The Cursed Ornament

The Hammond family’s Christmas tree was always the centerpiece of their holiday celebrations. Each year, they would decorate it with lights, garlands, and a collection of ornaments that had been passed down through generations. Among them was the family’s most treasured piece: a glass ornament shaped like a star, with intricate swirls of gold and silver encased within. It was said to bring good luck, a sentiment echoed by every Hammond who had ever hung it on the tree—until this year.

The tradition fell to Sarah Hammond, who had recently inherited the ornament after the sudden passing of her grandmother, Eleanor. Sarah’s parents had died when she was young, and Eleanor had raised her with a mixture of sternness and love. Eleanor was deeply superstitious, always reminding Sarah of the ornament’s importance.

“It protects the family,” Eleanor had often said, her voice tinged with reverence. “Never let it break. Never let it fall into the wrong hands.”

Now, as Sarah held the ornament in her hands, standing before the undecorated tree, a strange chill ran down her spine. Its surface seemed colder than glass should be, almost as if it pulsed with a faint, unnatural energy. Shaking off her unease, she placed it gently near the top of the tree, exactly where her grandmother had always hung it.

The first sign that something was wrong came that evening. As Sarah and her husband, Mark, sat by the fire, their eight-year-old son, Jamie, wandered into the living room. His face was pale, his wide eyes reflecting the flickering flames.

“There’s someone upstairs,” Jamie whispered.

Mark exchanged a glance with Sarah. “No, buddy,” he said, kneeling to Jamie’s level. “We’re the only ones here.”

“I heard them,” Jamie insisted. “They were singing.”

Sarah’s stomach tightened. “What kind of singing?”

Jamie hesitated, then began to hum a melody, low and haunting. The sound sent a shiver down Sarah’s spine. It was a tune she had never heard before, yet it felt disturbingly familiar.

Mark ruffled Jamie’s hair. “It’s probably just your imagination. Let’s get you back to bed.”

But as Mark led Jamie upstairs, Sarah couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching her. She glanced at the tree, and for a moment, she thought she saw the ornament glimmer, as if catching the light… or casting its own.

The strange occurrences multiplied over the next few days. Sarah began waking in the middle of the night to the sound of faint whispers, though Mark insisted he heard nothing. Objects around the house moved inexplicably: a chair out of place, a cabinet door left open. Even the tree seemed different. The branches near the ornament appeared darker, their needles brittle and dry.

Jamie’s behavior also changed. Normally cheerful and talkative, he grew quiet and withdrawn, spending hours staring at the ornament. When Sarah asked him what he was doing, he would only say, “They like the tree.”

“Who does?” she pressed.

“The ones who sing,” Jamie said, his voice distant. “They say the star belongs to them.”

Sarah’s heart pounded. She wanted to dismiss his words as a child’s fantasy, but her gut told her otherwise. That night, she resolved to take the ornament down.

As Sarah reached for the ornament, the room seemed to darken, the warm glow of the Christmas lights dimming as if consumed by shadows. Her fingers brushed the glass, and a sharp jolt shot through her hand, forcing her to pull back with a cry. A deep crackling sound echoed in her ears, and for a moment, she thought she heard the faint melody Jamie had hummed.

Mark rushed into the room. “What happened?”

“The ornament,” Sarah stammered, clutching her hand. “It shocked me.”

Mark frowned, skeptical. “It’s just an old decoration. Maybe it’s got static or something.”

But when he reached for it, the same jolt struck him, sending him stumbling back. “What the hell?” he muttered, staring at the ornament with a mix of confusion and fear.

From upstairs, Jamie began to laugh. The sound was high-pitched and unnatural, echoing through the house like a taunt. Sarah and Mark exchanged a terrified glance before rushing to his room.

They found Jamie sitting cross-legged on his bed, his face illuminated by the glow of the nightlight. He was staring at the doorway, as if expecting them.

“Jamie, what’s going on?” Sarah demanded.

Jamie tilted his head, his eyes dark and unblinking. “They said you shouldn’t touch it. The star is theirs now.”

“Who?” Mark snapped. “Who are you talking about?”

Jamie’s lips curled into a smile, but it wasn’t his smile. It was something cold, something wrong. “The ones Grandma kept away,” he said. “But she’s gone, and now they’re here.”

Sarah’s knees buckled. Eleanor’s warnings flooded back to her. Never let it fall into the wrong hands. Had she inadvertently unleashed something her grandmother had spent a lifetime protecting the family from?

Desperate for answers, Sarah dug through the boxes of Eleanor’s belongings that she had stored in the attic. Among the faded photographs and brittle letters, she found an old leather-bound journal. Inside were pages of meticulous notes, sketches of the ornament, and fragments of Latin text.

One entry caught her eye:

The ornament is a vessel. It holds them at bay but must never be disturbed. They hunger for freedom, for chaos. The star binds them, but only if it remains whole and untouched.

Sarah’s breath quickened as she read further. The journal described “them” as malevolent spirits drawn to the ornament’s power. If the bond weakened, they could influence the living, sowing discord and feeding on fear. The only way to banish them was to destroy the ornament—but doing so came at a cost.

The vessel’s destruction will release them fully. They will seek another host unless properly contained.

That night, Sarah and Mark sat by the fire, the journal spread open between them.

“We have to destroy it,” Mark said, his voice resolute.

“And risk releasing them?” Sarah countered. “What if we make it worse?”

Before Mark could respond, the lights flickered, and a low, guttural hum filled the air. The tree’s lights began to blink erratically, casting distorted shadows on the walls. Jamie’s laughter echoed from upstairs, but it wasn’t just his. Other voices joined in, their tones warped and mocking.

Sarah grabbed the journal and flipped to the last page, where Eleanor had scrawled a ritual to contain the spirits. It required fire, salt, and the ornament itself.

“We do this together,” Sarah said, her voice trembling but firm. Mark nodded, grabbing a bag of salt from the kitchen.

The ritual demanded precision. They created a circle of salt around the tree and placed a metal bowl in the center. Mark held the ornament carefully, his hands shaking, while Sarah recited the Latin incantation from the journal. The air grew heavy, and the temperature plummeted.

As the final words left Sarah’s lips, the ornament began to glow, its light pulsating like a heartbeat. The whispers turned into screams, filling the room with a cacophony of rage. Shadows writhed on the walls, forming grotesque, inhuman shapes.

“Now!” Sarah shouted.

Mark hurled the ornament into the bowl, and Sarah lit a match, dropping it onto the fragile glass. The ornament shattered with a deafening crack, releasing a burst of light that momentarily blinded them. The screams reached a crescendo before abruptly falling silent.

When Sarah and Mark opened their eyes, the room was still. The tree stood dark and lifeless, its branches brittle and gray. Jamie appeared at the top of the stairs, rubbing his eyes.

“Mom? Dad? What happened?”

Sarah rushed to him, pulling him into a tight embrace. “It’s over,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

But as she glanced at the remains of the ornament, a single shard of glass glimmered faintly in the ashes. Deep within its surface, she thought she saw something move—a flicker of light,or perhaps a shadow.

The Hammond family would never hang another ornament on their tree, but Sarah knew the spirits weren’t truly gone. They were waiting, watching, and biding their time.