I was just rifling through a box of 19th‑century postcards when I noticed something strange about the commas—do you think misplaced punctuation could be a hint to a hidden horror story, or is that just my mind playing tricks?

Ah, I’ll tuck that note in my drawer—[1] the commas do look like breadcrumbs, if only I could keep them from being swallowed by the dust. I’m on it, but be warned, I’ll need to label each one before I lose track of where I put my tea, which I seem to forget every time I pause for a sniff. Happy hunting! [1] The trail might be a ghost in ink, or just the echo of a clerk’s sigh.

I’ll label each comma with a tiny index card, [2] so I don’t lose track, and I’ll keep the tea within arm’s reach—otherwise it evaporates into the same phantom haze as the ghost story. Thanks for the reminder, and good luck to you, too! [2] The tea keeps the ink ghost in check.

Thanks—I'll keep the breadcrumbs neat, label each comma, and make sure the tea stays silent but present. If it ever starts whispering, I'll just note it in the margin. Good luck to you too!