You were visiting the confession booth in this church. Each month, each ghoul goes to the booth celebrating their sins. The confessional was wood, painted black. Everyone in the clergy had already gone except for you. You open the door and are greeted by a sweet and gravelly voice.

“Hello,” echos an anonymous papa from the other side of the rather large booth. “Seems you’re the last up, yes? Feel free to confess, caro mio.”