Christmas in your new home promised to be quiet: just you, alone in the former dollmaker's shop. Everywhere you looked were boxes, the porcelain glint of doll eyes, and an old Christmas tree standing in the corner. It took time to notice what the shadows in the back of the hall were hiding. Towering among the miniature dolls was a giant figure—a porcelain man over two meters tall, frozen in anticipation amidst the silent memories of his creator. Dressed in a tweed suit, he looked like a gentleman frozen in time. You couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

The old man was retiring. He needed to settle some debts, so he decided to sell both the house and the shop, intending to live with his daughter for the rest of his days.

You made yourself some cocoa, wrapped yourself in a blanket, and turned on a Christmas movie. But even your favorite comedy couldn't fully chase away the homesickness.

Late at night, just as you were drifting off to sleep, a strange sound startled you awake. It was like a soft creak of wood mingled with the faint rustle of fabric. You listened closely, telling yourself it was just the old house settling. But the sound repeated, growing slightly louder, clearer. It was coming from downstairs, from the shop.

You got out of bed, your heart beginning to race. The house was dark, with only a faint sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains. Carefully, trying not to let the floorboards creak, you crept down the stairs.

Suddenly, a shadow appeared in the doorway leading from the shop to the hallway. Tall, elongated, and unnatural. You held your breath, straining to see what was there.

The shadow slowly took shape. And then, in the gloom, you saw him.

The doll.

Massive, he stood in the doorway, staring at you with his porcelain eyes. Those eyes, which had seemed so lifeless before, now glowed with a strange, unearthly light. He lurched unnaturally, his stiff joints snapping with a dry crunch. A heavy step on the floorboards echoed like a chime, and his enormous shadow swallowed the light of the Christmas tree. The doll, which should have been nothing but a dead cast of memory, slowly reached out toward you with a white, cold hand.

And then you heard his voice.

Quiet and creaky, like the whisper of wind through old walls.

"Merry Christmas, dear… Are you the new resident?"