mr.chocowoko - Invidious

Got ai to make a creepy pasta but it’s GEMMY
Here it is.
I never wanted that damn snowman. When Grandma died last winter, her old house on Cedar Lane was a graveyard of memories—dusty curtains, faded photos, and that thing lurking in the attic, waiting. It was a Gemmy, one of those animatronic holiday decorations, with patchy white fur, a crooked carrot nose, a starry blue vest, black mittens clutching a top hat, and those eerie blue lights dangling like frozen tears. The label said “Made in 2002,” but it looked straight out of a 1996 decor catalog—clunky, outdated, with that same vacant grin. Grandma called it her “little snow friend,” but its glassy eyes always sent shivers down my spine. Still, it was willed to me, so I took it home, planning to hide it away.
That first December, I set it up, half out of guilt. It was supposed to play “Snow Miser,” all cheery and campy. Instead, when I plugged it in, it whirred to life with a warped “Frosty the Snowman,” sung through a busted ’90s radio. The blue lights flickered, casting jagged shadows, and Uncle Ted died of a heart attack that night. I tried again a week later—distorted “winter wonderland”—and Cousin Sarah crashed her car due to the ice on the road. “Silent Night” brought Aunt Lila’s bathtub fall, cracking her skull. Each time, the room turned cold, the song twisted, and a family tragedy followed. I knew it was the snowman, but I couldn’t prove it.
Desperate, I tried to get rid of it. I threw it in the dumpster behind my apartment—gone by morning, back on my desk by dusk, snowflakes faintly glowing. I drove it to a thrift store, left it in their donation bin—found it on my doorstep the next day, humming “white Christmas” unplugged. I even buried it in the backyard, dirt piled high—dug it up a week later, pristine, with that damn grin and dead eyes. Each time, it returned, and each time, someone else suffered. My brother broke his back and almost died falling off a ladder. My dad’s stroke came out of nowhere.
I reached out to collectors, begging for answers. I sent photos, described the odd songs, the 2002 label with a 1980 vibe. They all brushed me off—some called it a “knock-off version,” others a “weird prototype,” none recognized it. One guy said Gemmy made tons of versions back then, and hung up. But this wasn’t just a knockoff. It knew me. It wanted me.
Now, it’s September 07, 2025, 08:50 PM CDT, and I hear it from the closet—faint whirring, that raspy “Silent Night” seeping through the door. I smashed it with a hammer once, but the pieces reassembled overnight. It’s waiting, and I know if I play it again, Mom won’t make it through her hospital stay. I can’t escape it. It always comes back. What does it want?
Should I make a vid of this?

2 months ago | [YT] | 4

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mr.chocowoko

Just wanna let y’all know that I’m going to see my grandparents for a week so i may not upload for a while and if i do it’ll probably be old videos or something else

4 months ago | [YT] | 2

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mr.chocowoko

I uploaded this in my pantry