“Thanksgiving Day“
There it was — sitting in the corner, exactly where it had always been.
The old wooden tribal statue.
Cindy hadn’t seen it in years, but it felt like it had never moved.
Her mother had kept it there her whole childhood. She’d always hated the thing. When friends came over, they whispered about it… laughed about it.
That creepy statue.
Cindy had begged her mother to get rid of it more times than she could count.
But her mother never did.
And now, two weeks after the funeral, there it stood again. Silent. Watching.
Today was supposed to be about closure — sorting through boxes, deciding what to keep, what to throw away, what to give away. And of course, there is:
No will.
No instructions.
No goodbye letter.
Just memories and objects that suddenly felt heavier than they should.
Jason was there, thank God. He was always better at making decisions… or at least faster at pretending they didn’t hurt.
They both stood staring at the statue.
Jason broke the silence.
“No one wants this ugly thing,” he said. “I used to imagine burning it every time we sat by the fireplace. Remember Christmas nights?”
Cindy smiled faintly.
Then the memory hit her.
“Jason…” she said. “You remember what Mom used to say about it, right?”
He shrugged.
“She said it was carved in the image of a warrior,” Cindy continued, her voice quieter now.
“Nimra Shadowleaf. Her family was slaughtered by settlers on Thanksgiving Day. She was only sixteen, but she fought them anyway. Took down thirty-seven of them before they finally killed her.”
Jason rolled his eyes.
“The survivors of her tribe carved this statue in her honor,” Cindy said. “Each one prayed while they worked. Mom used to say their faith brought Nimra back — that her spirit lived inside the wood.”
Jason smirked.
“She also said it is like a guardian to the one who possesses it, but anyone who destroyed it would destroy themselves,” Cindy added.
Jason laughed.
“Fairytales,” he said. “Mom loved her drama.”
He tossed wood into the fireplace.
Cindy stiffened.
“Jason, wait—”
But he had already placed the statue inside.
The fire caught instantly — too fast.
Too hot.
The flames burned higher than they should have. Brighter. Tinged with a strange blue.
And then a sound…
Faint. Dry. Almost like a child crying through smoke.
Cindy froze.
Jason didn’t notice. Didn’t smell the sweet, sharp scent — like burning sap mixed with metal. Didn’t see the way the shadows behind the flames shifted… as if something inside was moving.
By the time the fire died down, the statue was gone.
They told themselves it meant nothing.
But that night, Cindy couldn’t sleep.
Every crack of the house made her heart stutter. Every gust of wind sounded like a whisper.
Then her phone rang.
Jason.
His voice was panicked — broken — like he was trying to breathe through water.
He wasn’t making sense.
Until he whispered one thing clearly:
“It’s here… Cindy. It’s sitting in the corner…”
Then the line went dead.
She drove to his place immediately, and let herself in with the spare key,
The house felt wrong as soon as she stepped inside. Cold. Still. Like it was holding its breath.
And there, beneath his hallway clock…
It sat.
The statue.
Only now…
The face wasn’t the same
She stepped closer, shocked, but somehow not surprised.
The face, it was Jason’s.
Frozen in that same surreal expression.
Cindy staggered back.
It was exactly one o’clock in the morning.
Thanksgiving Day.
She never returned to that house and,
Jason was never seen again.