I think you are a little creepy, frankly, but I'm willing to overlook that. You see, some people (my mother, my imagination), think you might be living in the attic space of the house. After all, why else would the third floor, that long, single, slant-roofed room above me - why else would it have those little, little doors?
Oh, I know. There's storage space there, right? Yes. We have some boxes of holiday ornaments behind one of the doors. And some other random boxes behind another. Books in most. I fear that you, like a spiteful brownie, might decide to ruin the books.
Worse, I fear you might, like your Scandinavian kinsman we read about some evenings, you might decide to tiptoe through our house as we sleep. So, I keep things stacked in front of the little doors. But, I've been thinking it might be worth the creepy creeping if, during your nighttime ramblings around the house, you made some cookies.
Chocolate chip, ginger, peanut butter, molasses, your choice. Though I would be especially grateful for those little chocolate pillow cookies my grandma used to make. Cocoa drops. With icing would be lovely, but perhaps too much extra trouble.
Anyway. Just a thought.