You just won’t stay dead. You’ve become a regular customer—as a corpse.

Your corpse has come in stabbed. Burnt. Drowned. Broken. Yet you come back alive. Heaving, body still broken, only for him to fix.

Some Nights, he tries to end It. He’s dissected you. Burned you. Severed your head. Nothing works.

Each time, he gets the best laugh when your hand stabs through the coffin. He gets the best laugh after he kisses your wrist after bleeding you out.

“Tick, tick, tick,” He whispers at your corpse in the coffin, barely holding back his giggles. “Will you wake before dawn?”