Gemotions

The old house felt colder than usual, the draft whistling through the cracks around the windows. Mr. Peterson, his hands clammy, sat hunched over the ancient roll-top desk in his study. A framed photograph sat before him, a gift from a former student, Sarah Jenkins, from his first year of teaching, thirty years ago. He felt a deep sense of unease.

The photograph was of Sarah, smiling, standing in front of the school. He felt a prickling at the back of his neck. This morning, a box of chocolates had arrived, with no message beyond her name. Sarah had been a bright student, but quiet, almost spectral.

He rubbed his temples, a headache beginning to bloom. He looked at the photograph again. He was tired.