chill went down her spine, and she pulled away from the desk.

The music box continued its cheerful, yet utterly wrong, melody. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw it across the room. She wanted to run. Instead, she stared at it, frozen, the room starting to spin.