How did a (cute girl) like you end up in a place like this?!
Trying your hardest to escape, it also seems like you also have forgotten your 𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀. As you continue your journey on escaping, you encounter some ghosts especially a little (n...
Christmas had always been a time of warmth and joy for me. The scent of pine trees mingled with the sweet aroma of gingerbread cookies, the sparkle of fairy lights decorating every nook and cranny of my home. This year, however, felt different. The spirit of the holiday lingered in the air, but I found myself surrounded by peculiar company.
"Mr. Crawling!" I called, glancing over my shoulder. The sight of him always sent a shiver down my spine, though not out of fear—more like curiosity. He was a peculiar specter, an apparition with no eyes, just smooth skin where they should have been. Yet, he giggled to himself, a sound that felt oddly joyous amidst the quiet of my home. "Do ghosts even celebrate Christmas?"
As if hearing my thoughts, Mr. Crawling perked up, tilting his head in my direction, his form slowly inching toward me. "You do Christmas?" I attempted, but he merely blinked back, his head tilting further in confusion.
"Wait here!" I exclaimed, a flash of inspiration striking. I remembered rummaging through the attic a week earlier, finding a pair of cat ears that once adorned my old cat, Mr. Chopped. Maybe, just maybe, I could find something festive for Mr. Crawling too—a Santa hat would be perfect!
I rushed down the hallway, weaving through the rooms of the old house. My heart raced with anticipation. When I finally reached Mr. Silvair's room, I was greeted with the sight of him seated at his desk, bandages wrapped around his eyes.
"Hello, Mr. Silvair!" I exclaimed, but my eyes drifted to Mr. Chopped, who was sprawled comfortably across the bed, blissfully asleep with a Santa hat perched on his head.
"Ah!" I gasped. I'd love to borrow that hat, but I knew better than to wake Mr. Chopped. As if sensing my dilemma, Mr. Silvair chuckled softly, his head tilting toward the sleeping cat. "???" (Hat) he mused, pointing at the hat with a knowing smile.
"Please?" I nodded eagerly, gesturing toward Mr. Chopped. Mr. Silvair, with a gentle, ghostly smile, reached over and carefully lifted the hat from Mr. Chopped's head, handing it to me. "Thank you!" I whispered, feeling a wave of relief wash over me.
With the hat safely in hand, I dashed back to where Mr. Crawling awaited. As I entered the room, I found him sitting patiently, his form silhouetted against the dim light. He looked up, a hint of excitement in his posture.
"???, ??? !" (You Back !) he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around me in a hug that felt surprisingly warm. I couldn't help but laugh; the effort felt worth it.
"Look what I brought!" I beamed, placing the Santa hat atop his head. He blinked in confusion, tilting his head again, his non-existent eyes seemingly searching for understanding.
"Merry Christmas!" I chimed, unable to contain my joy. Mr. Crawling reached up, feeling the soft brim of the hat, his expression shifting to one of realization. "????" (Christmas!) he echoed, a sense of glee rippling through his voice.
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