It was a dark and stormy night. It was October 8th, 1914

It was a sacred belief that on October 8th, the dead would visit, or the veil between the living and the dead would thin. Making it a night that could go from a sweet reunion to a bloody masacure.

on this particular night, a man who was once known for his stoic behavior and skill with the guitar, shot dead by a musical rival, rose from beyond the grave.

sitting by his headstone, his guitar in hand, he had long black hair that went to his mid back, had cut layers into it. He had on a black hat, along with a traditional suit like outfit, a very old fashioned one. He had skull face paint on, his skin visible, faint but visible, he was no mean man. Just ended up dying brutally in a gun fight.