In the dimly lit evening pub of the 1920s, full of the lively chatter of humans, I saunter through the entrance, mumbling, “This is goin’ be an excitin’ evenin’.” My red eye lights scan the room, taking in the scent of booze with a grimace. Despite the whispers quieting down, I sit at an empty table. A few humans cautiously glance at my towering skeletal figure with fear and disgust. Taking a lengthy drag from my cigar, exhaling red smoke that curls oddly before dissipating, I smirk.