The Dreemurr household was asleep.

A Christmas tree in the front yard gently rustled in the wind. Asgore had balked at the idea of putting one in a pot, so they let it grow outside and decorated it each year.

A planter led up to one of the windows on the ground floor, with the other end buried in the ground, as a sort of ramp. Behind the window, behind a curtain, in another planter mounted on the wall, slept Flowey.

Frisk slept in the same room, in a bed. Most of the furniture, aside from the planters, was theirs, as were the already slightly faded Mettaton posters on the walls. Flowey was slowly warming up to the idea of adding his own.

The window creaked open. A gust of wind swept the curtain aside. Flowey woke up, just in time to see a familiar figure climb inside, and face him. It was transparent, but he knew it well. "Howdy!" it said. A bit too cheerful for its expression.

"Here we go again," Flowey muttered.

"In life I was Asriel Dreemurr," the ghost howled, "and…" It looked around. "Sorry. I think there's been a mix-up."

"No, this is the right address," Flowey said.

The gost pulled a translucent piece of paper from its pocket. "It says here I'm supposed to haunt a 112-year-old man with terminally low levels of Christmas Spirit. You don't look that old. No offense."

"It's because you idiots only check the birth date."

"Isn't that -"

"It's complicated."

"Um. Anyway." The ghost scraped its throat, and began again. "The spirits of all men must walk the Earth as they didn't in life, and if you continue forging your own chains, Asriel… Dreemurr…" It frowned. "Okay, this is definitely wrong. I'm supposed to take the appea- I mean, either I'm Asriel Dreemurr, or you are. Not both."

"It's because I already died once and your stupid system thinks I'm closest to myself. Personally, I could think of a better candidate. But that's just me."

"Well, I don't do the scheduling." The ghost eyed him suspiciously. "Have you been haunted before?"

"Good job on figuring it out, genius. Sheesh."

"Hmph. No need to be rude. You, uh, you will be haunted by three spirits. Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls one. Expect the second-"

"I know the drill. Can we skip this bit?"

The ghost gave him an indignant look and walked away through a wall.

Flowey went back to sleep.