The frozen herd is beginning to thaw, ice and pus streaming from the gaping wounds in their sides and rising into the bitterly cold air. Last year we tried to cut off their heads and bury them down by the shore. They were far more brutal without a head to guide them - a mistake we didn't care to repeat and three graveyards full to the brim to always remind us.
This year we've left them untouched and tried to replace the townsfolk with approximations to appease the herd and stop them from wandering further inland. Countless bags of blood held in between tubes rushing with hot water all in ballistics gel figures - as human as an object could be.
When they finish thawing the entire herd will head into town followed by dense yellow-tinged fog and the stench of frostbitten flesh. We'll be watching them from the town's CCTV system, trying not to remember which figurine has our blood as they chew their way through fake meat into fake blood vessels into real sacks that took us months to prepare.
With enough luck they'll be satiated for another year and we can keep this strategy going next year as well.
We haven't told the surrounding towns about our plan just in case is goes astray.
Nobody wants to take the blame but worst case scenario - we won't be alive long enough to be blamed.
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