Gemotions

"Another one?" Mr. Henderson muttered, staring at the gift basket on his doorstep. He glanced up and down the street, expecting someone to be there. But no one. He'd received several lately, anonymous, from former students. This one, overflowing with imported cheeses and fruit, seemed particularly lavish. He felt a growing sense of dread.

The last gift had been a leather-bound journal. The one before, a framed portrait of his house. The gifts started after a student's suicide a few months prior.

He felt a sudden need to check the locks on his doors and windows. He carried the basket inside, his steps cautious. He set it on the kitchen table and stood there, staring at it, the silence of his home amplifying the unsettling feeling that had taken root within him.