The Tappner Inn

The haunting melody of Carol of the Bells drifted softly through the car, its eerie notes mingling with the muffled whispers of the storm. Outside, snow fell relentlessly, swallowing the road in an endless white abyss. It was impossible to tell where the pavement ended and the wilderness began—our only compass, the skeletal outline of trees that seemed to hover like ghosts in the distance. 

My knuckles ached, bone-white against the wheel, my grip unyielding as if sheer force could keep us tethered to the treacherous ground. The tires skidded slightly, and my heart lurched—an icy claw gripping my chest. Every crunch beneath us sounded like a threat, every gust of wind screamed like a living thing, as if the storm itself sought to claim us. We had to keep going.

Moments later the warm glow of the Tappner Inn's lights appeared through the swirling snow, a soft beacon of comfort that seemed to dissolve the tension in my muscles. As I turned into the drive, a deep, relieved sigh escaped me—an almost sacred release, as if the calm itself were a tangible force reclaiming my body.

“Maybe I should drive next time,” Cameron joked, his laugh tight and forced, trying to lighten the mood. I could hear the strain beneath the humor, the same way I felt it in my bones.

“At least I got us here in one piece,” I shot back, finally easing the car into park. The sight of my sister’s headlights appearing behind us added a final touch of relief—like we were no longer alone in the storm.

“Looks like CeCe and Aiden made it too,” Cameron remarked, his voice softer now, as he noticed their car pulling in. It was a small comfort, but one that felt big enough to settle my nerves.

We trudged through the thickening snow, each step a battle against the wet, treacherous ground, making our way to the welcoming doors of the Inn. The cold seeped through my boots as the snow betrayed me, my feet sliding with almost every movement. I could hear my sister’s laughter ringing out behind me, her amusement at my struggle sharp and mischievous. But the tables turned quickly when she, too, found herself slipping and sliding in the soft, unrelenting snow.

Finally, with a triumphant sigh, I reached the porch steps, the railings festooned with garlands and crimson bows. Just as I neared the top, the front door—adorned with a charming wreath—creaked open with a slow, deliberate welcome.

An elderly woman appeared, her warm smile as inviting as the crackling fire that surely awaited inside. She beamed at us, her eyes twinkling with kindness.

“Welcome! Welcome!” Her voice, soft and nurturing, washed over me. “Let me take those for you.” She reached for the bag in my left hand, her touch surprisingly gentle. “You must be the Maroni family. I hope the drive wasn’t too terrible?”

Before I could respond, she was already turning, leading us inside. The entryway stretched wide before us, a grand Christmas tree standing proudly at its center. Its ornaments—gold, silver, and deep crimson—glistened in the soft glow of the lights, catching the eye with every subtle movement. To the right, a spacious parlor beckoned, the steady flicker of the wood-burning fireplace casting a warm, comforting light. To the left, reception—a modern cutout in the wall—blended seamlessly with the cozy elegance of the Inn’s interior.

“We have you on the second floor, just across the hall from one another,” the woman’s voice floated through the air, blending seamlessly with the soft hum of holiday music. “Rooms 14 and 15, up the stairs and to the right. My name is Grace—just call if you need anything,” she added warmly, handing me two brass keys, their edges worn with time.

We thanked her quickly and made our way past the towering Christmas tree once more, its golden lights casting a soft glow over the grand staircase just to the right. The banister gleamed, wrapped in garland and ribbons, leading us upward to the rooms waiting above.

“Let’s settle in for a few minutes and meet down in the parlor?” CeCe suggested, pausing at her door with a faint smile.

“Sounds like a plan,” I replied, slipping into my own room.

The space greeted me with a cozy charm, a blend of colonial elegance and modern touches. To my surprise, there was no TV or phone, just a bookshelf lining one wall, filled with board games and battered paperbacks—airplane throwaways, mostly. The bed, plush and inviting, sat near large windows that let the soft afternoon light spill across the room. I pulled out my phone, noting the connected Wi-Fi but barely a single bar of service. A quick sigh escaped me before I sank into the chair, letting the stillness settle around me.

An hour passed before Cameron and I made our way back down to the parlor. CeCe and Aiden were already waiting, drinks in hand, their laughter mingling with the faint crackle of the fire.

“This place is so charming,” CeCe declared, pressing a drink into my hand as soon as I arrived. I took the plush armchair closest to the fireplace, letting its warmth wash over me like a long-forgotten comfort.

As I sipped from my glass, my gaze wandered to the mantle, where an array of snow globes was displayed like tiny frozen worlds. The craftsmanship was stunning—each one a miniature winter landscape, preserved in exquisite detail. Drawn by their beauty, I stood and stepped closer, leaning in to admire them. Slowly, I reached out to pick one up, enchanted by the way the light danced on the glass.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Aiden's voice broke the spell, sharp and teasing, making me pull my hand back as if caught doing something wrong.

“And why not?” I shot back, though I couldn’t ignore the way my fingers trembled slightly. Out of all of us, I was the clumsiest, and Aiden knew it.

“You haven’t heard the legend?” he asked, a grin curling across his face.

“No, but I bet you’re about to enlighten us,” Cameron said, leaning back in his chair, clearly entertained.

Aiden straightened, his voice dropping to a tone meant to hold us captive. “My nana used to tell us about it every winter.”

“Well?” CeCe prompted, leaning forward. “Go on, then. Let’s hear it.”

“Long ago, in a village hidden beneath the icy peaks, there was a snow globe unlike any other. Crafted by a unusual old woman, its crystal-clear glass encased a perfect winter scene: pine trees dusted with snow, a frozen lake, and tiny house with lights that flickered as if the fire inside was still burning in the hearth, forever captured in time.” Aiden began, his voice a low whisper that sent a chill through the room, adding an unsettling weight to his words.

“The legend told of its power to grant a single wish to anyone who dared shake it. But the price of that wish was steep, for the globe’s magic was not freely given. The person who shook it would receive their heart's deepest desire, but in exchange, they would lose something dear—something they could never recover. It could be a memory, a loved one, or even their own peace of mind. Many had tried, their wishes granted with a bittersweet finality. Some wished for wealth, others for love or success. All received what they sought, but all paid the price. The globe’s otherworldly snowstorm would swirl and settle, leaving only an empty silence in its wake. Now, the snow globe sits in a forgotten corner of the village, its frosted surface waiting for the next heedless soul to come seeking its promise. But beware, for the price is never what you expect, and once the wish is made, there’s no turning back.”

Silence hung in the air between us as the story came to an end. A chill crept up my spine, sharp and sudden. I told myself it was just a joke, that Aiden's eerie delivery was nothing more than theatrics. And yet, something about the way he told it lingered, curling around me like the cold draft sneaking in from the windows.

“Enough of that,” CeCe said, breaking the silence with a pointed tone. “You’ll ruin the charm of this place with your creepy stories. Honestly, I love it here. Everything is so warm and inviting.” She leaned back in her chair, letting out a contented sigh. “It almost makes me wish we never had to leave.”

“Be careful what you wish for, dear,” came Grace’s voice, soft and almost musical, but with an edge that sent my heart lurching.

I spun around, my breath catching in my throat. How long had she been standing there? The glow of the fire now illuminated her features in a way the entry hall hadn’t. Her smile—once warm and reassuring—seemed slightly askew, unnervingly out of place. Her eyes gleamed, catching the light like polished glass, and for a moment, I wondered if my unease was still Aiden's story playing tricks on me—or if it was something much worse.