The Snowman's Glare Mystery

Table of Contents

Terrifying Snowman Hauntings Uncovered

The snowstorm over Cambridge drifted like a curtain of white ash, thickening with each passing hour. The Harvard campus, usually filled with students rushing between classes, had grown eerily quiet under the blanket of winter. Lamps flickered across Harvard Yard, their halos stretching long against newly formed drifts. To anyone else, it might have felt peaceful. But to Claire Maddox, it felt suffocating.

Claire tightened her coat as she walked across the yard, her boots sinking into layers of untouched snow. She wasn’t usually afraid of the dark or the cold, but lately, every shadow felt deeper, every gust of wind harsher, and every step behind her felt too close. The feeling of eyes on her back had followed her for days—subtle at first, then growing heavy enough to make her stomach twist, much like the unsettling encounters described in Black Eyed Children Horror Tale.

Tonight, it felt unbearable.

She checked her phone again. A message from Lila lit the screen.

Hurry up babe. Soup’s getting cold. Don’t make me eat this alone again 😭

Claire managed a smile. Lila always tried to lighten the mood. Claire typed a quick reply: Almost there. Snow’s crazy.

She slipped her phone back into her pocket and hurried forward—until something made her stop.

Near the old John Harvard statue stood a snowman. But it wasn’t playful or charming. It was monstrous. Nearly seven feet tall, built unnaturally with jagged patches of hardened ice instead of smooth curves. Its arms were long, crooked sticks that curved like skeletal limbs. Its head was uneven, as if sculpted in anger.

And its eyes—two hollow black holes dug deep into its face.

They stared at Claire.

Her breath quickened. “That…that wasn’t here earlier,” she whispered.

A strong gust of wind blew across the yard, but the snowman didn’t shift or lean. It stood perfectly still, rigid, as if rooted to the ground.

Claire forced herself to move, resisting the urge to sprint. She made it to the dorm, pulled open the heavy door, and stumbled inside.

“Whoa—Claire?” Lila called from the top of the stairs. “What happened? You look like a ghost.”

“There’s a snowman,” Claire panted. “By the statue. It’s…weird.”

Lila raised an eyebrow. “Weird like what?”

“Like wrong.” Claire rubbed her arms. “Like someone carved the eyes with their fingers. And it moved.”

“Moved? Or you just thought it moved?”

“Lila, I swear—it wasn’t there earlier. And now it is. And it feels like it’s watching me.”

Lila frowned. “Maybe it’s a prank. You know how bored people get during finals week.”

“Yeah…maybe.” Claire forced a laugh. “Maybe I’m just tired.”

But she didn’t believe that. Not for a second.

That night, Claire lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Her lamp stayed on. Her fingers trembled. Every time she closed her eyes, she pictured those dark hollows staring at her.

At exactly 3:14 AM, a scraping noise jolted her awake.

Scrape…scrape…scrape.

It came from outside the window.

Claire’s heart threatened to rip out of her chest. She sat up slowly and peeked through the blinds.

A tall shadow stood below her window.

The snowman.

Claire slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a scream.

“Lila…” she whispered. “Lila, wake up.”

Lila groaned. “What…time is it?”

“It’s outside…”

“What’s outside?” Lila pushed herself up, confused.

Claire pointed at the window. “The snowman.”

Lila trudged over and looked out. “Claire…there’s nothing there.”

Claire stared again.

The snowman was gone.

But in the fresh layer of snow below, footprints trailed directly under their window.

“It was there,” Claire insisted. “Look at the tracks!”

Lila stared at the prints, her expression tightening. “Okay…that’s weird. Really weird.”

Claire didn’t sleep again that night.

The next morning, she dragged herself to class, trying to shake the unease. Anthropology was usually her favorite seminar, but she barely heard Professor Dawson’s lecture. Her mind replayed the scraping sound. The hollow eyes. The footprints directly below her room.

Tap.

She ignored it.

Tap.

Her head snapped toward the window.

It was covered. Completely. Snow pressed against the glass from the outside, forming the outline of a face.

Two dark hollows stared in at her.

Claire shot to her feet and ran out of the room.

In the hallway, the windows were clear. Her breath shook as she leaned against the wall.

“I’m not crazy… I’m not crazy…”

Then her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

Do you see me?

Claire’s blood froze. She typed frantically.

Who is this??

No reply at first. Then—

I see you.

Her pulse spiked. “No…no, no, no.” The eerie silence between each message reminded her of stories like The Séance Tape: Listening to the Unseen, where unseen forces reached out through sound.

Another message.

Look outside.

Claire didn’t want to. She knew what she’d see. But her body moved anyway.

Across the quad, the snowman stood alone, facing her building.

“Why me?” she whispered.

Her phone buzzed again.

Your attention.

Claire backed up against the wall. “Oh god…”

She rushed back to her dorm, desperate to find Lila. But when she entered, the room felt…wrong. Too cold. Too quiet.

“Lila?”

Silence.

Her phone buzzed.

Looking for your friend?

Claire's breath hitched. “Don’t touch her. Please, don’t—”

Come outside.

Claire shook her head. “No. I’m not doing this.”

Come.

Now.

Something slammed into the door. Claire screamed.

She ran.

Outside, the icy air stabbed her lungs. The quad was silent. Then—

A shadow stretched over the snow.

Claire turned.

The snowman towered inches away.

Its presence radiated cold—real, unnatural cold that seeped into her bones. The hollow eyes were deeper now, almost like tunnels leading somewhere else, somewhere dark.

Claire’s voice cracked. “What do you want from me?”

No mouth moved, yet a whisper filled the air.

“You looked at me.”

Claire staggered back. “What…what does that mean?”

“You saw what was not meant to be seen.”

The air thickened. The wind stopped. The world felt frozen in place.

“I don’t understand!” Claire cried.

“You looked,” the voice hissed. “And now you cannot look away.”

The shadow around the snowman shifted, twisting like living smoke.

“Come with us.”

Claire backed away until her foot slipped and she fell into the snow. She scrambled, her breath shaking. “No! Stay away from me!”

Figures emerged—three, then five, then dozens, shaped from frost and shadow. They surrounded her, whispering.

“Join winter…”

“Stay cold…”

“Stay forever…”

Claire tried to stand but her limbs felt heavy, numb, turning to ice. Her vision blurred until the world vanished into darkness.

When she finally opened her eyes, she was in her bed. Blankets over her. Heat from the vent humming softly.

Lila sat at her side, trembling. “Claire…thank god. I thought I lost you.”

“L-Lila?” Claire whispered. “Where was I?”

“Outside,” Lila said. “Passed out in the snow. Security said you were severely hypothermic. They said if I hadn’t found you—” She choked on her words.

Claire sat upright. “The snowman—did you see it?”

“Claire…” Lila hesitated. “There was no snowman.”

Claire froze. “No. Lila, I saw it! It talked to me. It touched me—”

“Claire.” Lila held her shoulders. “Listen. I checked the quad myself. There were no snowmen. Not even tracks.”

Claire felt sick. “That’s impossible…”

Her phone vibrated again.

Unknown number.

See you tonight.

Claire’s hands shook violently.

“Lila…” she whispered. “It’s not over.”

That night, the snow fell harder than ever before, swallowing the campus in white. Claire sat upright, staring at the window, waiting.

At 2:03 AM, the power went out. The room plunged into darkness.

Claire and Lila froze.

“Did the storm knock out the grid?” Lila whispered.

Claire didn’t answer.

Because outside—past the glass—two hollow black eyes stared back at her.

The snowman stood inches from the window.

It raised one long, stick-like arm.

And tapped the glass.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

“Claire…” Lila whispered. “Don’t move.”

But the snowman’s head slowly tilted, as if acknowledging both of them. A low whisper seeped through the cracks of the window.

“Another one.”

Lila backed up. “What the hell was that? Claire—what’s going on?!”

Claire swallowed hard. “It wants me. But now…it knows you too.”

“What do we do?”

Cracks formed across the glass.

Tap.

Tap.

The cracks spread like lightning.

Claire grabbed Lila’s arm. “We run.”

The window shattered.

A gust of freezing wind blasted through the room. Snow swirled inward, forming shapes—shadows with limbs and whispers. The Snowman stepped through the window frame, its massive figure filling the entire space.

Its hollow eyes locked onto Claire.

“Come.”

Claire pulled Lila toward the door, lungs burning. They sprinted down the hall as the whispers followed them.

“Join us…”

“Stay forever…”

They burst out into the storm. Snow blinded them. The wind howled like a living thing.

Lila screamed. “Where do we go?!”

Claire remembered something—something she’d learned in her folklore class.

“Winter spirits…they’re bound to cold. They can’t cross running water.”

“Running water? Claire, everything is frozen!”

“The Science Center fountain!” Claire cried. “It uses underground geothermal pipes—it never freezes!”

They ran, slipping across snow and ice. Behind them, heavy, unnatural footsteps thudded through the storm.

When they reached the fountain, the water still trickled, steaming slightly in the cold.

“Get behind me!” Claire shouted.

The Snowman emerged from the blizzard, towering above them. It extended an arm toward Claire.

“You belong to winter.”

“No!” Claire stepped beside the fountain. “You can’t cross this!”

The Snowman paused. Its hollow eyes flickered. The shadows behind it shrieked in frustration.

“Return…” it hissed. “Or she comes with us too.”

The shadows grabbed Lila’s arm. She screamed as frost crawled up her skin.

“Let her go!” Claire shouted.

She grabbed Lila’s arm and yanked her into the spray of the fountain’s flowing water. The shadows recoiled, hissing, dissolving into the wind.

The Snowman staggered back, cracks forming across its icy surface.

“You cannot hide in spring…” it growled. “Winter always returns.”

Its body split, then collapsed into a heap of snow. The wind howled one final time before falling silent.

Claire collapsed beside the fountain, sobbing with relief. Lila wrapped an arm around her, trembling.

“Is it over?” Lila whispered.

Claire stared at the pile of snow, unsure.

Winter always returns.

The storm eased. The first light of dawn crept across the campus.

But deep within the broken heap of snow, two faint black hollows lingered—watching, waiting.

Spring might come.

But winter would always follow.

And the Snowman was patient.