The Andersons' cabin stood alone in the middle of the forest. A snowstorm raged outside, and the trees groaned under the weight of the ice. It was Christmas Eve, but the house held no trace of the joy that usually accompanied the season. Since the death of Emily, the youngest daughter, the Christmas lights seemed dimmer, and laughter had been replaced by painful silence.

  That morning, as the snow fell without respite, something new appeared in the front yard: a snowman. It was tall, nearly two meters, with coal-black eyes that seemed to follow whoever gazed at it. Its twisted smile, made of black stones, curled unsettlingly, and it wore a tattered top hat. No one remembered building it, yet there it was. Ellen, the mother, assumed a neighbor had crafted it as a kind gesture. Still, something about that snowman was unsettling, as if it were alive.

  That night, the Andersons decorated the Christmas tree. It was a ritual they had avoided the previous year because of the pain, but this time, Ellen insisted on trying. Yet things did not go well. Every time they hung an ornament, it fell to the ground, rolling to a stop in front of the window, always facing the snowman. Jack, the father, laughed nervously and tried to joke, “Maybe it just wants to admire our decorations.” No one responded.

  When they went to bed, the children—ten-year-old Tommy and eight-year-old Clara—began to hear laughter outside. It was a low, broken whisper, as if coming from the snowman. Mustering his courage, Tommy peeked through the window. The snowman was still there, but something had changed: its crooked smile had widened, almost mockingly, and its hat was tilted, as though someone had touched it.

  The next day, Jack decided to investigate. He stepped out into the cold with thick boots and a flashlight. As he approached the snowman, he noticed the coal eyes gleamed with an unnatural intensity. Moving the hat aside, he uncovered something that froze his blood: beneath it, embedded in the snow, lay a small golden bell with the name “Emily” engraved on it. Jack stumbled backward, terrified, and ran back to the house without telling his family what he had found.

  That night, Ellen had a disturbing dream. A figure dressed as Santa Claus stood at the foot of her bed. Its face was hidden behind a porcelain mask, but its black, hollow eyes stared directly at her. The figure raised a gloved hand and pointed toward the window. Ellen awoke with a start, her heart pounding, and saw the Christmas tree lights flickering uncontrollably. When she went downstairs to investigate, the fallen ornaments reflected something impossible: Emily’s smiling face, laughing in a dark, snow-filled place.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The snowman was now closer to the house.

  Jack tried to convince his family it was all a coincidence, but deep inside, he knew something was wrong. That night, he locked every door and window. However, at midnight, the knocking began. Slow, rhythmic, deliberate. When Jack finally opened the door, no one was there. The snowman had vanished. In its place was a large, heavy red sack filled with old toys: a cracked porcelain doll, a rusted train, and a teddy bear with its eyes torn out. Among the toys was a note that read, “Don’t forget me.”

  Inside the house, the lights suddenly went out. When they flickered back on, a red figure stood in the living room. It was Santa Claus, but his porcelain mask had shattered to the floor, revealing a vacant, expressionless face, like an empty shell. The figure raised an arm, and the Christmas tree lights burst in a cascade of sparks.

  The following morning, the Andersons were found seated around the tree, their faces frozen in expressions of eerie happiness. The snowman had returned to its place in the yard, now tipping its hat in what seemed like a final salute.

  In the town, no one ever heard from the Andersons again. Yet rumors spread of laughter echoing through the forest and a Santa Claus figure wandering the snow with a broken porcelain mask. The cabin, they say, still stands, and every Christmas Eve, the tree lights flicker, as though someone is waiting to be remembered.

  Years later, the Andersons’ cabin became a curiosity for travelers and locals alike. Some adventurers dared to enter, but few ever returned. Those who did spoke of lights turning on and off by themselves, children’s laughter drifting through the halls, and the distant chime of bells.

  One night, a journalist named Daniel Harper set out to investigate the legend. With a flashlight and a camera, he crossed the cabin’s threshold. The moment he stepped inside, a bone-chilling cold enveloped him. The Christmas tree still stood, its ornaments reflecting his face from impossible angles. A red stocking with the name “Emily” embroidered on it hung over the fireplace.

  When Daniel turned toward the window, he saw the snowman. It stood silently in the yard, but something was different. It now held a small golden bell that jingled softly, though no wind stirred. Beside it stood a red figure with a shattered porcelain mask, revealing a hollow, empty smile.

  Daniel was never seen again. Yet weeks later, his notes were found abandoned at the entrance to the town. Among the scrawled words was a single chilling sentence:

  "Some memories refuse to be forgotten."