Bleeding Snow Globe

            When I opened my door to head to class, I noticed a small black box with a sparkling black ribbon on my doorstep. I certainly wasn’t expecting a package. No one ever sent me anything. I looked both ways down the dark, empty hallways of my apartment complex. Perhaps the box was meant for someone else. I crouched down and delicately lifted it. Black glitter sprinkled across my hands. There was a tag in the shape of a spider that blended in with the black of the box. I flipped it over and read my name. To Darcy, with love. It didn’t say who it was from, and I didn’t know of anyone else with my name that lived here.

         There was a weight to the box. This wasn’t a pair of socks. What was it? My fingers tugged one end of the ribbon and pulled to unravel it. Then I cautiously opened the box. Inside, a snow globe sat cloaked in protective satin. Inside the snow globe, a gingerbread house surrounded by decorated Christmas trees. I carefully lifted it from the box and twisted the music key at the bottom. An eerie sound, something that could be a horror movie theme song, played. The haunting quality made me shiver. I shook the globe and instead of the usual sparkling snow, a blood red liquid poured over the happy scene. I almost dropped the globe. Who would send me such a thing? I froze staring at the bloody trees and gingerbread.

         Perhaps someone who knew how much I hated Christmas. A small smile spread across my lips as I thought of Ivan. Last week, I shared a poem with our class on how dreary and dreadful I found the holiday to be. If he listened, did that mean…I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. I displayed the gift proudly on my living room coffee table, tucked the box into a drawer with care, and headed out the door once more.

         Black birds perched on the twisted bare branches of trees looked beautiful against the dark gray sky. I wished I had a camera for moments like this. Nature looked it’s most stunning this time of year, and that kept me from disliking winter. I couldn’t focus on the sights when my mind kept travelling to memories of Ivan. A boy I’d never talked to but adored more than anything anyway.

         When I walked into class, Ivan was already there. He wore a black hooded sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head. His dark hair hung over his eyes, and I always wondered how he could see anything or what color his eyes even were. He leaned back in his chair balancing it on only two legs and chewed a pen. Watching his hands drumming on the table, I noticed what looked like black glitter. My heart nearly burst.

         Taking a deep breath, I sat in the chair next to him. “Hi.”

         He didn’t say anything at first but reached a hand back towards his ear and pulled out one of his earbuds. “What?”

         My cheeks flushed. “Uh, oh…hi.”

         “Hi?”

         “I noticed the black glitter on your hands…”

         “Huh?” He looked down at his hands. “Was it you?”

         “W-what do you mean?”

         “Did you leave me that creepy snow globe?”

         “I thought you left me one.” My heart raced. “You got…”

         “Why the fuck would I leave you one?”

         I suddenly felt unbearably warm. How could I save myself from this awkward trap? “I just thought it was a joke.” I laughed. “Because of my poem last week.”

         He laughed incredulously. “You thought I’d buy you a snow globe for some stupid poem? I don’t even remember. Probably didn’t even listen to it. But even if I did, it’s not like I’ve ever even talked to you or anything.”

         “You said you liked it,” I whispered.

         “Of course. I say that to everyone.” He shrugged. “You must really think a lot of yourself.”

         My eyes stung and I prayed the tears would not fall. Not now. That’d be even worse. Sasha’s eyes met mine from across the table.

         “I remember that poem, Darcy. I loved it. I really appreciated your take on Christmas.”

         I knew it was a lie. Sasha wore a Christmas sweatshirt that said: Most wonderful time of the year! Little sparkling Santa heads dangled from her earlobes. Sasha loved Christmas and looked disgusted with my poem when I read it. Still, I appreciated her rescue. It was enough to fight back the tears.

         “Well, it’s weird we both got one,” I muttered.

         “Yeah, or you’re just lying to cover up being a psycho stalker,” Ivan said.

         Sasha shook her head and mouthed, “He’s such a dick,” across the table.

         Although I knew she was right, it still stung. I desperately needed to get out of that classroom. Collecting my things in my hands, I muttered, “I’m not feeling well,” to no one in particular.

         Ivan snickered.

         The way he acted didn’t make sense. If he also got one, why wouldn’t he want to talk about it more? Could he be acting weird to cover up getting caught? That didn’t quite make sense either. All I knew for sure was my adoration of him died. 

Wind slapped my cheeks as I ran home. Flakes of light snow swirled through the air trapping me inside my own globe. I stopped a moment to watch a vulture tear through a red stringy part of some roadkill. A too-fast car chased the vulture away, and I imagined how annoying that must be to have your meal so often interrupted. I wanted to shovel the dead animal off the road so the vulture could chew at his own pace. Walking around with a shovel might be a good idea for protection too. Then again, people would find it weird and being as invisible as possible seemed safer. 

The holidays always made me miserable, because they were so fake. People acting like kindness and time together is all they want, but it’s a show. The smile for a family postcard and then all but slice each other’s throats behind closed doors. This holiday was shaping up to be no different. Meanness and hurt all around while lights sparkled and jolly music played. 

When I got to my door, I found another black box. After looking around, I picked it up. This time I tore into it with less care. Inside this box was a maze. On the lid I found a note. Will you find me? 

“Do you want to be found?” I asked the air. “Who are you?” 

I sat on my couch and puzzled over the whole thing for hours. Who was this? Did I want to know? Did I know them? Would I find them if given a clue? Were these gifts already clues? Why include that awful jerk, Ivan? 

The next box didn’t come for six days. I spent each day anxious, eager, and scared. The answers to my questions never became clearer. The next box held another clue. There was a metal model train piece. The next box, a day later, had a ghost on a gravestone. After that, another maze, but this time with Christmas trees outlining the way. Then came a small black envelope with a small black card. The card had a time and date. What did it all mean? 

I pulled up a map and searched for train stations on a hunch. I found one and followed the route. I noticed it passed a graveyard. Could that be what the ghost and grave meant? The location seemed reasonably close, so I decided to give it a try. 

Since I didn’t have a car, I took the train to that spot. Well, near it. I had to walk some of the way. The night air nipped at my nose. Everything sounded too quiet. Walking into a graveyard didn’t feel right. Something about them always weighed heavily on my soul. Perhaps a resistance to the day I’d find myself living there. 

I stood at the gates of the graveyard wondering what to do, when I noticed lights. A small tree was wrapped in red lights. Cautiously, I crept to the tree. My ears were perked for any rustling of leaves or snapping of twigs. Nothing. When I stood at the tree, I saw another tree leading me into the woods. The maze of trees. I followed from tree to tree. At the sixth tree, I heard a twig snap behind me. I whirled around, with my fists up to defend myself. In the red glow, I saw a familiar face. Ivan’s face. 

“What’re you doing here?” I groaned. 

“So we both decided to be idiots and follow this.” 

“Can you just leave?” 

“What’s up with you?” 

“Are you kidding me?” 

“Oh, is this about that poem?” 

“No, it was never about the poem! Ugh! I know I suck at poems. I didn’t think it was any good.” 

“I thought it was good.” 

He was infuriating. 

“It’s probably better if we go together. This could be bad,” he said. 

“Well, I almost hope it is, so I can leave you with the bad guy and run off.” 

“Whoa. What’s your problem?” 

“You’re a jerk,” I muttered. 

“I thought you liked me,” he teased. 

“Don’t know what gave you that idea?” 

“I thought that one poem a while back was about me.” 

My body locked in panic mode. I couldn’t move. That poem was about him. I wanted to walk back to the cemetery, dig myself a little grave, and hide forever.  “What do you think will happen next?” 

“I dunno.” He lit a cigarette. The smell gave me a headache. 

We silently continued wandering from tree to tree until we saw a house. A glowing red gingerbread house to be exact. Ivan and I glanced at each other, or at least I thought we did. It’s hard to tell with all that hair blocking his eyes. He could have been looking anywhere. 

In front of the house, a candy cane striped pole stood with Santa’s dead head stabbed on top. 

“Charming,” Ivan mumbled. He tossed his cigarette on the ground and I hurried over to stomp it out. Apparently, Ivan didn’t know the dangers of forest fires. 

Haunting music played from inside the house. The same music that played from the snow globe. A nauseating smell of black licorice filled the air. In an instinctive type manner, my hand clamped onto Ivan’s arm. I wanted to pry it off, but I couldn’t. Dread filled the pit of my stomach like a heavy sack of coal.  

Ivan turned to me. “You scared?” 

“Aren’t you?” 

He nodded and stepped towards me. My mind didn’t believe Ivan would save me, but my body seemed to. 

“Ah! My dinner guests have arrived.” The voice reminded me of how a talking snake might sound. There was a hiss to it. I couldn’t see where it came from. It boomed at us like through speakers of some sort. 

“Dinner, huh?” Ivan sounded calm. Clearly he was the psycho, so I felt even more insulted that he called me one. 

“I already ate. Didn’t realize this…” I started to say, but then stopped myself. This whole thing was bizarre, and I shouldn’t go along with it in any capacity. 

“Come in. Come in. The fire’s roaring and the soup is cooking.” 

I felt Ivan trembling, and I didn’t know if that made me feel better or worse. The door swung open right before we reached it, and we stepped in. It’s hard to describe what waited for us. If someone took a holiday elf with the pointy hat and curled up shoes, and dipped him in a vat of slick, black oil, that might make the creature before us. It looked like an elf‘s shadow came to life. 

“I’m just a helper. The one you’ve come to see will arrive shortly,” the oily creature said. 

“Who’s that? Krampus?” Ivan laughed a hollow laugh. 

“You’ve got your tales all twisted up,” the creature chuckled. 

We stood silently for a moment taking in the room. Then it hit me. We were in the woods, in a gingerbread house with a large oven. “A witch.” 

“Smart girl.” 

“Does that mean we’re dinner?” Ivan asked. I noticed he took a small step back, and firmly clasped his hand around mine. To protect me or throw me towards the witch so he had more time to run?

“Well, not tonight. You’re not nearly plump enough,” the creature said with what looked like a wink. 

“And he’d taste gross. Like cigarettes,” I said. I assumed it would be helpful, but I think Ivan glared at me instead. It’s hard to know for sure. 

A door opened, and a woman stepped out. She wore a sparkling black dress with a daring slit, plunging neckline, and a large bow around the waist. Her lips were blood red and her hair matched. What could she possibly want from us? 

“My friends! You did come.” 

“Are we friends?” Ivan asked. 

“We will be,” she smiled. 

“What do you want from us?” I asked. 

She laughed. “To celebrate with you. The joy of friendship.” 

I didn’t believe her and it didn’t look like he did either. 

“Then we can stir chaos all over town,” she cheered. 

She motioned us to the table. The creature put a plate of what looked like black lobsters with guts hanging out of them in the center. I swallowed vomit that ran up my throat. The witch glared at us. “Don’t tell me you’ve already eaten, friends.” 

Ivan pulled at my hand and stepped back. He looked ready to run. The door slammed behind trapping us in. 

“Felt a bit of a draft,” the witch said. 

“Please let us go,” I said, 

“Oh but you two love the holidays so much and I want to give you one you’ll never forget.” Her words dripped with irritated sarcasm. “Did you like my gifts?” 

“She did. You should hang with her,” Ivan said. 

“Oh, how noble,” the witch laughed. 

How noble, indeed. I rolled my eyes. 

“Relax you two. Everything is fine. I’m simply delighted to have a chance to share the day with like minded folk. I’m so tired of that fat, red suited man taking all the glory. Christmas is about more than just him.” 

“Whatever,” Ivan sighed. “I’m not eating that though.” 

“Of course.” 

The creature carried more plates to the table. Plates of roast beef, lasagna, pizza, spaghetti and meatballs, turkey, fried chicken, and salad all appeared in swift motions. I wondered if it was an illusion. It smelled delicious. It’s never a good idea to let a witch in a gingerbread house fatten you up though. Still, it seemed dangerous to walk away too, so we sat and ate. Slowly the tension released. The air was warm and smelled like popcorn and sugary cakes now. The creature had melted into a black puddle of goo on the floor. We talked and laughed. The witch proposed her plan to wreak havoc on the town. Only to people who deserved it. Only in dark, but harmless ways. The witch needed helpers after her trolls died. She sent out gifts recruiting, but the others must have decided not to show up. Her inky pet couldn’t stay solid outside of the house. 

“The numbers are smaller than I anticipated, but we’ll have fun.” 

“A holiday spent with a stranger and someone I hate. This isn’t much different than at home,” I joked. 

“We’ll have fun,” the witch said. 

While she prepared her broom sled, Ivan and I had a moment alone. 

“I’m not convinced she won’t eat us at the end of this,” I said. 

“We could run.” 

“From a witch?” 

“Maybe we can outsmart her.” 

Maybe we can. For now, I’ll give her a chance. We all deserve friends. Even witches. Except for Ivan. Sprinkle some cinnamon sugar on him, and I’m sure he’ll be a fit meal for a witch.