"Dear Doctor, by the time you read this letter, I will already be dead..."
These words suddenly popped into Fatty's head. As the opening to a will, it was indeed captivating, but for now, without pen and paper, this suspenseful draft could only be sketched in his mind.
"Thud, thud—"
The rigid footsteps echoed in the room.
At this moment, Fatty realized the footsteps were heading straight towards him, without pause or detour, coming directly to his bedside, and then stopping.
The thick smell of decay reached its peak.
It was standing right next to the bed.
Less than half a step away from Fatty.
Through the blanket, a blurry shadow could be seen at the bedside. If the blanket was lifted, the person beneath would be exposed to the ghost.
Actually, the current situation was no different from being exposed.
Fatty's enormous figure hid under a thin blanket, like a tumor growing on the bed, shivering.
If this ghost couldn't see him, it would truly be blind.
