Fang had long been accustomed to the strange events that happened to him; he didn't show any fear after that arm placed him on the floor.
After dusting himself off, the little boy turned his head to look around. Even though there was no one in the bedroom, he still bowed politely to the air and said in a babyish voice, "Thank you, Mommy! I won't go to dangerous places!"
His little face was incredibly adorable, like a ripe apple, tempting one to take a bite. Fang grabbed his paintbrush and scurried out of the bedroom, drawing in a found notebook.
He dangled his feet, and the little tail on the back of his dinosaur pajamas swayed along.
"Even if you don't show up, I know you're always by my side," Fang hummed a tune, looking carefree as if he was not in the notoriously haunted house of the East District, but rather in the home where he had lived since he was a child.
The room was dead silent, with no response whatsoever.
