Ny's Writing Blog ✍️

❄️ “The Snowman Who Loved Saint Nicholas”

A Tragic Christmas Horror Tale

They built him on a night when the wind howled like a hungry wolf—three uneven globes of snow, a crooked carrot nose, lumps of coal for eyes. But something in that storm had teeth, and when the last child patted the snowman’s chest and ran home, the wind curled around the snowman like a lover’s hand.

And the snowman opened his eyes.

He had no name, no past—only an ache. A hollow longing in the pit of his snowy abdomen. He watched the children skip away, watched warm lights glow in cottage windows, watched smoke curl from chimneys like silver ribbons. The world was full of warmth he could never touch.

But then, one night, he saw him.

A red sleigh streaked across the black velvet sky, bells chiming faintly. Reindeer hooves shimmered in the moonlight. And at the reins, wrapped in crimson, laugh rolling across rooftops—

Santa Claus.

The snowman’s chest cracked with something unfamiliar. Love. Obsession. Reverence. He wanted Santa’s warmth, Santa’s glow, Santa’s joy.

He wanted Santa to look at him the way he looked at the glowing houses.

He waited.

Night after night.

Until Christmas Eve returned.

—

🎅 A Love Too Warm

When Santa landed in the village and hauled his sack over his shoulder, the snowman trembled. Santa laughed his deep, jolly laugh as he walked past, shaking snow from his boots.

But he didn’t notice the snowman.

Not even a glance.

That neglect festered. Melted something inside the snowman—not from heat, but from something darker. A twisted idea dawned within him.

If Santa wouldn’t see him…

He’d make Santa see him.

—

❄️ A Terrible Gift

The snowman moved for the first time, frost cracking like bones as he took his first step. He dragged himself across the snow, leaving a jagged trail behind him.

He followed Santa from house to house, hiding behind chimneys and snowbanks, closer each time.

At the last cottage, Santa knelt to place gifts beneath a tree, back turned.

The snowman reached out.

His icy grip closed around Santa’s arm.

Santa gasped, frost instantly blooming across his sleeve.

“Who—?” he stammered.

But the snowman pressed a hand to Santa’s cheek—not violently, but lovingly, desperately. Frostbite blossomed instantly. Santa screamed, stumbling backward, but the snowman followed, reaching, grasping.

Pressing cold, cold love into warm, mortal skin.

“Please…” Santa whispered through chattering teeth. “Let go…”

But the snowman finally had Santa’s gaze. And he wouldn’t lose it again.

Not now.

Not ever.

—

🎅 The Melt

Santa’s warmth—his magic, his life—began melting the snowman from the inside out. Water dripped down his sides like tears. His eyes sagged. His carrot nose wilted.

He was dying.

But he refused to release Santa.

The hotter Santa burned with fear and pain, the more the snowman melted—until he was nothing but slush wrapped around Santa’s trembling body, clinging like a desperate lover.

When the elves found Santa hours later, he was curled on the snowy ground, frozen solid, encased in a thin layer of ice.

Inside the ice, fused to Santa’s chest, was a single lump of coal.

A heart that should never have existed.

A heart that loved him too much.

—

❄️ Epilogue

Every year since, on Christmas Eve, a thin frost spreads across Santa’s sleigh and reins. The reindeer tremble. The elves whisper.

Because sometimes, late at night, when the workshop lanterns flicker…

They hear a faint voice in the frost-covered windows.

A voice whispering:

“Look at me, Santa…
See me…
Love me…”

And the ice grows thicker.

Waiting to embrace him again.

—