Everyone Thinks My Gran And Gram Died Of ‘Old Age’ But I Think Something Much Darker Was The Cause

I kept my hands in the purse and held the sides of the snow globe until the snow inside the glass sifted to the bottom and I saw a fresh, new scene. This one was of me, all tucked up in my jacket, lying by the side of the road. Standing over my body were the figures of my mom and step dad, looking down at me with their hands in their pockets, just off to their side was the sedan we were riding in, a little smoke puffing out the tailpipe.

Without me shaking the snow globe, the snow inside whirled around, clouded the scene and then drifted back to the bottom to show a new scene. This new portrait was of my mom and step-dad getting back in the car, leaving me, freezing, by the side of the road.

The snow whirled around the glass again without my held. Settled. Painted a new scene. This one of a cop car pulling up in front of the car and my mom and step-dad running out of the car like they actually trying to save a life instead of driving away from it to let it freeze to death.

The snow globe stuck on the scene and I impatiently gave it a shake to push it to another scene.

It didn’t disappoint, within a few seconds, I was looking at a dark scene on the edge of a steep cliff over a river. Standing on the edge of the cliff was my mom and step-dad, helping each other carry something large wrapped up in a black trash bag.

I shook the globe again but it wouldn’t give me anything new. I shook it again and it went back to the original scene of Gram and Gran by the fire. I shook it again and again and again and it wouldn’t budge it was as if it suddenly lost its magic.

I never got the snow globe to show me anything else the rest of the ride. I eventually just sat back, went to my phone and tried to shut it all out. Maybe that was the last of the cabin fever getting squeezed out of my brain?

Or maybe it wasn’t? I don’t know, but I keep my bases covered. I still keep Gram and Gran’s snow globe tucked in the nightstand next to my bed so I can shake it each and every night to see if it ever decides to show me something else I might need to know. Thought Catalog Logo Mark


About the author

Jack Follman

Jack has written professionally as a journalist, fiction writer, and ghost writer. For more information, visit his website.

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