I got a Terrarium for my birthday, but I don’t remember who gave it to me

I have this friend who always jokes about being a fae, this is important for later.

I think it makes her feel better, she was abandoned at like three or four and passed around different foster homes until she turned eighteen. So for as long as I’ve known her, she’s called herself a changeling. Like I said, I think it makes her feel better to say she’s a changeling, than to wonder why so many people abandoned her.

And to be honest, she could be a fae. She's got these ears that look pointed like an elf if you see them from the right angle. Her eyes, her face in general really, look exactly like old paintings and drawings you see of fae: everything is slanted slightly upwards, eyes that are just a little too big, human-like features where all the proportions are a little off, kind of towing the line between ethereal and creepy. It’s hard to describe her in a way that makes sense, but look up old paintings of the fae, add dirty blonde hair, and you've got the image right. She’s pretty, in an otherworldly kind of way.

She's also really passionate about nature and conservation and stuff like that. We don't take her into certain stores because she gets truly pissed when she sees fake plants. That's when her ears look the most pointed, her blue eyes melt into these deep pools of silver and green, and she looks just a little bit evil. That’s when it’s easiest to believe she really might be a fae.

Anyway, the reason this is important is because for my birthday last year she gifted me a terrarium. It's gorgeous, a giant glass jar with a massive wooden cork. When I say giant, I really mean giant, it’s almost too big for me to wrap my arms around it.

The terrarium is a work of art, designed to look exactly like a little valley with trees and a river flowing through it. And there are no fake plants, everything in it is real and growing.

The most magical looking part is this purple door, nestled at the bottom of one of the little hills, just over the water. It has a little band of burnished gold that runs around the length of it, and it looks strangely weathered, as if it’s been standing there in that terrarium for a long time. And it’s not just that the door looks old, it truly looks like it’s been standing in that terrarium since the dawn of time. You can see little areas where the wood was chipping and someone repaired it. Some of the planks on the door even look newer than others, like slats were replaced one at a time.

Before all the plants started growing and blooming, the door was the most interesting part of the terrarium. The rest of it was pretty, it was just a bit barren. Initially the inside of the jar had sloping hills made out of white and green stones. There were two hills that sloped down to a small pool of water in the center. On one side of the terrarium was the little purple door, and a crudely carved wooden mushroom next to it. Just below the door rests a little wooden log, covered in moss, that leads from one bank to the other.

When I first got it, there were a few scraggly little ferns growing on the edge of the rocks, near the top of the jar, and some patches of moss on the otherwise barren rocks.

But over the weeks a small world bloomed to life inside the terrarium. There would be long days filled with mist that coated the inside, completely hiding it from the outside world. Then the mist would drip away and the inside of the jar would be a completely different world, every time.

It was a real trust the process experience, watching the scraggly little plants slowly take over the jar. But after a few short months it became a tiny ecosystem, the moss had stretched across the rocks, creating a decadent green slope that ran the length of the jar, dipping up and down, and eventually dropping off into the water. The water turned a rich blue, like the deepest river, and in the center of the pool where there had originally just been this strange little ball, now a water lily is growing.

When she first gave it to me I thought the door had green ivy painted on it, but as I studied it each day, my face pressed against the glass like a child gazing through the window of a candy store, I realized it had real, tiny ivy growing on it. The ivy still baffles me, I can’t tell where it’s growing from, it’s just there.

She gave it to me at my bowling alley birthday party, and I had to run the beautiful terrarium out to my car in the middle of my party, because I was so worried someone would shatter it, or steal it. I sweated over it all night, every time I bowled I felt the cold hand of dread tightening my muscles as I worried over the special gift. She might have planned all that, just so she could beat me at bowling.

When I finally got the gift home I carried it gently inside, careful to not bump anything out of place, and placed it in my bedroom on the desk that faces my bed. I put a lamp over it, so I would be able to see it better while I worked on my projects, snapped a picture and sent it to her.

As I got in bed that night I was certain I heard the distant sound of laughter, carried on some wind I couldn't feel across a very long distance. But that didn’t make any sense, so I ignored it.

I fell asleep, and woke up the next morning feeling as if I had barely closed my eyes. I stumbled through the day, thinking only about the beautiful terrarium that I couldn't wait to study further when I got home from work.

The day moved slowly, I worried that I would get in trouble for spacing out, but I managed to get home without getting snapped at too many times. I finally stumbled through the door and sat reverently in front of the glass container.

That was how most of my days went for the first month or two. Then I guess I got used to having it around and it stopped consuming my thoughts so much. I would still sit in front of it each night when I got home, and take a look each morning before I left.

But as the weeks wore on the terrarium became slightly less of an obsession, and more of a prized pet. I showed it off constantly, to anyone who was willing to step foot in my apartment. I regaled them with stories about every little change, from the progression the lily was making, to how much the moss on the log had grown since I got it.

Over time, and after I had shown the terrarium to everyone who would look at it, I stopped talking about it quite so much. But I continued to study it carefully.

One morning, after a strange night of scattered dreams and vague uneasiness, I woke to find that the door had been scraped open very slightly. There was a small scar in the moss that blanketed the floor beneath the door, showing that the door had clearly been creaked open and back shut.

I stared in amazement for so long I wound up being late for work, but it was clear that the little door in the hillside had been moved open, as if it rested on hinges, and then back shut. It was all I could think about all day.

When I got home later that night the scar in the moss was gone, but I swear there was a little triangle of moss that was a brighter shade of green, as if it was new. After that I went back to studying the jar obsessively, every single day. I would sit beside the desk with the lamp on, studying every inch of the jar.

It literally consumed my thoughts. It's not just that it was all I thought about, it was the only thing I wanted to think about. When I would see my friends I always got a little frustrated if they didn't want to talk about the terrarium. It felt like I had this amazing mystery sitting right across from my bed, I couldn’t understand how anything could be more interesting to talk about.

After another few weeks I started having these weird dreams, every single night. Every night I was traveling through this forest, some nights there was firelight in the trees, comforting and beautiful, laughter would float on the breeze, gentle and uplifting. Other nights, it was dark and a strange presence almost seemed to be hunting me.

I couldn’t tell much about the place from my dreams, except that the woods were dense, and full of plants I didn’t quite recognize. On the nights when I dreamed of firelight, I travelled slowly under the vague sensation that I was travelling with a party. It felt safe, nice even, like I was camping with friends.

On the other nights, I ran knowing someone or something, or a group of someones and somethings, was hunting me. I would sprint through the dark forest as screechs and laughter followed me, urging me to move even faster to get to safety. I never saw who or what chased me, but I could feel their sharp eyes, and sometimes I thought I saw teeth gleaming at me from the darkness.

But every night, I traveled.

When I woke, I felt tired and lethargic, my muscles sore and stiff as if I really had been walking all night long. But even so, I looked forward to my dreams. There was something oddly enticing about the forest, the laughter, and as odd as it sounds even the fear was tantalizing. It was like waking up with this amazing taste in my mouth, that slowly faded as the day went on.

And to be honest, I really wanted to see what lay at the end of it. I’ve never had a dream that followed a continuous story line like that before, and I wanted to know what was going to happen.

Then one night the dream changed. I was still moving through the forest, but it wasn’t as dense as it had been in previous nights. There was a more clear path in front of me, and soft daylight was pouring in through the branches of the trees. I walked slowly, reverently, as if I was in a sacred space, until I came to a strange door. It was green and covered in small purple ivy that wove across the door in mesmerizing patterns. I stood in front of the door as if frozen, until a lilting laughing voice from behind me said, ‘Open it!” and I woke up.

There was that cold hand of dread again, tracing familiar patterns up and down my spine as I lay in bed. Something felt off. Suddenly, after weeks of not worrying about it, I felt like there was some kind of malicious energy in my dreams. It had clearly been leading me somewhere, and I wasn’t sure if I was okay with that.

I know this is going to sound strange, but I was scared to go to sleep again after that. All day, I felt cold dread gently running up and down my back, reminding me what waited for me after work. After I got home from work that day I made myself as busy as I could, getting every task done that I possibly could. I cleaned my kitchen and bathroom, did all my dirty laundry, cleaned out my car, and then settled into bed around 1 am with a book.

I know myself pretty well, and if I fall asleep after 1 in the morning I don’t dream. Maybe there’s not enough time for me to go into REM or something, but I swear I don’t ever dream if I fall asleep past 1 AM. I’m not sure exactly what time I passed out, but I remember glancing sleepily at the clock and seeing that it was after 3 in the morning, not long before the book I was slogging through toppled from my hands to the floor, and I fell into a deep sleep.

I shouldn’t have dreamed, but I did.

It was a short dream. My own hand reached out, as laughter from invisible voices all around me reached a nearly frenzied pitch, it was so loud that I could feel it flooding through every part of me. The laughter became so loud, so aggressive almost, that I began to feel panic flooding me, I had to get out of there. I pushed on the door, it resisted at first, but I pushed harder, wanting escape, and it slowly swung open.

I was up and out of bed before I was even fully awake, lurching towards the terrarium on my desk with an absolute certainty that the tiny purple door would be pushed open.

But it wasn’t.

The door sat in the same position it was always in, nestled against the mossy little hill. There were no signs of movement.

I stood there panting and clutching my chest, and honestly feeling like a real idiot.

I was just about ready to leave for work when I realized I had missed something. There, so small that I could barely see it, and only in the right light, were tiny little footprints in the bed of moss. They led from the door, to the fallen log, then they stopped.

I studied the little footprints for a long time, then I forced myself to leave for work. I pushed it out of my mind, and tried to focus on the things I had to do at work, but I was even more exhausted than usual, and all my thoughts seemed to lead me back to those tiny little footprints.

When I finally got home that day, the little footprints were gone just like I had expected them to be, but I noticed that the flower had begun to bloom, unfurling gentle white petals to the sky.

You might think I’m crazy, but I really wanted to believe that I was just stressed from work, so I put it out of my mind. The lily continued to grow, unfurling petal after petal, and the weird dreams stopped after that.

The terrarium became just another thing in my house, a very cool thing to be fair, but just another thing. I know this is going to sound weird, but up to that point, with the dreams and all the weird changes I had been starting to feel kind of scared of the terrarium. Then the dreams stopped and all of a sudden, I forgot all of that.

About six months passed, then a few weeks ago things started getting weird again. The first thing I noticed was that the door had been moved again, a small scrape in the moss showing that it had been pushed open a few inches. There were little footsteps leading away from the door, though they trailed off at the water.

I took a picture to send to the friend who had given it to me, but I couldn’t find the message thread where we had been talking. I told myself I would look for it later and left for work, but I never did find that message thread. I went into my contacts list to text her directly and… I couldn’t remember her name.

It feels so weird, because I absolutely could have sworn we went to high school together, but it’s like there’s a blank space where my memories of her should be. No face, no name, just a few features and a very clear memory of the way she smiled when she handed me the terrarium.

When I got up the next morning, there were even more footsteps, as if a group of tiny people had been running all over the inside of the jar.

Feeling officially creeped out I texted my best friend Miles who had been at the party.

Me: Hey man, do you know who gave me the terrarium last year for my birthday?

Miles: LOL what?

Me: What?

Miles: IDK I don’t remember. I thought you got it from a family member or something.

Me: What? No, I got it from one of our friends, I just don’t remember who.

Miles: Some friend you are, remind me to never pour hours into a project for you lol.

Me: No dude fucking listen to me. I distinctly remember that a female friend of ours from high school gave it to me, AT THE PARTY. But I can’t put my finger on her name. It's Like I remembered her up until last week, then I just lost it.

Miles: We apparently remember high school differently, I remember us not being cool enough to hang out with girls.

I gave up at that point. Miles usually has a pretty good memory so I thought for sure he would remember but I didn’t have the patience to try and get him to recall it.

I reached out to a few other people who were at the party, but none of them remembered me getting the terrarium that night. I also tried describing our friend, but no one recognized the description.

And in the meantime, there are more footsteps in the terrarium every day.

The worst part is that I had another dream last night. An impossibly tall man, his proportions all wrong, leaning down to look through a very small door. He reached his hand through the door and it seemed to stretch for miles.

He looked at me and said, “The portal you’ve opened is too small, little mortal one.”

He pulled his hand back and I saw ferns laced through his fingers. He tapped me on the chest and I felt bones shattering at his touch as he said, “I can make another.”

Something told me he meant me. I’m not sure what that means, but I know it’s true.

I woke up and saw that the door was open. It was the only thing I could see through the mist clouding the glass. But there was one clear spot in the glass that showed me the door standing wide open, a clear spot in the shape of a large hand.