âAlright, here we go! Once upon a midnight gloomy, there was a little town with cobbled streets and creaky houses. Now, these folks? They liked to leave their doors open, their windows cracked, and their lights outâyâknow, the perfect setup for an uninvited guest.â
âSeems irresponsible to me.â
âWhat did the guest look like, Barnaby?âŠâ
âGlad you asked, Walls! This guest didnât have a shape, or a face, or even a body you could see. But oh, you could feel it. Just like that tickle in the back of your throat when you know youâre about to sneeze but it just wonât happen.â
âA ticklish ghost? Terrifying.â
âPatience, Frank! So one night, a lady in her cottage hears this raspy, scritch-scratchinâ sound from her window. She gets up, opens it wideâwithout thinkinâ, naturallyâand sees nothinâ but fog. But when she turns around, she finds⊠a trail of little wet footprints, each one inching closer to her bed.â
âMaybe it was a catâŠâ
âThatâs what she thought! She followed those footprints, muttering about how her old tabby must be trackinâ mud everywhere, but then⊠the prints stopped right in the middle of her room. The air grew heavy, like someone was watchinâ, and when she turned around⊠BAM! There it was: her own reflection in the mirror, smilinâ at her in the dark!â
âBarnaby, youâre not even trying! Itâs just her reflection.â
âAh, but hereâs the thing, Frankie. She tried to look away⊠but couldnât. Her reflection moved when she didnât, smilinâ wider and wider till her face split openââ
âNonsense! Thatâs not how reflections work.â
âIt was then she heard a whisper⊠soft, and slithery. It said: âLook closer.â And like somethinâ had taken over her, she leaned in, closer and closer, till her nose was nearly pressed to the glass. And right before her eyes⊠she saw it. A face in her reflectionâs mouthâa face that wasnât hers. The mirror was swallowinâ her up, dragginâ her right inside!â
ââŠThatâs ridiculous.â
âThen what happened, Barnaby?âŠâ
âThey say she was never seen again⊠but sometimes, folks in that town would walk by that same house, and on certain nights, theyâd see her face in the window, smilinâ back. And the scratchinâ⊠well, it never stopped. They just donât know if itâs her scratchinâ to get out⊠or if something else is in there, scratchinâ to come out.â
Barnabyâs smile fades, his voice lowering to a whisper.
âSometimes, if youâre very quiet and listen real close⊠you might hear it, too.â
For a moment, the room goes silent. Even Frank finds himself glancing in the distance, his protests dying on his lips.
âI liked that story, Barnaby. It was⊠cozy.â
âCozy? Yikes, Walls, remind me never to tell you a bedtime story!â
Howdy's store has been the target of a recent theft, one that has resulted in the devastating loss of....one (1) apple ... đ
But tensions rise as the main suspect is none other than the neighborhood darling, Wally Darling!
Tune in to the trial of the century as all of your favorite neighbors try to find out why (and if ) Wally would commit such a heinous act...
...
Or aka, an obligatory courtroom episode, because who doesn't love a good old fashioned trial?
It's been rattling in my head for a while, so I drew a few (out of context) scenes to show what I mean, because what else am I supposed to do? Develop the entire story line? Edit out a draft so that it's cohesive? Write in-character dialogue? Ha!
"Hey, thanks for watchin' after the little stinker!"
(A thank you to all of these lovely folks down below!)
@khaosssss @imaginatorofthings @smallpwbbles @roseombre @yet-happy @angyc0rtoons @indigopopton @funonion001 @catmadeofglass @somdxr @heythereneighbor @gremlem @paper-starz @weevmo @cyanwyrmy @gremliinsart @carnivalcarrion @kaybl @z0mbieparty @anonymouspuzzler @sharpiepirateninjaratenu
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