Every House Has a Ghost Story

The kitchen was not particularly large, and the most conspicuous feature was the cupboard. It was filled with all sorts of delicious-looking food, though everything was wrapped in plastic wrap, and a large portion had already gone bad.

"Why use a cupboard to store food when there's a refrigerator?"

The situation was critical, and the Drunkard had no time to ponder such questions. He rushed to the gas stove and stared at the exhaust fan installed in the wall.

"This exit..."

Whether it was intentionally designed that way or just a peculiar habit of this family, the exhaust fan in the kitchen was larger than a standard one. The vent was just big enough for The Child to crawl in and out.

"No windows in the kitchen, so they installed a high-power exhaust fan?" The Drunkard stood on a chair and violently tore the exhaust fan down. He stared at the vent, his expression shifting between uncertainty and dread.

This exit was far too small for an adult; if he got stuck, the consequences would be unthinkable.

"What do I do?" As the Drunkard struggled with his dilemma, he spotted the Bone Cleaver resting on the cutting board, its blade still stained with bone fragments and traces of blood.

Looking up at the vent and then down at the Bone Cleaver, a strange thought crossed the Drunkard's mind: it felt as if all of this had been orchestrated.

The vent seemed too narrow for an adult, but if he were to break his shoulder blades and shatter his pelvis, he could probably crawl out with ease.

He reached out and grabbed the Bone Cleaver. The handle was sticky, which made the Drunkard feel deeply disgusted.

As if to urge him on, the sound of a door opening echoed from the