The Snow Globe
Della McKay was something of a packrat; she loved to shop for and to collect things. At first, her keepsakes consisted only of the cherished Hummel figurines she inherited from her mother; but after the death of her husband, the widow began to accumulate plates, porcelain dolls, thimbles, lighthouses and many other collectibles. Her only son, Hayden, who headed a successful accounting firm in New Jersey, feared she might be suffering from obsessive-compulsive disorder since she was an obsessive collector and a compulsive shopper. But then, being an only child, he tended to worry about his mother a bit too much.
"What are you going to do with all this stuff?" he asked with exasperation when he saw that the size of her collection had almost doubled since his previous visit.
"I'm not going to do anything at all with it. Not everything has to serve a practical purpose."
"Most of these things haven't even been taken out of the boxes yet," he complained as he tore open a cardboard box containing a large snow globe.
"Hayden!" his mother screamed, grabbing the box from his hands. "These collectibles are an investment. Over time, they go up in value, and having the original packaging intact increases their resale price."
Hayden looked guiltily at the torn box and apologized.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't know."
"That's all right, but for heaven's sake, please don't touch anything else."
"Speaking of investments," he said as he and his mother headed toward the kitchen to eat lunch, "how's your money holding out?"
"You know your father left me a large sum when he died."
"Yes, but you also spend quite a bit of money. Heating fuel is going up as is just about everything else, including your taxes."
"I manage to get by, thank you," she explained with little concern. "Would you like some macaroni salad with your sandwich?"
"No, thanks," he replied, anxious to get to the point of his discussion. "Look, Mom, what I'm trying to say is—well—maybe this place is too big for you. You know Aida and I have two extra bedrooms now that the kids are both in college, and you're more than welcome to come live with us."
"That's sweet of you, dear, but this is my home."
"I realize that, but you have to face facts: you're getting up there in years. You need someone to take care of things for you."
"Why? I've taken care of myself for over seven years now."
"But ...."
"I'm not leaving Connecticut to go live in New Jersey. Now, I'm still your mother, Mr. Fancy Pants Accountant, and I'm telling you to drop the matter."
Hayden chuckled.
"Okay, Mom. Don't get your Irish temper up. Just remember that if you need anything, I'm only a phone call away."
* * *
Della sighed with relief when her son's car backed out of the driveway the following morning. She loved Hayden dearly, but there were times when he got on her nerves, even though his intentions were the best. Once a month he traveled from New Jersey to New England to check on her and try to persuade her to sell her house and move in with him and his wife. Despite her husband's death, she had no desire to sell the house she had lived in for more than forty years, and she was not about to get rid of all the treasures she had collected and move into a guest bedroom. The idea of such drastic downsizing made her cringe.
After straightening up the house, Della went to the living room to watch the Home Shopping Network. As she sat on her wing chair with her cordless phone and credit card on the end table beside her, she saw the snow globe with the torn box lying on the coffee table.
"That boy never could keep his hands off of things," she complained affectionately.
Then she picked up the box, tore the rest of it open and removed the snow globe from its Styrofoam packaging.
"It's so beautiful! I suppose it is a shame to keep it hidden away."
The base, made of white plaster dusted with glitter and trimmed in gold, housed a music box that played "Silent Night." The globe itself was eight inches in diameter, which was large for a snow globe. Inside, submerged in water like a house in a goldfish bowl, was a miniature Victorian mansion, elaborately trimmed with gingerbread from which hung tiny artificial icicles. It was the house that most intrigued Della. The light shining from the windows created a feeling of warmth and security, much like her own home on a cold New England winter night.
Gently, she turned the globe upside down and then righted it. Tiny, white, shimmering flakes fell down around the house, swirling in the water as air bubbles rose to the top of the globe. The artificial snow, coupled with the music box tune, had a calming, almost hypnotic, effect on the elderly woman. It was only when the Swiss movements wound down, "Silent Night" came to an end and the lights went out in the Victorian mansion that she realized she had missed the first item up for sale on HSN's Royal Doulton collectible hour.
* * *
Although Christmas was several months away, Della decided to leave the snow globe on the coffee table so that she could enjoy it while watching television. Frequently, during commercial breaks, she would pick it up and turn the key two or three revolutions. While "Silent Night" echoed through her living room, Della would stare at the miniaturized Victorian mansion.
"I've never seen such detail in a snow globe," she noted, adjusting her eyeglasses to get a better look.
A flicker in the light of one of the upstairs windows caught her attention. For a moment, it appeared as though someone or something had crossed in front of the window, blocking the light and creating a shadow.
"I really ought to make an appointment with the eye doctor," she said, putting the globe back down on the table. "I'm beginning to see things."
Four days later Della's eyes again played tricks on her. While she was listening to the music box and watching the snow falling down on the tiny Victorian mansion, she thought she saw a silhouette at the front door.
"These damned glasses!" she swore, looking out all three positions of her trifocals in an attempt to get a better view inside the globe.
Suddenly, Della remembered the magnifying glass in her sewing box; she had been doing counted cross-stitch embroidery a few months earlier and had difficulty reading the tiny symbols on the color chart. After retrieving the magnifying glass, she returned to the living room and picked up the snow globe. With her magnified view, she could clearly see that there was no silhouette—not that she had seriously expected to see one.
During the next commercial break, however, she once more wound the music box, turned the globe upside down and watched the imitation snowfall. The mysterious shadow at the front door of the mansion returned. Again, she reached for the magnifying glass to get a better look. This time she saw the clear silhouette of a person in the window.
* * *
For the next several days, Della closely studied the Victorian mansion underneath the magnifying glass. The longer she looked through its tiny windows, the more details she was able to discern. She could clearly see the Victorian furniture in the rooms and even make out the patterns on the wallpaper. As far as the elderly widow was concerned, there was nothing particularly odd about the meticulous detail in the interior of the house. Neither did she think it was strange that once the music came to an end and the snow stopped falling, the lights in the house would go out and the windows would once again become yellow-painted plaster—opaque barriers obstructing her view of the wonderful scenes inside.
As the days passed, the old woman found herself sitting in the wing chair in her living room more often, listening to "Silent Night" and staring through the mansion windows, enthralled by the mesmerizing beauty of the miniature rooms.
"Hayden always jokes about my being obsessive-compulsive. I suppose he's right. I'm becoming obsessed with looking at this snow globe. I wonder what he'd have to say about that!" she laughed nervously. "I should look at the bright side: at least I haven't been watching the Home Shopping Network and spending my money."
Eventually, though, Della found it increasingly difficult to tear herself away from the hypnotic effect of the snow globe. Many times, she tried to put it down but was unable to because she did not want to miss catching a glimpse of the shadow (however brief) that could sometimes be seen through its windows.
* * *
The first time Della observed the front door of the miniature Victorian mansion open a crack, she thought she was hallucinating. When she saw the light from inside the hallway spill out onto the snow-covered lawn, however, she knew neither her eyes nor her mind had tricked her. The door stayed open for only a few moments and then it closed, but it had been open, of that she was sure.
"Where did you go?" Della asked when the silhouette disappeared shortly after the front door closed.
Then she laughed at her own foolishness. The mansion was only a plaster model, an intricately crafted one to be sure, but a model nonetheless. There was no one inside.
"But it seems so real sometimes."
The old woman yawned and looked at the clock on the fireplace mantel. It was almost midnight when she put the snow globe back on the coffee table and went upstairs to bed. She had no difficulty falling asleep, but her slumber was not a peaceful one. In her dreams, she found herself standing outside the front door of the snow globe's Victorian mansion, shivering in the cold. She knocked on the door and begged the shadow to let her inside, but the music was not playing, and the house was dark and lifeless.
"What if I sing?" she asked the house. "Will you open the door and let me inside then?"
At first, her voice was soft, a volume people used when singing in church; but as the chilly wind blew through her nightgown, Della became colder and more desperate and her voice grew louder. Soon she was shouting the words to "Silent Night," and the lyrics were mixed with sobs as she curled her numb fingers into a fist and pounded against the front door.
"Please let me come inside!" she screamed through chattering teeth.
Still, the house remained inanimate, its windows a cheerful opaque yellow that prevented her from seeing the rooms inside.
Della tossed and turned fitfully until she woke up with a start. Her heart was pounding, and she shivered in her sweat-dampened nightgown. She got her fleece robe from the closet and stepped into her warm, furry slippers. Then, the still-shaken woman plodded downstairs to make a cup of hot chocolate to soothe her rattled nerves.
Once in the kitchen, Della put a small saucepan on the stove to heat the milk, took her coffee mug out of the cabinet and poured a package of Swiss Miss cocoa mix into the cup. While waiting for the milk to heat, she tried not to think about the dream that had terrified her only minutes before. She made her cup of hot chocolate, and instead of sitting at the kitchen table or returning to the bedroom, she went into the living room. Perched on her wing chair, she placed the coffee mug on the end table and picked up the snow globe. Automatically, she wound the music box and turned the globe to make it snow.
"It's silly to have a nightmare about something so innocent."
With the globe cradled in her lap, Della took a sip of her cocoa and then reached for the magnifying glass. Once again, she saw the silhouette in the upstairs window of the mansion. This time, however, the shadow moved. The elderly widow watched, spellbound, as it made its way down the staircase to the front door. She caught her breath in anticipation as the door opened a crack.
The lights in the miniature house dimmed, and "Silent Night" slowed as the Swiss movements began to wind down.
"No," Della cried. "You can't stop now."
Without upsetting the globe, she carefully reached beneath the base and turned the key to the music box. As the tempo increased and the lights brightened, the tiny front door opened wider. The old woman held her breath in anticipation as she peered closely through the magnifying glass.
A sudden wave of dizziness swept over her, and she put the snow globe on the coffee table so that there was no danger of her dropping it. Although she tried to stand, her legs would not support her weight. She felt herself falling. Before she hit the floor, Della closed her eyes, silently praying she would not need medical assistance. It would, after all, be days before Hayden came for his regular visit. By that time, she might be dead.
When her falling body came to rest, however, Della found herself not on her living room floor but on cold, wet, snow-covered ground. Her eyes abruptly opened wide in shocked surprise. Towering before her—impossible though it seemed—was the Victorian mansion miniaturized in her snow globe. As in her dream, the widow was shivering from the cold, anxious to enter the house where it was safe and warm. Unlike her nightmare, however, the front door was wide open, beckoning her inside.
Before the door could close and shut her outside in the snow, Della ran up the front steps and into the house. No sooner did she enter the foyer than the door slammed shut behind her. Somewhere in the distance, she heard "Silent Night" come to an end as the Swiss movements slowly wound down.
* * *
When Hayden McKay pulled into his mother's driveway and got out of his car, he had a vague suspicion that something was not right. His mother had always anticipated his visit and usually met him at the door. That morning, however, the front door was shut and the drapes in the living room window were closed. Hayden dug into his pocket and found the key to his mother's house, and with a trembling hand, he unlocked the door and went inside.
When he saw the pile of mail lying beneath the mail slot on the foyer floor, his heart lurched.
"Mom?" he called out into the silent house. "Mom? Are you all right?"
There was no reply.
Hayden raced up the stairs and ran into his mother's bedroom, fearing the worst. His mother was not there. Her bed was unmade, and even though it was almost noon, the lamp was turned on.
"Mom? Where are you? Can you hear me?"
He frantically ran from room to room, calling out to his mother, but there was no one there.
In the living room, he saw the unfinished cup of hot chocolate on the end table. Apparently, his mother had gotten out of bed and come downstairs for some hot cocoa, as was her custom when she was unable to sleep. But what had happened to her then? All the doors and windows were locked; there was no sign of a break-in. Fearful for her safety, he phoned the police and sat in the wing chair to await their arrival.
Tears came to Hayden's eyes as he stared at the half-empty coffee mug.
Where are you? he wondered, fearing he would never see his mother alive again.
Poor Hayden could not possibly know that his mother had never left her living room, that she was at that moment less than three feet away from him, imprisoned inside a miniature Victorian mansion surrounded by water and glittering plastic snowflakes. Even if his eyes had strayed from the coffee mug to the snow globe, he would have seen only the opaque yellow plaster windows of the miniature mansion. Given his logical, unimaginative accountant's mind, Hayden McKay would never have picked up the magnifying glass and observed the shadowy silhouette of an elderly woman desperately trying to free herself from imprisonment inside the snow globe.
The picture in the upper left corner is of a Thomas Kinkade snow globe (available from Ardleigh Elliott).
It might be nice to transport my saltbox inside a snow globe—just as long as Salem remains outside!
