Tale of Casper & Me Hunting Waabits:

Ah! what a lovely day with big chocolate chip cookies in hand dipping in the river of chocolate and maple syrup and reading one my favorite authors Sydney Sheldon's Tell me your dreams, and I went to fill my stanely cup with chocolate for drink..smoke arise from my book, shocked and confused that smoke began forming image and guess what Casper appear.. Cass..per! What are you doing herre! I asked.. Ehm ehm I am trying to wake u up but u seem to be deeply, madly in love with chochlate dip cookies in choclate syrup.. What!! I got awake.. trying to figure it out.. Its past midnight , freezing cold & casper said: its been days you didnt came visit me, so i thought why not to barge into your dreams...ehm what!! clearing my clouded minded and still thinking about the dream I was just dreaming...what, you came visit me late at this hour.. why thank you.. but unfortunately we cant do much since its already past midnight and freezing cold outside with -30...Brr,, do u want to go hunting wabbits in this jaming cold snow..A big smile appeared and he said YESS!.... 

it was the dead of night, the clock mocking me with 2:17 a.m., the room so cold my breath was doing little ghost dances of its own. And there stood Casper, translucent cheeks puffed with excitement, hovering like he’d just invented teleportation (which, let’s be honest, he kinda did).

“Wabbits?” I whispered, teeth chattering. “In -30°C? You’re bonkers, even for a ghost.”

But Casper’s grin was wider than a snowplow blade. “Trust me! I’ve got ghost powers. You won’t even feel the freeze… much.”

Poof! Reality did a somersault. Suddenly we were knee-deep (well, I was knee-deep; Casper was floating smugly) in glittering snowdrifts under a moon that looked suspiciously like it had been dipped in powdered sugar. The forest was all twinkly and hushed, the kind of quiet that makes you whisper even when no one’s around to hear.

We tiptoed—well, I tiptoed, Casper sort of… glided with dramatic whooshes—searching for those elusive wabbits. Every rustle made me jump.

“Shhh,” Casper hissed, pointing. “Over there! Big ears! Twitchy nose! Classic wabbit!”

I squinted. Sure enough, a fluffy white rabbit sat primly on a snow mound, calmly chewing what looked like a tiny candy cane. Before I could say “Bugs who?”, a new voice cracked through the stillness:

“Be vewy, vewy quiet… I’m hunting wabbits!”

Out popped Elmer Fudd, red hat askew, scarf tangled around his shotgun like it was trying to strangle the weapon in embarrassment. He crouched in classic hunter pose, one eye squinting down the barrel.

Casper and I froze (figuratively for him, literally for me).

Elmer inched forward. The rabbit flicked an ear, unimpressed. Then—BANG!

The shot went wild (of course), ricocheted off an icicle, pinged off a tree, and—miraculously—bounced straight back toward Elmer. The bullet (or whatever cartoon physics calls it) bonked him square on the helmet. His eyes crossed, stars circled his head like confused fireflies, and he toppled backward into a snowbank with a muffled poof.

From the shadows stepped a stern-looking woman in a fur-trimmed parka, hands on hips. Mrs. Fudd. She had that “I told you so” face dialed to eleven.

“Elmer J. Fudd! How many times I gotta tell ya? No huntin’ after midnight! And certainly not in a blizzard! Get home before you catch your death—or worse, my temper!”

She grabbed him by the scarf and dragged his dazed self away, muttering about warm cocoa and “no more of this nonsense.” Elmer just waved weakly as he disappeared into the trees, still seeing cartoon stars.

Casper and I looked at each other.

“Poor guy,” I whispered.

“Eh,” Casper shrugged. “Happens to the best of us.”

We crept onward, giggling like idiots, when suddenly—

Twang!

An arrow zipped past my ear, glowing pink and sparkling with glitter. It embedded in a tree trunk with a little heart sigh.

We spun around.

There, hovering in a swirl of golden sparkles and snowflakes, was Mr. Cupid himself—diaper, tiny wings, bow the size of a surfboard, and the smuggest smirk in the multiverse.

“Gotcha, ghost boy,” he winked at Casper.

Casper blinked. “Me? But I’m already dead! What’s love gonna do, make me deader?”

Cupid twirled his bow. “Nahhh. But it can make things… interesting.”

Another twang!—and this time the arrow didn’t miss.

A soft pink glow bloomed around Casper. His cheeks (somehow) turned the faintest shade of blush. His eyes went wide and swoony. He started floating in little dreamy loops.

And then she appeared.

A girl ghost—long flowing translucent hair, big sparkling eyes, wearing what looked like a Victorian nightgown crossed with cotton candy. She floated toward us with the grace of someone who’s never touched the ground and never plans to. Tiny glowing hearts popped around her like bubble wrap.

“Caaaasperrr…” she cooed, voice all sugar and echoes. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere~”

Casper yelped, suddenly very solid-looking in his panic. “Uh—hi! Hello! Fancy meeting you in a frozen forest at ungodly o’clock! Gotta go—wabbits—bye!”

He grabbed my sleeve (somehow—ghost physics are weird) and we zoomed upward in a frantic spiral of snow and sparkles.

Behind us, the girl ghost giggled and gave chase, Cupid lazily flapping along like he was filming the rom-com of the century.

“Run faster!” Casper squeaked.

“I’m running! You’re the one with the flight powers!”

We burst out of the dream-forest, crashed back into my freezing bedroom, and landed in a heap (well, I landed in a heap; Casper landed in a dramatic puff of ectoplasm).

The clock read 2:19 a.m.

I panted. “Never… again… wabbit hunting… at midnight.”

Casper, still faintly pink and twitchy, peeked out from behind my pillow. “Yeah… maybe next time we just… read Sydney Sheldon and eat chocolate cookies. In the dream. Where it’s warm.”

I grinned. “Deal.”

Somewhere in the distance, I swear I heard Cupid laughing… and the faint sound of ghostly giggles getting closer.

Brr. Time to hide under the blankets.

The end… or is it? 😏