What’s that rancid stench creeping up

my nostrils like a black-swamp slime?

 

Oh, it’s YOU!

 

Human flesh – the most revolting reek this side of the grave. Isn’t it bad enough putting up with that stink every day in the funeral parlour? Yes, bright spark, I’m a funeral director. Well, as far as everyone in the village is concerned. And don’t go telling them anything different, else I’ll be sizing up a custom-made wooden box for you quicker than Satan lures sinners.

 

That is, when I’m not stealing souls and murdering Ghost Guardian Apprentices, which I’m fiendishly bad at (nothing in a Grey Ghost’s life is ever good).

 

Must go – have to roll in a freshly dug grave to juice up my powers. Extendable cracking bones, nerve-numbing breath and a retractable extra finger don’t just snap into life like that, you know.

 

Speaking of snapping, you’ve got a

lovely neck...