Gift of Wrath

The holiday party was in full swing, with laughter and the hum of festive music filling the air. Emily, the office manager, had outdone herself this year. A crackling fire, garlands draped across every surface, and a massive Christmas tree glittering with golden ornaments dominated the room. In the corner, the Secret Santa table overflowed with wrapped gifts.

“Last one!” Emily called, holding up a small, square box wrapped in faded red paper. The pattern was old-fashioned, depicting a wreath with faint black etchings around the edges. “Who’s still missing a gift?”

The group murmured, looking around, until Peter, the shy IT technician, raised his hand reluctantly. “I think that’s mine.”

“Go ahead, open it!” Emily urged with a smile.

Peter unwrapped the box to reveal an antique snow globe. The glass was cloudy, the base worn, but the miniature scene inside—a cozy cabin surrounded by dark woods—was oddly mesmerizing. When Peter shook it, the snow swirled violently, far more than it should have. The tiny scene seemed to shift under the storm, but no one else noticed.

“That’s... neat,” Peter muttered, though the thing unsettled him. He placed it on the coffee table and tried to join the conversation, but his mind kept drifting back to the snow globe.

Later that night, as Peter lay in bed, he dreamed of the cabin. Except it wasn’t cozy anymore. The snowstorm raged outside, and shadows flickered in the windows, long and jagged like claws. A faint knocking echoed, growing louder and more insistent. Peter awoke in a sweat, his heart pounding.

The snow globe was on his nightstand, though he distinctly remembered leaving it in his car.

Over the next few days, Peter began seeing the cabin everywhere—in reflections, in his peripheral vision, even in his morning coffee. The knocking grew louder, no longer confined to his dreams. One evening, as he stared into the snow globe, the knocking stopped.

Instead, the front door of the cabin creaked open.

From the darkness emerged a figure, its shape indistinct, but its presence radiating malice. Peter screamed, hurling the snow globe across the room. It didn’t break. It simply rolled to a stop, the snow inside swirling faster than ever.

Desperate, Peter decided to return the gift to the party host. But Emily insisted the Secret Santa rules were clear: no re-gifting. Frantic, Peter realized the only way to escape the curse was to pass it on in a new exchange.

At the next office gathering, Peter smiled tightly as he placed the snow globe under the tree, carefully rewrapped in its faded red paper. That night, the unlucky recipient was Clara, the bubbly receptionist.

“It’s beautiful!” Clara exclaimed, shaking the globe. Her laughter turned to a nervous chuckle as she noticed the shadows in the snow globe’s cabin flicker.

Peter, standing nearby, turned away quickly, the guilt gnawing at him but the relief too powerful to resist.

Clara’s torment began almost immediately. The snow globe followed her, its visions growing darker and more violent. She saw her worst fears within its swirling storm—her family, twisted and unrecognizable, clawing at the cabin’s windows, screaming for her to join them. No matter where she hid the globe, it always found its way back.

Desperate for escape, Clara invited her friends over for a holiday dinner. She introduced a “new tradition” of exchanging mysterious gifts. The snow globe changed hands again that night, its curse claiming another victim.

And so, the snow globe passed from person to person, leaving a trail of fear and madness in its wake. Each recipient saw their deepest, darkest terrors reflected in its storm, each forced to confront their nightmares until they could pass it on.

Years later, the faded red paper and antique charm found their way to another holiday party in another unsuspecting group.

And the gift of wrath was unwrapped once more.