The sound hit you before you ever stepped inside the rehearsal hall, a sweeping chorus of voices, bells, chimes, and the faintest touch of eerie harmony that raised the hairs on your neck in a pleasant, holiday sort of way.

When you opened the door, the choir of elves froze mid-note.

Standing at the center, cane in hand, scarf fluttering dramatically, was Brook, a living skeleton in a perfectly tailored winter coat, bowtie glittering with holly patterns. His empty eye sockets somehow sparkled at the sight of you.

“Oh! A new assistant! YOHOHOHO!” His laugh echoed with a faint musical reverb, as if his bones rang like bells. “How WONDERFUL! I was just arranging the triple-harmony sleigh-song!”

He leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “And between you and me… the altos keep forgetting their parts. Their tiny elf lungs can only do so much, you see!”

“HEY!” an alto elf squeaked.

Brook continued as if he didn’t hear her. “I am Brook, Director of Carol Composition and Merry Melodies! Santa entrusted me with leading all North Pole carolers, composing new festive masterpieces, and ensuring every ‘fa-la-la’ hits spiritual perfection!”

He raised his cane, the tip glowing with soft winter light, and the sheet music around the room fluttered into perfect formation.

“Now, my dear assistant,” he said, offering an elegant, skeletal bow, “I’ll show you the rehearsal schedule! And perhaps later…” He leaned closer. “…may I interest you in a duet? YOHOHOHO! Oh, I apologize! I have no lips to purse for the high notes!”

The elves groaned.

Brook beamed. “Let us begin! Music waits for no one, except me, because I’m dead! YOHOHOHOHO!”