The Silent Gift

This is for Vocal's Tales of Hearth Challenge and Mikeydred's December prompt.

Sometimes, in our busyness, we may forget who we ought to remember. - Michelle Liew

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The blizzard pressed against Mavis, covering her in a snowy shroud. The wind howled with an eerie intensity as she made her way into the dim thrift store. Shelves moaned with the weight of forgotten collectibles, each covered by layers of dust. They fixed Mavis with awkward, almost angry stares.

Mavis brushed away the chill.

“Need a gift?” the shopkeeper gravelled, his face hidden beneath a shadowy hat. His thrift store was known for providing out-of-the-box gifts - those that couldn’t be found anywhere. Mavis had gone to the store in the hopes of getting that special present.

“Yup, for my mum.”

At the sound of her voice, he finally gazed at her, a hard, knowing glint in his eyes. Mavis shifted her feet uncomfortably but knew what she needed from the store.

His bony fingers gestured to a lone object on the shelves behind him- a snow globe. Its scene was dark, almost melancholic- a dark, snow-blanketed forest with a flickering lantern swaying amidst the swiriing flakes. They turned about in quick, unfathomable ways. Something about their odd movement captivated her.

“It’s lovely,” Mavis murmured, fully charmed by its swaying motion.

“It helps one remember,” the shopkeeper’s voice was soft. “Give it a shake when you think about her..if you think about her. It remembers you, if you forget.”

Mavis presented it to her sister, Joanne and tried to stifle a laugh. “Here’s something whimsy.”

Joanne shook it, and herself. She couldn’t help but giggle at the sound of her sister’s laughter, resounding as it cut through the air. “Mom will love that. She’ll have a good laugh when she comes over later.”

They continued to toss it about, caught up by the illuminating lights and the snow swirls, and how the globe would put their mother in stitches

But gradually, the globe’s motion twisted, becoming almost malevolent, with the snow swirling in all directions. It vibrated, emitting a loud hum, echoing the noise becoming louder in their heads. The inside of the globe was shadowy, but its lights flickered with a dim glow. Its tainted glass reflected a younger Mavis at her mother’s home, bearing a mountain of unopened gifts. A familiar voice echoed. “I want you. Not those gifts.”

Mavis and Joanne looked at each other with confused faces.

Then, a photograph of their mother on one of the shelves in the living room brought on a reverie. Joanne reached for it, and Joanne froze, the memories starting to flood.

The girls had been engrossed in their work and families - husbands and children. Then, the faintest memory of the cookies their mother used to bake.

Then, the voice called again, now clearer. “You forgot.”

Mavis’ mind whirled, racing through a collection of memories that she had shelved away. She was her younger self, sitting in the living room of the family home about a decade earlier. Then, she heard a resounding crash. And saw thick, billowing smoke.

She remembered her mother’s car. Or at least, parts of it, including the royal blue door and bonnet scattered on the ground. Her mother being wheeled hurriedly to a nearby hospital.

And finally, the surgeon who stepped into the hallway after the operation, facing her and shaking his head.

The smell of their mother’s freshly baked cookies no longer lingered; they were just fond memories that they had put in their minds’ storage.

Joanne’s house, once bustling with the warmth of family, seemed eerily quiet.

Mavis’ eyes turned to the old photograph of their mother. She turned to her sister with wet eyes. “I just remembered.”

Half-wet crystals formed on Joanne’s eyelids as the recollections hit her. “So did i. We spent so much time at work that we…forgot about it. And her.” Mavis bit her lip as she gazed at the black and white picture of their mother, and Joanne almost choked, as though there was a weight on her throat.

Mavis and Joanne had dinner with their family members that night, with the snow globe as a centerpiece on the dinner table. Its light glowed with a comforting, renewed warmth. Its light reflected their wine glasses, softening the room's earlier dark shadows.

As they looked at it in silence, the eyes of the lady in the photograph seemed to soften. The faint light of the globe reflected their pretty, cherubic faces as they shared fond memories over dinner.

The photograph of their mother remained on the bookshelf, looking on in yearning.