Gemotions

Mr. Abernathy, his skin prickling, wiped the sweat from his brow. The gift, a crudely carved wooden bird, rested on his front porch. It was from Esme, a student whose intensity had always made him uneasy. Her letters, always signed with a single, unsettling drawing of a raven, had stopped arriving years ago.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, his stomach churning. He backed away from the door, feeling exposed. The setting sun cast long, skeletal shadows across the lawn, making the bird appear to shift and change. Each gust of wind sounded like whispered secrets, each shadow seemed to move.

Abernathy peeked through the peephole. Nothing. He wanted to run, to vanish, to pretend he’d never seen the bird. But he couldn't. He had to know. He slowly opened the door, bracing himself for an unknown threat.