Gemotions

I found it on my front porch this morning, a wooden box, stained dark with age. The name “Ethan” was carved into the lid. Ethan Carter. I hadn't seen him in years, a troubled kid who was often in detention. I felt a chill despite the summer heat.

I hesitated before opening it, a sense of foreboding settling in my gut. I lifted the lid. Inside, was a collection of perfectly sharpened pencils, all the same brand I used in class.

I closed the box, the wood rough against my fingers. I spent the rest of the day looking over my shoulder, a feeling of unease clinging to me. Who was watching?