The Haunted Snow Globe (Chapter Eleven)

Chapter Eleven

The Empty House

   Abigail rose groggily to her feet and looked around the room.

   The sky outside was a dark, murky grey and large snowflakes were whirling past the window. For a moment, Abigail felt confused and afraid. Was she still trapped inside the snow globe? Had she and Henry failed to break the magic spell?

   She staggered across the room, peered through the window and then breathed a huge sigh of relief. Everything was covered with a thick blanket of snow, but the rooftops of neighbouring houses were still clearly visible outside. She was home. She had escaped from the snow globe and was back in the real world. She could only assume that Henry must have returned to his own house too.   

   She turned away from the window and peered up at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. It was six o’clock in the evening. Abigail felt puzzled. Her father should have returned from work over an hour ago, and where was her mother? The house was as silent as a tomb.

   “Mum! Dad!” she shouted. “Where are you?”

   There was no reply.

   She wandered into the hallway.

   “Mum! Dad! Are you there?” she yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

   No reply.

   “MUM! DAD!” she screamed at the top of her voice. “WHERE ARE YOU?”

   The house remained as quiet as a morgue.

   Feeling panicky, Abigail sprinted up the stairs to check the rooms on the first floor, but there was still no sign of her mum and dad. 

   After buttoning up her coat, she ran through the front door and along the garden path. Martha Pitt was building a snowman on the pavement outside. It had a misshaped head with horrible, sunken eyes and a weirdly crooked mouth.   

   “Incredible weather, isn’t it,” Martha was saying, patting more snow onto the snowman’s belly. “They’ve been talking a lot about climate change on the television today, but we know better, don’t we, Abigail.” She winked knowingly and tapped the side of her nose. “How’s Henry Shadow, by the way? Did you manage to find his parents?”

   Abigail quickly told her everything that had happened. She told her about smashing the snow globe and about how she had returned to her house only to discover that her parents had mysteriously vanished.

   “I don’t understand,” Abigail continued. “We destroyed the snow globe. We broke the spell. I thought everything would return to normal.”   

   “Obviously the spell hasn’t been completely broken,” Martha said, carefully wrapping an old, moth-eaten scarf around the snowman’s neck. “In fact, there’s even a possibility the spell has been reversed.”

   Abigail looked puzzled. “I don’t understand,” she said. “I watched Henry throw the snow globe against a solid brick wall. It smashed into a thousand pieces.”

   Martha sighed in exasperation and stared at Abigail with enormous, protuberant eyes. “Think about it, Abigail,” she said. “He only destroyed a copy. The original snow globe is still in your house.”

   A look of realisation suddenly spread across Abigail’s face. She glanced up at her bedroom window and made a loud snapping noise with her fingers. “Of course!” she cried. “The real snow globe – the one my parents bought for my birthday – is still on my bedside table!”

   As quick as lightning, she ran back into the house, sprinted up the stairs and bolted into her bedroom. The snow globe was exactly where she had left it earlier, sitting on her bedside table. The house inside had now been demolished, and two new figures were standing in front of the ruins. They were models of her mother and father. 

   As she dashed across the room to pick up the globe, something suddenly caught her eye and made her skid to a standstill. Something large and lumpish appeared to be hiding under the blankets. Had somebody fallen asleep in her bed?

   For a moment Abigail was unable to move her legs.

   “Who’s there?” she whispered. “Who are you?”

   The lump under the blankets did not respond.  

   Walking on tiptoes, she moved a little closer and then carefully and very, very slowly pulled back one of the blankets.

   Raw fear bubbled up inside her belly.

   Lying on her bed was a body. It seemed to be made of plastic or wax and it reminded Abigail of a faceless shop window mannequin. But she immediately knew what it was. It was the same height as her and had the same colour skin and hair. It was Abigail’s replica, unfinished and incomplete.

   She watched in horror as it sat bolt upright on her bed and turned its smooth, featureless face in her direction. Its voice was muffled and weak, almost inaudible.

   “Hello,” it said in a mechanical, almost robotic monotone. “I’m Abigail Sugar. I am very pleased to meet you. Who are you?” 

   With her heart pumping harder and faster than ever, Abigail snatched the snow globe from the bedside table and hurled it, with all the strength she could possibly muster, at the wall on the other side of the room.

To be continued...