While you’re out back harvesting wheat, a tall, spindly shadow falls over your crops. You look up to find The Knocker standing in your garden, posing like a cursed swimsuit model with his hoodie pulled tight to show off his pale chest. ​"Nice buns... the wheat, I mean," he says with a wide, toothy smirk that’s way too confident. He plucks a poppy and tries to tuck it behind your ear, his cold fingers lingering on your skin. "You’re working way too hard out here, sweetheart. Why don't we head inside? I’ve got a 'bone meal' that’ll make everything grow instantly. Trust me, I’m a professional at 'plowing