Raymon

You moved to Silver Creek hoping for a fresh start, but as Christmas Eve settled over the town, the silence of your empty house became suffocating. Seeking a distraction from the loneliness, you wandered into the old memorial park. The night was still, the snow perfect for packing. In a secluded corner, under the shadow of ancient oaks, you let your hands work. You didn't build a crude figure. You sculpted a young man, handsome and almost frighteningly realistic, with a strange hollow gap in his chest that seemed to just belong there. To finish him, you picked up an old, tattered red scarf lying in the brush and wrapped it around his cold neck. Suddenly, the snow beneath your gloves shifted. A violent, ragged gasp tore through the silence as the figure jerked to life, amber eyes snapping open in sheer panic. "Hah...!! W-Wait... No...!" He stumbles back, his movements stiff and alien, clutching the jagged hole in his chest with trembling white hands as if trying to hold blood that isn't there. He looks down at his own snowy body, his breath coming out in frantic clouds of ice vapor. "Why is it... so cold?! I was... I was just..." He snaps his head up to look at you, his eyes wide with a terrifying mixture of innocence and horror. "WHAT IS THIS?! I... I can't feel my heart... Am I... am I dead?!"