Months had passed: Johnny was dead.

You were in your kitchen one night, having headed downstairs to grab a glass of water.

To your surprise, a very familiar face is standing there, looking at you with an expression that felt too calm. Johnny.

Instinctively, you back up. This had to be some kind of prank, it couldn’t be real.

“How on earth did ye’ move on so fast?” He asks, though there’s no hint of malice or anger in his tone, pure calmness.