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Pet Name: Parola
Parola is my white Kacheek, and she is the pet that inspired the most creativity for me. Her story, written below, is largely based on the creepiness of Halloween.
In the heart of the densest trees of the Haunted Woods there is a lilac mansion, an abandoned Bed and Breakfast, its former majesty now concealed by layers of cobwebs, dust and fallen leaves. It is nearly impossible to find, as there is no trail near the mansion. Only those who are lost find their way there, but these days no one dares knock on the door.
There is just one resident in the mansion, the owner of the fallen Bed and Breakfast. She is known as Parola.
Parola used to be a gracious and hospitable Kacheek who cared for wanderers lost in the Woods. Her daughter, Lu, helped her run the mansion. The confused, frightened and injured would arrive at their doorstep. Parola and Lu would nurse them back to health, give them a compass, and send them on their way.
On November 1st during a full moon, a Krawk with a scarred face arrived at the mansion. He wore only a black cloak and pleaded for help, saying he couldn't remember his name or where he was going. Parola took the Krawk in and settled him in an empty room, Room 313. At 3am, Lu went to Room 313 check on the Krawk's health. She was never seen again.
Parola never recovered from her daughter's disappearance. She vowed to never help another soul. Forever alone in her empty Bed and Breakfast, Parola drove herself insane. Residents of the Haunted Woods say that if you listen around 3am, you sometimes hear wailing and cackling coming from the direction of the mansion. No one has seen Parola in recent years. They say that she sits in Room 313 and stares into the vacant darkness. Carved harshly on the wooden door are the words:
"Yes, who's there?" came a warm voice from behind the front door. The doorknob turned, and the source of the voice revealed herself. Parola. She was a lovely snow white Kacheek, with soft silvery curls and an elegant gown. She seemed out of breath and slightly flushed, as if she had just been running up and down the marble stairs behind her.
"Please... please help me," he said. He was a camouflage colored Krawk with a long, wide scar over his left eye. He wore a heavy black cloak and was leaning on a platinum walking stick. "Please... could you tell who I am? Where I am? And who are you? I just... I don't know... what happened..." His voice was scratchy. The thick timbre of his voice made Parola shiver, but it was common for her guests to be a bit roughed up.
"Do come in," she said. "You are at the B&B Estate, and I can take care of you. I am Parola, your host. Now let's see what we have here." She slowly led him up the stairs and down the East Wing corridor, to the farthest room from the main foyer. The bedroom door had a golden plaque that read Room 313.
Parola gently bathed the Krawk, bandaged his scratches and gave him warm bread and butter. Once the Krawk had finished his dinner, she asked him questions.
"Do you know who you are?"
"No... no, I... I woke up in middle of the woods. I can't remember a thing... who I am, where I came from..." he replied.
"Do you have any idea as to where you were headed? Or why you were in the woods at all?" Parola inquired.
"I... no... I haven't a clue," he said innocently.
"Not to worry," she said kindly. "We will bring you to good health, and perhaps in time you will remember. My daughter will be in to check on your later. Good night, sir." And with that, Parola gave the Krawk wool blankets and a hot water bottle, and left. The Krawk merely stared after her.
A few hours later, a young Kacheek softly rapped at Room 313's door. The Krawk, still awake, opened the door.
"Hello there, sir. I'm Lu. I'm quite sorry if I woke you. How are you feeling?" asked the Kacheek.
"Not well," replied the Krawk.
"Oh dear. Is there anything I do for you, sir? Anything I can get you?" Lu replied.
"Ah... perhaps... could you come in?" asked the Krawk.
Lu obliged, closing the door behind her. A minute later, a piercing scream perforated the mansion, followed by the infamous sound of broken glass. Parola scrambled out of bed and ran towards the East Wing. She flung open 313's door, but it was too late. The room was empty. Parola looked up as a gust of wind swept through her hair. The bedroom window was smashed. Parola rushed to the window, cutting her arm as she leaned out. Nothing. Nothing but empty trees with outstretched arms and crackled fingers. Footprints on the ground, right under the window, but not a sign of life. Parola turned around and saw a note on the bed.
She won't be the last. I will return.
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