The Frosted Window

The winter of 2003 had buried our little Nebraska town under a record snowfall, but inside our old farmhouse, the wood stove kept us warm enough. My wife, Clara, and I had moved from the city to escape the noise, seeking peace in the quiet countryside. Our daughter, Lily, had just turned three, and she was a bundle of curiosity, always up at odd hours to explore. That December, we’d taken her to the town’s Christmas market, where she’d fallen in love with a glittering crystal globe that caught the light like a captive star. She clutched it the whole way home, and as I tucked her into her bed that night, Clara whispered to me, ‘We should put that in the living room toy chest, or she’ll be up all night playing with it.’ I agreed, and I carried the globe downstairs, placing it gently on top of the wooden chest. Then we settled in to watch a movie, and soon after, retired to our bedroom, which was at the bottom of the stairs, directly across from the hall bathroom.

At 3:15 AM, something woke me. I wasn’t a light sleeper, but there it was: a feeling of cold air drifting over my face, as if a window had been left open. I sat up, groggy, and saw that the bathroom door was ajar, and a sliver of moonlight spilled onto the hall floor. I sighed, thinking I’d left the bathroom window open, and padded over to close it. But as I pushed the door open, I saw that the window was shut, and the cold wasn’t coming from there. It was coming from the living room, a chill that seemed to seep through the walls.

I stepped into the living room, and the first thing I noticed was that the toy chest was open. The globe was gone. My heart started to pound. I flicked on the light, and there, in the middle of the floor, was the globe, rolling in a slow circle as if someone had just let it go. The room was freezing, and my breath fogged in the air. I called out, ‘Hello?’ but there was no answer. I picked up the globe; it was as cold as ice. I put it back in the chest and latched it, then went back to bed, chalking it up to my imagination.

The next night, the same thing happened. At 3:15 AM, I woke to that cold, and this time Clara was awake too. ‘What is that?’ she whispered. We went downstairs together. The globe was again on the floor, but now it was spinning rapidly, and the toy chest was upside down. The cold was biting, and we could see our breath. As we watched, the globe stopped, and a small handprint appeared on its frosty surface, as if a child had pressed against it from the inside. But there was no child there.

Terrified, we called an old friend who dealt with such things. He told us to pour salt in a circle around the globe and burn sage, but nothing changed. The globe kept appearing in the living room, always at 3:15 AM, and always with that freezing temperature. We tried to throw it away, but every time, it found its way back. One night, I locked it in a metal box and buried it in the yard. At 3:15, I heard a knocking from the living room wall. We went down, and the box was on the floor, dented from inside, and the globe was out, rolling toward the stairs, and I swear I saw the faint outline of a small figure ascending, carrying it.

Terrified for Lily, we decided to move. As we packed, Lily came down the stairs, rubbing her eyes. She was holding the globe. ‘Mommy, the girl in the globe says she wants to play,’ she said, her voice small. I took the globe, and it was warm to the touch. Lily continued, ‘She says she’s lonely. She’s been waiting a long time for a friend.’

We moved out the next week. But every night since, at exactly 3:15 AM, I wake to a cold draft. And when I look out our new bedroom window, I see a small figure standing in the snow, holding a glittering globe, watching our house. Last night, the figure raised its hand and waved, and I saw that its face was not a child’s but an old, wrinkled thing with eyes like frost. And I know, no matter how far we run, it will always find us, because the globe is not a toy. It’s a doorway, and we opened it.

We never speak of it, but sometimes, when I tuck Lily in, she whispers, ‘She’s under my bed now, Daddy.’ And I have no answer, because I feel the cold seeping through the floorboards, and I know that the girl in the globe has finally found her playmate.