Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep366: Episode 366: Funeral Home Horror Stories

Episode Date: September 1, 2026

Today’s phenomenal feature-length tale of the weird and macabre is all parts of the wonderful series ‘The Funeral Home I work at has a Strange List of Rules’ by Mammoth Formal 1, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.Reddit: user/MammothFormal1/

Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Funeral homes can be deeply unsettling because they occupy a strange space between the familiar world of the living and the unknowable world of the dead. They're often quiet, dimly lit places filled with reminders of mortality, where ordinary rooms suddenly take on a much darker atmosphere. The smell of flowers, the silence of empty corridors, and the knowledge that bodies have been prepared for burial can make even harmless sounds feel sinister.

There's also something inherently eerie about a place designed to care for the dead, while everything around it remains so still and ordinary. A reminder that death is always closer than we like to imagine. As we shall see in tonight's feature, length of story. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tale may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Ah, let's begin.

The funeral home I work at has a strange list of rules. I'm plagued by misfortune and death. It's been like this since the day I was born, and it follows me everywhere I go. My mother died during childbirth, and my father died in a tragic accident when I was only four years old. I lived with my grandparents following my father's untimely death. Life was typical for me,

or at least as typical as an orphan's life could be. That is until my grandparents died, leaving me alone in the world. My grandfather went first when I was only nine, and my grandmother some years later when I was 16. I was alone in the world after that. I peered into the fathomless void of despair every day, at least until I graduated from college.

Death had been the only thing I'd ever known, and because of that I became a mortician, or an undertaker, if you will. God knows I'd be into enough funerals. By the time I graduated, I found myself in near poverty, having spent my inheritances on attending college. Desperation set in and I began applying everywhere I could think of. Well, it's not like I had anything holding me back.

My job hunt eventually led me to a small funeral home in upstate New York, owned by a man named Gary Mullins. Gary was an interesting character. he appears as though he's a century old and his mental health is self-admittedly declining he's a quiet man but nothing livens him up more than talk of the dead much like myself gary grew up alone and has no family he inherited the funeral home after his father died when he was only 13 his uncle curated it until he came of age and then his uncle tragically passed mullins's funeral home was an even more interesting place.

The business itself operates out of a house that's 184 years old. It's a large purple house with a wrought iron fence around it. The local kids joke and say that ghosts haunt its halls. Well, I have to give it to them. I used to think the same thing.

Alas, no ghosts or ghouls prowl its decrepit old halls. What lurks here is much more corporeal. I'll never forget my first day of work at Mullins' funeral home. I vividly remember Gary opening the front door to me and showing me with delight all the pictures of his family members that adorn the walls. The strange thing about this was that these were all post-mortem pictures, taken at funerals and viewings. He spoke as if he was reminiscing on fond memories,

but these would have been tragic moments for anyone else. I quickly realized that Gary himself was a little strange. But he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. He'd pay me a yearly salary and allow me to live upstairs in the home, so long as I learned from him and eventually took over the business. I couldn't decline. I remember thinking to myself, this couldn't have gone any better. Naturally, I graciously accepted the old man's offer.

This was a great opportunity. I could easily have a career if I just stuck with it. Good, good, he replied to my acceptance of the position. Before adding, The house always needs an undertaker. Well, that statement baffled me, but I chalked it up as some old tradition that I wasn't yet aware of. Gary told me I'd start the following day

and told me to go upstairs and get settled in. That wasn't hard, eh? I only had the few possessions that I kept in my college dorm room. They were all piled in the back of my car. All I had to do was bring them upstairs. Bringing my things inside was a more laborious task than expected. The house had a narrow, twisting spiral staircase, leading only upstairs. Negotiating these staircase didn't prove to be a straightforward task,

but I eventually got all my things up the stairs and chose a room to saddle into. My room had high ceilings and beautiful hardwood floors. The furniture in there had to be original. It was as if I'd stepped into a Victorian time capsule. The room had a unique aroma to it, the scent that you'd smell in an antique shop, mixed with various herbs. I thought nothing of this smell, however.

This was the nicest room I'd ever had. It being inside a funeral home didn't much bother me. I don't remember falling asleep, but I do remember awaking to a knock on the door. It confused me, considering that the sun hadn't even risen yet. Who could that be? I thought to myself. Jason, it's time to go to work, I heard Gary say through the heavy wooden door. Well, I quickly remember that I live at work now. Yes, sir, I'll be right there. I yell back, looking down at my phone to check the time.

It was four in the morning. I stumbled out of bed and quickly threw some clothes on. They made my way to the door. Ah, good morning, sir. Gary exclaimed, looking chipper as ever. Oh, good morning, sir, I replied. I didn't realize we started this early. I'll make sure I'm up next time.

Oh, it's of no concern. Well, today is a special day. That's why we're up so early. Gary replied, motioning for me. me to follow him downstairs. As we navigated the winding staircases, I asked, why is it a special day, Gary? Every Monday's a special day, son.

We get to meet so many fresh faces, he replied. Fresh faces, I asked. Yep, that's when the city moor brings the bodies over, being that way for 46 years, he replied. I would have been completely in shock if I didn't share the same macabre sense of humour and enthusiasm for the dead. Instead, I was eager. I was excited to meet the new cadavers, excited to practice the skills I'd spent the past four years learning, and excited to learn from Gary.

As we made it to the bottom of the stairs, we approached a door, hidden by a curtain, behind the central room which is used to conduct services. Gary handed me an old, worn piece of paper before he opened the door. Jason, you best read these over before we start. If you hire these rules, you'll have a very productive experience here. Gary said as he handed over the piece of paper. I began looking at this piece of paper. Scrawled at the top was Mullins's funeral home, Undertaker Handbook.

Written under this were nine. rules. 1. Always. And I mean always. Close their eyes. If you don't, you'll not sleep for at least a week. Two, keep all limb freezers locked at all times. 3. We deal with a very specific clientele. Always adhere to any last wishes the family may have. We don't want any disgruntled customers. 4. Your work days are Monday, 4 a.m. to 5 p.m.

And Tuesday through Friday from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Saturdays for fun. Sundays for the Lord. You'll always work these hours and must be out of the preparation area by nightfall. 5. I'll permit you to have guests, but they too must follow the next rule. 6. Don't get caught in the holes between the hours of 11 p.m. and 131 a.m.

7. The power will go out at exactly 3.36 a.m. This will last until 3.42 a.m. Do not search for the cause of the outage. You would rather not know. 8. Should you hear weeping? Never under any circumstances search for the source.

no matter how close it sounds. Should you look, you will die a most horrific death, an eye. Should anyone knock on the door before or after business hours, do not answer it. Um, Gary, what do these mean? I asked in complete and utter confusion. Just ensure that you adhere to those. If you do, everything will be just fine, he replied. Before I could say anything else, Gary opened the large metal door in front of us and began walking down the cellar stairs. The first thing that I noticed was that it was frigid.

As we made our way into the cellar, I saw it was a large open room with several metal tables. Several large metal limb freezers lined one wall. Gary approached one of these freezers, opened the door and swung it open. He poured the end of the stretcher inside of the freezer. and a corpse slid out. This one was male, mid-50s. He had short greying hair and a scruffy beard. I scrutinized the body, looking for what could have brought him to us.

Heart attack, Gary said while making eye contact with me. Gary lowered the stretcher down, and I helped him transfer the body onto the table. The body itself was heavy, just dead weight. well we finally got it on a table and before we could go any further Gary closed the man's eyes we're all one I thought to myself we spent the next hour draining the blood and finally replacing it with the embalming fluid as this was going to be an open casket funeral after that we diligently prepared the body with makeup and dressing it in clothes it would wear forever his name is Tony Gary said

out of the blue. When's his service? I asked. Why, it's today, he replied. This took me by surprise. I hadn't expected to run a service so soon. The look of confusion must have shown because Gary said, well, they don't die on our schedule, is he let out to chuckle. Some time passed, but finally we finished preparing the body. We send him upstairs in the small elevator that we use for cadavers, Next came positioning the casket in the service room and putting him in it. Once we'd finished this task, we had to prepare the home with artifacts the family had left to be displayed during the service. I made a disturbing discovery when I was hanging photos of our client and his family. The photos they provided us were all photos of Tony committing gruesome crimes, including mutilating various women.

It repulsed me. What kind of monster was this man? Gary, I yelled, looking around for my boss frantically. What's the matter, son? He said with concern in his eyes, as he cleared a corner hurrying towards me. These are what's the matter. What kind of sick joke is this? I demanded to know.

Rule three, son, he reminded me. Shaken, I remembered Rule three. I must always adhere to the client's wishes. I had no way of knowing whether these depraved photos were real. But I continued to hang the pictures, and when the family finally arrived, I expected repulsion. But it delighted them.

They talked openly about how Tony had loved to kill young women and how the world wouldn't be the same without him. I desperately wanted to call the police at that moment. I was in a room full of lunatic. Suddenly I felt a hang grasped my shoulder. You did well, Jason, Gary said from behind me. I know it can be hard, but we're just the undertakers. We don't ask questions.

But this guy was a murderer, Gary. I snapped back at him in a hush tone. Was, my dear Jason. Was, he replied calmly. Eventually we transported the course. corpse to the cemetery and lowered it into the ground. I can't say that I wasn't happy to see that scumbag go underground. He was a sick, perverted psychopath.

The world will be better off without him. Eventually we made it back to the funeral home. When we went downstairs to make sure that everything was locked up, we discovered there was a limb freezer hanging wide open. I walked over it to close it back up. but when I did I looked down and saw that it was the body of a little girl oh my heart ache for her and her family when I saw her she couldn't have been over eight years old I noticed that her eyes were grey and cold

Jason no Gary yelled as he shoved me to the floor and slammed the freezer shut it was too late the little girl's life flashed before my eyes I could see every bad thing that had ever happened to her. I could feel all the pain that she'd ever experienced. And then I saw the world from her point of view. I saw myself looking into her eyes and the freezer slamming shut over me. Never look into their eyes. This is why we're shutting, Gary yelled.

What was that? I asked frantically. You saw death, Jason. That's what awaits us all. So it's best to avoid hastening it, he responded. So you mean that we can still see after death? We still experience reality, I asked. Ah, so it would seem, Gary replied in a solemn tone.

We'd lost track of time and neither of us had noticed that it was around 6pm now. It was getting dark outside. The old man quickly rushed me up the stairs. and lock the enormous iron door. Go to your room and lock the door now, Gary bowed to me. I didn't even ask why. I hurled up the stairs to my room and locked the door behind me. This place was too weird for me.

I had no intention of staying into the next day. I'd leave before my shift began. This was madness. I spent the night tossing and turning, unable to find sleep. Instead, I kept reliving that little girl's death and subsequent afterlife. Decided that a walk would be best. I ventured from my room, down the hall and toward the stairs.

I made my way up onto the spiral staircase, and then I heard it. Heavy sounding footsteps were moving towards me. I looked down at my phone, saw it was 12, 56 a.m. shit rule six i thought to myself my heart was pounding in my chest as i turned to run back to my room something was following me chasing me back by the time i managed to slam the door shut the thunderous footsteps had been right behind me the mysterious prowler of the hall continued to pace outside my door as i cowered in the corner for hours i stayed lodged in the corner of the corner of of my room long after the footsteps had faded away back down the stairs.

Eventually, so many hours had passed that the lights went out. I remembered this time. Rule seven. Stay put. Got it, I thought to myself. I continued to cower in the corner of my room. Come hell or high water, I would not leave this corner. Well, so I thought. not two minutes after the lights had gone out I had quiet sobbing from the other side of my bed

there was someone or something in my room with me I slowly crawled from my corner and navigated around the edge of the bed craning my head around the corner of the bed I stray my eyes to see the outline of a little girl She was wearing an old-looking dress, tattered and dirty. She buried her face into her hands as she wept profusely. Before I could turn to avert my gaze, she lifted her head to look directly at me.

Her eye sockets were bloody caverns where eyes had once been, but she still stared directly through me. Her mouth opened wide, revealing only bloody, mangled gums, as she let out a haunting shriek. Suddenly, the battered little girl crawled towards me, and she continued to scream, when she was around in her arm's length away from me. A human hand, covered in blood,

shot from her mouth and fixed itself to my throat. I tried to peel the hand away, but its grip was vice-like. I could feel the air being squeezed from my lungs as I stared into her hollow face. Remembering Rule 8, I realised that I was going to die. She continued to scream as I gasped for air. The world was going black around me when a flash of light has sailed my eyes.

Within an instant I drew air into my lungs. She'd vanished. The lights had come back on. Thankfully, I survived the horrific encounter, and I immediately began packing my things. I would not spend another hour longer in that house. I marched my things down the stairs and towards the front door. But before I could even open the door, a voice called out to me.

Leaving so soon, Gary's voice called out from behind me. Yeah, I'm leaving you, madman. What in the hell is this place? I asked him in a harsh tone. Jason, just calm down for one moment and hear me out. That's all I ask. Gary pleaded. "'Hear you out.

I was just attacked by a char from hell,' I responded. "'You looked, and you're still alive?' "'Hmm, interesting,' Gary said. His eyebrows raised as he spoke. "'What do you mean?' I looked, I asked, now livid. Mary Baker. She got out of the limfreeser around 38 years ago. That's why we keep them locked.

He replied as if I should have known that. Oh, yeah, the corpse just woke up and got out. That makes perfect sense. I barked sarcastically. There's no need to be harsh, Jason. Well, obviously, she's a handful. It's not like I can just catch her. Avoiding her is just easier.

He replied, before adding, Jason, this place is special. It's been in my family for generations. My grandmother built it when her husband dies. So what? So far we've heard a service for a serial murderer. I've been chased down the hall by something and attacked by an evil corpse.

I screamed at him. Well, my grandmother couldn't let go of her husband. When he died, she took up witchcraft. Local said she made a deal with the devil to keep him around forever. I guess she could. say some of that magic rubbed off on the house. Wait, so the man who chased me up the stairs was also a ghost, I asked. Still angry, but exhausted now.

Oh, boy, we don't deal in ghosts. We deal in cadavers. Uncle Bartholim is very much a physical being, and a real doozy at that. He was grandmother's least favorite. He calmly replied, before adding, that's why it's imperative you follow the rules I gave you just then a knock at the front door interrupted our conversation

Gary and I looked at each other and in unison we said rule nine we stood there frozen for a minute just looking at each other Gary who's that I asked in a quiet exasperated whisper sometimes the devil likes to come and check the place He was very far to this house when my grandmother was alive. Gary replied in a hosh tone,

before adding, please think about what I said. I'd love for you to stay. I believed the strange old man. I knew, without a doubt, that Satan was standing on the front porch. I promptly went back upstairs and waited until daybreak, still unable to sleep.

I stuck around until business hours, so I could talk to Gary. Gary, if I follow the rules to the letter, will I stay alive? I ask plainly. I'm 166 years old and still kicking, he replied. Come again, I asked.

I was born on June 14th, 1853, he said. The only certain things in life are taxes and death. Fortunately for me, we can only avoid one of those. Now, I'm a recent college graduate, and I recently began my career. Well, I was fortunate enough to land my dream job straight out of college, an undertaker. Since graduation, I've learned one very important lesson. Always follow the rules at Mullins' funeral home. Well, in college they teach most people to avoid stepping on toes.

They taught me to tag them instead. This has proven to be an arduous task thus far because they never told me that the toes may still be moving. The lines between life and death at Mullins' funeral home, well, they blur, so much so that my boss is a literal dead man. That's right, my mentor, Gary Mullins, is 167 years young. After a tumultuous first day, during which I broke seven of the three of the day, the same day, the nine established rules. Well, I settled in rather well. During the following weeks, I adhered to all the rules.

Didn't forget a single one. I broke my streak last Monday, though. I woke up at 3am, like every Monday, to meet all the fresh faces and begin planning services for the day. By the time 4 a.m. rolled around, I was waiting outside for the city morgue workers to arrive with our new clients. An hour passed. They were late.

Gary was inside preparing the basement for today's work. Hmm, well, this is new, I thought to myself. They were never late. I waited around for another half hour before Gary came outside looking for me. They must not have had anybody's for us this week. This is strange, he said, walking up beside me before adding, I can't remember a time when they didn't have any bodies from us. Well, we're almost at capacity anyway.

Following this realization, we went back inside to prepare for today's service. It seemed like a straightforward one. A younger man, maybe mid-30s, totally mangled from a car accident. The fact he had no eyes to close gave me a strange sense of relief. The last time I didn't close a client's eyes, I didn't sleep for a week. Horrible visions haunted me every time I closed my eyes. I had to relive the client's brutal death every time I blinked. What a mess, Gary declared as heaped what remained with a man into a coffin.

This would bewilder most morticians. Mangled remains are typically cremated, unless I had become very accustomed to our unique client base. An open casket viewing was nothing new. As I helped Gary slop the human gruel into the coffin, we heard something strange. Weeping. I hadn't heard weeping in weeks, not since Mary had tried to kill me. The weeping was coming from directly beneath the table we were working on.

It took me aback when Gary bellowed. Oh, scary, Mary, shut the fuck out. This shocked me I'd never heard. Gary so much has raised his voice. let alone scream profanities. Just then a hand reached up from under the table, then another and then another. I almost bathed.

The memory of her third arm bursting from her mouth had almost faded by that point. With her three arms she rocked the table and let out an horrific wail. This was an unfamiliar experience for me. I turned to Gary and saw a look of fright on his face. asked him what was happening. He told me this is common when you stay in the basement after nightfall,

but not this early. The sun was even beginning to come up. Keep working. She won't come out unless you look at her, Gary said calmly. That was all I needed to hear. I continued placing viscera and mangled remains into the coffin. We had to get this done.

It was nearing 7 a.m., and our funeral was starting at night. Still though, Gary worked with such care and fervour. His experience truly showed. We finished the task in the nick of time. With exactly 30 minutes before the service, we made it upstairs. Our execution was flawless. The body was placed in the service room as we set up the decorations. Many of the decorations were pieces of the dead man's vehicle, the vehicle he had died in.

Oh, I can't pretend that this didn't disturb me slightly. That was a very macabre touch. Soon after, we finished selling up the decorations, and the family and friends trickled in. They praised us for a job well done, as they admired what we'd done with their loved ones' remains. At one point, a woman approached me and said that the presentation was impeccable. It confused me when she left me with a phone number.

Is she trying to get a date? Before I could ask, Gary pulled me aside. Listen, Jason, something's wrong. All the limb freezers are open. We need to get this service out of here, he said, concern permeating his voice. Well, I didn't even need to ask. I knew that all the cadavers had escaped and that four of our six freezers have been full. Oh, my mind raced at a million miles per minute as I pondered what they could do.

Gary decided that we would have to approach the mourners and tell them the service would have to end. This was an unfortunate violation of Rule 3, but it was for the safety of all involved. As expected, they were livid, at least until the cadaver named Sally wandered into the service. Sally was 61 years old and had died in a mugging gone wrong, and she was an angry one. The mourner scattered as Sally rampaged through them, attacking them with the only weapon she had. Her teeth. All hell was breaking loose as Sally fumbled through the crowd, taking bites of human flesh along her way. Eventually, she made eye contact with me.

My heart pounded as she came directly for me. But before she could sink her teeth into my neck, someone knocked her to the ground. Well, it was the corpse we called the tank. Tank was a massive mound of muscle. It was obvious he wanted to prove his dominance, seeing as how he pounded away at Sally's bloated form with his lunchbox-sized fists. By this point all, the funeral guests had made a run for the door.

Suddenly, Gary pulled me up the stairs. I panted profusely as he calmly spoke to me. Listen, Jason, this is only how to you. happened once before in my tenure here. These kinds of things only happen when my grandmother comes home to visit. What? I stammered. My grandmother,

she will not appreciate me hiring someone who isn't blood. It's imperative that we hired you from her. But first, we need to clean up this mess. By this point, my stomach had formed a sharp knot. What was he even talking about? Gary gave me a detailed plan describing how we'd deal with the cadars that were currently roaming the halls.

It involved separating them and luring them into rooms, which we would then lock. I ran downstairs to deal with tank first, and by that point he had crushed Sally into a pulp and was searching for another opponent. The chair I smashed over his back got his attention. As he lumbered towards me, I dove behind the casket, behind the curtain, and threw the heavy basement door open. He followed, tearing the curtain down as he went. He lumbered straight down the stairs, not realizing that I'd hidden under the casket at the precise moment the curtain had obstructed his vision. Not sparing a second, I slammed the heavy iron door shut behind

it. That was too down. As I approached the main room, I saw Gary descending the stairs, holding the cadaver of a baby by the leg. Oh, it was lunging at it. him, trying to bite him, but to no avail. He held the little guy at arm's length. Oh, good, another one down, I thought to myself. We tossed the baby into the basement with Tank, knowing that they would both eventually just give up and go back to a more manageable state. The only task that remained was tracking down the next corpse.

Oh, the situation terrified me. This is not what I had signed up for. after hours of searching the house for this last cadaver all hell broke loose literally there was a sharp knock at the front door which led to me answering it standing at the door was a tall older man wearing all black and a black fedora can i help you sir i asked exhausted and terrified at this point "'Do you happen to have the time, son?' he asked in a smooth voice. "'Yeah, it's five oh two,' I replied. His lips curled into a smirk. "'Excellent, son. "'I'm meeting someone soon,' he said.

"'Great, I just broken rule nine, the most important rule.' Before I could slam the door on Satan's face, All the lights in the house went out, and Mary started weeping from an unknown location. Jason! Gary's voice boomed through the house as he rushed down the stairs behind me. He was more than a little pissed. I had let the devil in the house. A sharp wailing echoed through the house, and a fountain of rotten, coagulated blood suddenly blasted all over me. Our last cadaver had found scary Mary, how shook violently as if the very foundation was being rocked side to side.

The lights flickered back on for a moment before every bulb in the house exploded, sending shards of glass everywhere. Oh, God, she's here, Gary says, with a sigh as he waved me upstairs. life and death at the Mullins' funeral home. Life and death at the Mullins' funeral home are beyond peculiar. My name's Jason, and I work at the Mullins' funeral home. It's a small family-owned parlour in upstate New York.

We deal with a very bizarre clientele, those whose desire is a special funeral experience. The nature of my employment is bizarre to say, the least. In exchange for my services, I'm given room and board, training, small salary, and the adventure of a lifetime. Sounds like a good deal, right? But there's a catch. The Mullin's funeral home once operated under a list of nine rules. This list has since expanded to include one more, following a catastrophic incident involving the devil himself. A few nights go all hell literally broke loose in the house.

Gary's grandmother had shown up for a surprise visit, and I'd spent the duration of her visit on the staircase, waiting for her to leave. This wasn't the greatest idea, because while I was waiting, I lost track of time. Before I knew it, it was 1 o'clock in the morning, and Uncle Bartholomew had started making his nightly rounds through the house. Unfortunately, I didn't notice this until the least opportune time when he was walking down the staircase, heading directly towards me. Couldn't see anything at all, on account of every light in the house being blown.

Going downstairs was not an option, lest I run into Gary's grandmother. I decided I'd take my chances with Bartholomew. So as I crept up the stairs blindly, I felt myself run into something solid. Before I knew what was going on, I found myself lifted off my feet and held inches away from a hideously decayed face. The state of decay was so advanced that the lower mandible was falling off. The eye sockets were long, empty, and the teeth cracked and twisted. Uncle Bartholomew you, oh shit, I thought to myself. I tried to let out a cry for help, but before I could, Bartholieu had smothered me,

with his other hand. The scent and taste of his long dead flesh was indescribably vile. He then dragged me down the hall without saying a word. My body froze as though it had just given up all hope. There wasn't a damn thing I could do. As much as I wanted to scream and fight back, I realized that doing so would only draw the attention of Gary's grandmother, who was most likely right below me. I didn't know why, but I just knew that that was not a wise idea. Dred set in upon realizing that I couldn't even defend myself from my abductor without risking detection. I knew he would most likely mourn me to death and go back to roaming the halls.

The thought of my broken body lying crumpled in a corner raced through my mind. Then something unexpected happened. Both Hollingwood continued down the hallway, open my bedroom door, and then gently placed me on my floor and started uttering complete gibberish to me. I couldn't understand much of anything that he was trying to say, considering his advanced state of decay. He had half a jaw, a nub of a tongue, and destroyed teeth, but he frantically tried to speak. To my surprise, what I could make out didn't scare me. in fact it gave me hope must hide they are here for brother he muttered his jaw nearly falling apart the entire time he tried to speak what did he mean here for brother i thought to myself in astonishment

my immediate thought was that gary was in some kind of danger was he too going to be cursed like bartholomew to roam the halls and rot for it I couldn't let that happen. No one deserves a fate like that. I sat in my room in stunned silence for several hours. I needed to devise a plan to get downstairs and help Gary. However, Bartholomew continued to stand outside my door as if he was a watchdog. He was nearly seven feet tall and as wide as my doorframe. There was no way I could get past him. I could hear muffled conversation coming from the room below me, but it didn't sound as though anything bad was happening. Instead, I heard what sounded like soft whispers of agreement. To my surprise, I heard three voices. But Gary convinced her to leave. Was this a legitimately friendly visit? Who was the third

person? I hadn't the fathiness idea, but I still needed to get down there. Gary seemed genuinely terrified of his grandmother's arrival, and I couldn't let him face her alone. Now, fortunately for me, Bartholomey only roam the halls between certain times, and eventually his footsteps moved away from my door. Now was the time to act. I crept from my bedroom and down the stairs into the parlour. I hid behind a corner and craned my neck to see Gary sitting at a table dimly lit by candlelight. He was with someone. the man I'd answered the door to earlier in the evening. The devil, I couldn't believe my eyes as I snuck around the corner and hid behind a chair.

Sitting in a chair next to Satan was a grotesque-looking human figure. Oh, that must be Gary's grandmother. Now I understand why he avoids her. I thought to myself, feeling completely sickened. It was a nude female figure who appeared to be ancient, her back hunched to a sickening degree, her skin sagging almost to the floor. She had long, greying hair that drooped at least a metre around her on the floor. In her hand she held an old tome, appearing to be bound in human flesh,

considering the cover was a literal human face. Oh, none of this can be real, I thought to myself while trying not to vomit at the disgusting sights I was witnessing. I laid in a prone position for a few moments as I tried to decide what my next move would be, but I found myself unable to think on account of the broken glass that littered the floor sinking into my flesh. As I laid on the floor wincing in pain, I heard Gary speak. The house always needs an undertaker, but I do not think the boy's ready yet. My hair stood on end in a sharp chill shot down my head. spine as he spoke. I knew that he was talking about me, and the figure I knew as the devil

spoke next. Your family's out of time, Mr. Mullins. The deal was all of those in your bloodline. This includes you, despite your efforts to elongate your life and avoid me. The time is nigh, my boy. The deformed woman hissed as she gently placed the skin-bound tone onto the table. The boy deserves to know, Gary said in a weary voice. So be it. Fetch him for me, Agatha, said the devil, as he pointed directly towards my hiding spots. My heart dropped.

He knew her I'd been hiding the entire time. With astounding speed, the deformed woman crawled towards me on all folds before grabbing me by the ankle. She dragged me towards the table as I kicked and screamed the entire time. Satan sat there, staring at my helpless form with a twisted grin on his face. He handed Gary a long, obsidian-looking dagger, which he'd pulled from his coat. I begged for my life, but it was no use. The crooked woman did not release me, and the devil laughed at my panic before saying, Oh boy, this isn't for you.

He handed the knife to Gary, who turned to me and spoke. Jason, my dear boy, the home always needs an undertaker, and I've cheated death for long enough. The book on the table flew open by itself. There was dark energy radiating from it, as if it held all the secrets of the world. Jason, as I've told you so many times, in life only two things are certain, death and taxes. Unfortunately, we can only avoid one, Gary said. Son, you can't cheat the devil. Agatha here made a deal with me so many years ago, the souls of her entire bloodline for the man she loved.

I gave this to her, but with a twist. Those who live in this house will always live on, even in death, Lucifer said in a calm voice. Agatha begged in a raspy tone. Please, boy, let my family rest now. The sound of weeping filled the house, but for the first time it wasn't coming from Scary Mary. It was my own.

Gary had been the only father figure I'd ever known and I was now being told that he had to go back to hell with Satan and his grandmother The house always needs a carer, Jason Gary solemnly told me as he placed the blade against his hand And carved it into his flesh He placed his hand onto the book And the house shook violently once again as his blood seeped into the pages The shattered glass on the floor floated into the air

and the lights repaired themselves. Actually, all of the damage caused by the day's events began to undo itself. Just one more thing to take care of, son. Satan said as he turned to me, the vile tome in one outstretched hand and the glistening black dagger in the other. It was then that I knew exactly what I had to do, and thus Rule 10 was born.

The Home always needs a curator. Part 2. My name's Jason, and I'm the reluctant curator of Mullins' funeral home. I had this new position thrust on me, following the sudden and unexpected departure of my mentor, Gary Mullins. Despite my reluctance, the home does always need a curator. I find this log helps me to decompress and reflect on the old. always eventful days here at the parlour. It's therapeutic

to a point. Who am I kidding? It's a coping strategy to deal with the horrors one must deal with here. See, here at Mullin's funeral home, we seek to provide a unique funeral experience for a

very peculiar clientele. The services we offer here, unlike any other you'll ever attend. We always, and I mean always follow the wishes of the deceased and their kin, no matter how grim. And today's tale of life and death revolves around tying up some loose ends, per se. July 13th, 2019.

Following Gary's departure, I had to assume full responsibility for dealing with clients, and this meant I had to find the appointment log. It was most likely in the office. I remember being astounded when I first stepped into Gary's office the morning after he'd left. I'd never been inside it before. Snacks have carefully kept records like the walls of the office. A library's worth of old tomes that held information on every service ever held at Mullins' funeral home since its opening. Gary didn't just keep records.

They were also so many medical and mortuary texts dating back to the 14th century. A large mahogany desk and a decrepit looking office chair sat in the centre of the room. Upon my initial entrance into the office, I saw that there were stacks of letters that Gary had received from families of the deceased. What happened next scared the ever-living hell out of me. A phone ran. I had to move a few dozen letters to even get to the damn thing. When I finally found it, I picked it up and answered.

No one said anything for a moment, until a weak voice asked. Is this, Marlin's funeral home? Um, yes, it is, I replied. The man on the other side weakly said, Oh, I'd like to have a funeral. My deepest condolences, when would you like to schedule for? I said, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible. I hadn't had to do this before.

Gary had always handled these calls. "'It's okay. The death hasn't happened yet,' the man said faintly. "'What do you mean? Does a relative have a terminal illness?' I asked, being completely taken aback. Planning someone's death and funeral while they're still alive is a tad grim. "'Something like that. Put me in for today,' the stranger said. I explained to him how I couldn't do it today and how I had a weight to do it. time of six business days. The dead had piled up and I still had to deal with the aftermath of yesterday's events. The line suddenly went quiet. I thought I'd lost connection, but then a loud

sound suddenly a cell of my ears, a gunshot. My heart sank because I heard a loud thud from the other side of the phone. Hello, sir, are you okay? I asked, horrified of the prospect of what might have just happened. Nothing. Just deafening silence. This guy showed himself while on the phone with me. I promptly called the police after hanging out the phone. They brushed me off, citing the fact that there was nothing they could do without proof,

claiming that someone was most likely just trying to prank me. This discouraged me, but the police were probably right. Some neighbourhood kids probably had a merry laugh at my head. expense. Still, I felt like something was wrong. I finally found the appointment log and saw that I did indeed have a funeral schedule for today at 3pm. It was already 10 o'clock. I needed to hurry. Jill shot down my spine when I saw who the funeral was for. It was for Sally, the cadaver that had gotten mauled by the corpse we called the tank the previous day, putting my creeping sense of dread aside. I made my way to the basement to prepare the cadaver.

And then, it hit me. The tank and the baby were still loose down there. I desperately hoped that they'd reverted to their dead states. Unfortunately for me, they had. They both laid a limb on the cold concrete floor. After painstakingly loading them back into the limb freezers, I closed her eyes and began preparing Sally's corpse. Her cadaver was badly beaten.

The tank had crushed most of her facial structure during his attack. I had to use a ridiculous amount of material and makeup to reconstruct her face, and the process took just over two hours. Her preparation was finally complete by 1pm. I made good time. I went on to have the parlor completely set up by 2pm. I let out a sigh of relief. I'd set my first few years.

up by myself and was ready to go with no major snacks. Then there was a sudden knock at the door. My stomach twisted into a nervous knot. The family was an hour early. I started sweating as I made my way to the door. In my experience, knocking at the door was never good. And oh, how right I'd been. As I opened the door I saw a tall,

a thin man wearing a bloody t-shirt and jeans, obviously not dressed for a funeral. I kept looking him over and noticed that he had a slight head injury right between his eyes. Um, can I help you? I asked. He said nothing. God, this is a funeral home, not a hospital. If my service would arrive, this lunatic would surely scare them away, I thought to myself. A second passed before he spoke in an all two three. familiar voice. I called earlier to arrange a funeral. After saying this, he calmly waltzed into the parlour. Turning to follow him, I noticed something. The back of his skull was obliterated. He had shot himself. In a stunned stupor, I grabbed a hold of the strange man and looked him over from head to

toe. You're dead, aren't you? I asked with an apathetic tone of horror in my voice. I was used to these kinds of occurrences by now, but you never really get used to the undead. Well, it gets no less terrifying, knowing that this may inevitably become my fate. Without a word, the man collapsed onto the floor, staining it with blood. Oh, great. Now I have to clean you up before the service gets here, I thought to myself. Thinking on my feet, I took him downstairs and placed him in a limb freezer. I had no idea what to do with him at that point. I couldn't just call the police,

unless they suspect me of being involved in his death. I'd have to figure this one out later. Time was running out. So I ran upstairs and covered the bloodstain with a small rug from another room, hoping it would conceal it from the funeral goers. By some miracle, my plans worked, and things went beautifully.

The guests would never have suspected a thing. They didn't figure out that an undead behemoth mauled their loved one, or that a dead man had just strolled in and, well, died right before the service. Gary would have been proud. I returned to the office following the service and began sifting through old paperwork and making it more habitable for myself. Gary may have kept a messy office, but I will not. Finally, after hours of cleaning, I had restored the office to a more livable condition. Exhausted from the long day, I had made the mistake of falling asleep in the office. When I awoke, all the lights were off. Funny, I didn't remember doing that.

Well, it was pitch black in there. I stumbled through the room, tripping over some books I'd left on the floor. Now, believe me, I've seen my share of vile things, but when I finally made it to the light switch, I found the most disgusting thing that I'd ever encountered. There was, what I can best describe, as a wad of human hair and teeth about the size of my hand covering it, and it was moving. I followed it up the wall and noticed that a trail of hair connected it to a massive wad of the same matter. It seemed to have coagulated on the ceiling. It slithered and contorted as though it was a massive octopus made of human remains. What the fuck? I thought to myself in pure horror.

Remembering the rules, I pulled out my phone. I saw that it was 3.38 a.m. This thing must be the reason the power goes out every morning. At that moment I ran out of the office, using my flashlight, I made my way up the stairs and barricaded myself in my room until daybreak. And with that, so ends another terrifying day at Mullin's funeral home. Halloween at Mullin's funeral home. Say the veil between the worlds of the living and dead grows thin this time of here. However, if by happenstance you have the misfortune of working at the Mullins funeral home,

you'll come to find that veil is always thin. Oh, am I kidding? doesn't even exist here. To be frank, my first Halloween at Mullins was, for lack of a better word, freaking insane. I thought I'd seen it all, from the dead rising to corporeal masses

of writhing hair. To the best of my knowledge, there was nothing else this house could throw at me. To my grave surprise, it proved me wrong. I woke in the wee hours of the morning to the sound of scary Mary weeping next to my bed. The sun hadn't even come up yet. She was already being a nuisance.

Looking at my phone to check the time, I noticed that it was only 404 a.m. And that it was also October 31st, Halloween. A slight tingle shot down my spine and caused my hair to stand on end. I could feel in my bones that today was going to be a dreadful day. Didn't know exactly what to expect, but I'd been mentally preparing myself a Halloween for quite a while. Mary, for God's sake, shut up! I barked with venom dripping in my voice, directed towards the small dead girl nestled up against my bed frame. To my surprise, the weeping stopped.

A scuttle of hands and feet on the floor, along with the violent shaking of my bed, let me know that she crawled back under her. I think she was taking her liking to me, or she's waiting for the precise moment to wring my neck because she spends a sizable portion of her time beneath the massive old bed. After the annoying sobs subsided, I could hear footsteps in the hallway, plain as day. That isn't a normal phenomenon at this hour. I sounded nothing like Bartholomew's hulking footsteps.

Instead, they were soft, scurrying steps that seemed to go up and down the hall at breakneck speed. I decided that it would be best for me just to ignore them for now. Like any sane person, I lacked the desire to meet new guests at four-something in the morning. After nearly an hour of non-stop sprinting, the footsteps finally ceased. Now keep in mind that I've seen some horrific things in my time here. As a result, I've grown apathetic and rather callous towards all things bizarre. With that being said, bewildered me when I saw muddy foot and handprints leading towards a spiral staircase. When to piece things together in my mind, I concluded that there had to be an intruder in the house, hence the mud.

Why were they crawling around on all fours? Usually only scary Mary does that, but I already knew where she was, meaning it couldn't have been her. After returning to my room to arm myself with a wrought iron candelabral, I began my slow descent down the stairs. My heart pounded in my chest at the prospect of an actual real-life psychopath lurking about, waiting to grab me. The manner in which I had to creep down the stairs only made this fear worse. Having to crane my head around the twisting walls of the stairs. staircase was absolutely nerve-wracking. At five foot eight and only 150 pounds, I'm not much of a fighter.

I knew that if I crossed past with the intruder on the stairs, a mad scramble would ensue, I'd most likely lose. Fortunately for me, though, I made it into the parlor with no snacks. My blood boiled when I saw the state of the room. There were muddy prints everywhere, and the curtains were on the floor, soaked in what smelled like urine. One window pane stood empty, and shattered glass littered the floor in front of it. Before I noticed, the glass had already cut into my bare feet, causing me to bleed all over the expensive rug. Despite the scene of chaos on my sore feet, the ravaged parlour didn't hold my attention for very long.

I could hear obnoxious screaming and moaning coming from downstairs. I panicked at the realization that someone was in the preparation area, potentially vandalizing it too. If anything were to happen to a cadaver while it was in my care, liability for the damage could fall on me. I wasn't about to let that happen. No way was I going to let some low-life shithead ruin my livelihood and tarnished Gary's legacy. No longer concerned with moving silently.

I sprinted to the basement door. It was wide open. The lights were on, and a cacophony of noise assailed my eardrums. It sounds of moaning, wailing. and things being knocked onto the concrete floor poured forth from the sub-level. Fuck me, I muttered in a hush tone as I began creeping down the stairs to confront the vandal. Finally, I made it to the threshold of the room and couldn't believe what I was seeing. On top of a cadaver was a buck-naked man who was thrusting away violently.

It was maybe six-foot-six and built like a Mack truck. Blood and round material that could only be shit, judging from the stench, covered most of his nude body. For I could say anything to the man. He jumped off the corpse and began running towards me, nearly falling over himself. There was a psychotic glint in his eye as his outstretched hands shot straight at my neck.

Acting instinctively, I lashed the candelabrum forward. He struck the lunatic's face with great force, causing a fountain of blood to spurred all over my face. He crashed into the concrete floor at my feet, his head smacking off of it forcefully. I stood there frozen for a moment, paralyzed by shock at what I'd done. My makeshift weapon was lodged in the collapsed man's head. He wasn't moving.

His blood spilled from the wound and formed a puddle at my feet. I reached down to check his pulse. It was weak and thready. This validated my fears and I started sweating previously. He was an intruder, a living intruder. All light left from his eyes of his eyes. A few seconds later, then his heartbeat came to a halt. True magnitude of the situation hit me.

I just killed someone. It's probably just a druggie, but still, I'd ended a man's life. Truth be told, I didn't have even time to panic. The realization that I could be in a world of trouble hit me. He always told me that every death has consequences. Without warning, a stiff hand grabbed my ankle and wrenched me to the cold floor, dragging me through the blood. Turns out my intruder wasn't really dead,

just seriously injured and pierced on. To my horror, he stood up straight, and his body contorted violently, folding in on itself and convulsing. Every single joint in the man's body snapped or turned backward by some unidentifiable force. Parts of his skin and flesh melted into a red gruel and sloped to the floor,

leaving his tendons and bones exposed. If this had ever truly been a man, he was no longer. His mangled form resembled a creature from the deepest bids of hell. The creature suddenly let out a deafening shriek as it ripped the iron candelabrum from its eye socket, threw it with an insane amount of force. I didn't look away from the creature, but I was certain it cracked the concrete wall of the basement. The abhorrent being turned and lunged directly at me, but he was too slow.

I'd already scrambled to my feet and was heading towards the staircase. As I ascended the stairs in a sprint, I could hear the creature panting and crawling after me on all forms. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I slammed the heavy metal door, but it didn't close. Feeling of the creature's outstretched arm being crushed by the door caused me to recoil and continue my mad dash to safety. Within seconds, I ended up on the floor yet again.

when I ran headlong into something solid. I could hear the creature just feet behind me as I found myself thrown aside like a child's unwanted toy. Looking up in a daze, I saw that Uncle Bartholomew was standing in front of the creature. While he was out wondering about the house in the morning, I didn't know. I was thankful to see his rotted, hulking form nonetheless. Frozen in fear, I sat crumpled against the walls

as the two undead gladiators sized each other up. I wanted nothing more than to run for my life, but the scene was like a car crash. I just couldn't look away. The creature shrieked and circled Bartholomew, but let out a guttural grunt in response. Suddenly the creature lunged at Bartholomew, mouth agape, trying to bite at his rotting flesh.

Bartholomew intercepted this attack by grabbing a hold of the creature's throat with a single arm. continued to lunge forward however and eventually sent the two tumbling to the floor after struggling for several moments the creature gained the upper hand as it sunk its jaws into bartholomew's throat his ancient flesh disintegrated when bidden and he thrashed about trying to get the creature off of him but to no avail he was losing this fight i needed to escape lest this thing sinks its teeth into my throat too All hope seemed lost when Bartholomew's enormous fist shot through the thing's torso and emerged from the other side. His other fist did the same things, the creature screamed in pain and recoiled, but only for a moment. Bartholomew used this precise moment to stand back up, his hands protruding from the creature's back. In the blink of an eye, the creature's entrails splattered across the room as it was torn in two. The creature from the basement was no longer moving.

covered in its viscera, I stood up, relishing in Bartholomew's victory. Before I could gather my thoughts, he too fell to the floor, seemingly succumbing to his wounds. You know how to react. Part of me was still terrified that this thing wasn't really dead. I was in shock, but I was just thankful to be alive. Uncle Bartholomew may have been an undead terror who's skulked the halls at strange hours, but he saved my ass on many an occasion. Then out of the blue, the office phone rang. I had a hunch that this call may explain some of what had just gone down,

but by the time I got to the phone it had stopped ringing. When I won't lie, it baffled me when I discovered a neatly written note resting on my desk. It was small and normally would have been easy to miss, but it seemed to have a gravitational pool that drew me in. It read, As follows, dear Jason, the walls between this world and the next are thin this time of year. The rules may not necessarily apply today, so keep your eyes peeled. Things will go awry in ways you couldn't imagine in your worst nightmares,

but I promise, come midnight, it shall all pass. P. Yes, just put Bart back together as best you can. We'll be fine tomorrow. Yours in life and death. Gary Lee Mullins. Naturally, I was aghast at the contents of the notes. It was more concerned by the implication that the strange events were only just beginning. Looking at the old grandfather clock, I saw that it wasn't even 6 a.m., part two.

The note, which somehow bore my late mentor's signature, burst into flames after me reading it. The clock in the parlour struck 11 a.m. as I laboured at cleaning up the mess left behind by the morning's insane events. I remained unsure what to expect out of the rest of the day as I scrubbed blood from the hardwood floors, swept up broken glass and bagged up the urine-soaked curtains. I was half expecting another demonic creature to emerge from one of the house's crevices or through the front door. Alas, that never came. Stared what happened next was more unsettling than shocking.

I heard the sound of a finger tapping away on glass. The eyes on my neck stood straight up as I turned to face the window behind me. Yet to my surprise, there was nothing there. No roaming cadaver, no drug-crazed lunatic, and no other-worldly creature, just an unobstructed view of the yard. Chalking up this anomaly to scary Mary being, well, scary, I continued my cleaning. Until I heard the tapping again, this time louder.

Once again, I spun to face the window, and just like the last time, there was nothing out of the ordinary. For about an hour I worked, scrubbing the floors and walls until they were back to their normal drabbed hand. I also dragged Uncle Bartholomew to the basement for later reassembly. It was a productive morning, all things considered, and the home was almost back to normal. Well, almost normal.

As I emerged from the basement, I noticed that the tapping had resumed, but this time it sounded more like a palm being stuble. slapped against a window. Scanning the parlor, I noticed something strange. Though a bloody handprints and smears on the large mirror mounted next to the staircase. Not sure how I'd missed them, I set out to wipe them away. To my absolute bewilderment, I couldn't. Fell right onto my ass when a pale woman lunged at me from inside the mirror,

only to smack headlong into the glass. She looked so real, as if she was trapped inside and was tried. trying to escape. After a while, I was certain she was going to crawl forth from the mirror, but in an instant she vanished, leaving behind another set of bloody handprints. I sat on the floor for a moment and saw that the woman in the mirror had appeared again. Saw a long, once white dress, now stained by blood and film. The skin was pale, resembling a preserved corpse, and yet she bled profusely. She sauntered towards me, jerking erratically.

as if a puppeteer was pulling her string. Ghostly woman came to a halt when her frail form collided with the mirror yet again, leaving bloody streaks. At this point she let out an anguished wail and clawed at her face, causing her pale skin to split and peel. It sat on the floor looking up at the mirror,

fascinated by the macabre scene unfolding before my eye. My enamored gaze broke at once when a small gourd flew through the empty window frame in the parlour. I heard the maniacal laughter of fleeing children as the gourd hit the mirror directly in the centre, cracking it. "'Ah, piss off breaths,' they screamed. For I could chase the hoodlums responsible for throwing the gourd, the bloody woman's hand shot through the crack glass and reached towards the floor.

The once dead eyes lit up with an indescribable hatred as she crawled. limb by limb from the mirror. I thought to myself. She picked up a large piece of glass as she scrambled to her feet, stumbling like a baby deer. Bloody woman's form contorted until she stood upright. She lashed out at me in a twitching motion with a jagged piece of glass, but I was just out of reach.

The woman's mouth spilled open wide, and a deluge of blood spilled onto the floor. Where is my daughter? Water, she hissed, lunging her makeshift blade towards me again. Narrowly avoiding being skewed, I ran back to the office. As I ran, it hit me. Gary had never warned me about this. There were no prescribed ways of surviving this horrific encounter outlighting the rules.

Slam the door shut and logged it just in time as the lady's body collided with it. A broken form pounded into the door repeatedly, but to no avail. The old heavy door kept me safe, or so I thought. Upon turning around, I saw Scary Mary perched atop the desk. Now I was completely and utterly fucked. The empty eye sockets peered directly through me as her mouth opened wide. I prepared myself mentally as best as I could to die. I stood frozen and closed my eyes.

waiting for Mary's vice-like grip to squeeze the life from my lungs. But death never came. After a moment I opened my eyes and found my gaze locked with Mary's. Even though she didn't technically have eyes anymore, still saw her entire life and subsequent death flashed before my eyes. In life, she was such a merry girl. I saw images of Mary with her friends, at carnivores and on playgrounds. I also saw her mother plunge a knife into her chest repeatedly before drowning her in the bathtub.

The events of her burial flashed by two. Mary's mother buried her in a shallow grave in the backyard. I could see this happen from the point of view of Mary's dead eyes. Next, the police exhumed her and brought her here for a proper burial. She then escaped her limb freezer after Gary carelessly left it open for a moment. I saw time fast forward To the point where she almost straggled me to death And back then to the present

Mary Despite being oh so very scary Found herself scared of who loomed outside the office Recognised the woman pounding on the door As the same woman from Mary's life Her mother As I tried to devise a plan The phone rang

Carefully reached for it As it was sitting directly next to Mary Who could kill me if she wanted to. To my horror, the caller ID displayed my cell phone number. Despite my apprehension, I picked up the phone and heard a familiar voice. Jason, open the door and run, Gary said in a calm voice. What?

How? Aren't you dead? Just listen to me. There are things, evil things, trying to breach these walls. Gary snapped before hanging up. With great reluctance, I reached towards the lock, and Mary wept tears of blood all over the desk. Don't let her kill me again. Please, mister. The girl's soft, hollow voice pleaded as she wept.

I pulled the door open, and as I did, Mary's mother darted through it. The faux knife hoisted over her head. She was too slow, though. Mary's spare arm shot from her mouth and wrapped around her mother's arm, crushing it completely. Not waiting to see how the fight would end, I hurtled up the stairs to barricade myself in my room. I didn't want to face whichever horror emerged as a victim. I'd wait the day out, and everything would go back to normal in the morning. As I rushed into my room, just about had a heart attack. Gary was sitting in a chair beside my dresser. Hello, Jason, Gary said, holding up

my cell phone. What the hell's going on, Gary? You're supposed to be dead. Well, I thought you'd be glad to see me. Just like I said in the note. The walls are thin this time of year. He replied, an enormous grin plastered across his face. Part three.

Gary, I'm going to need you to tell me what God's name is going on here. The last time I saw you, Satan literally dragged you to hell. I pleaded. Oh, Jason, my dear boy. You always find yourself in the most precarious of situations, don't you? Gary mused to himself. I had to take a moment to process what he just said to me, but I realised Gary was absolutely right.

Anything bad that could happen always happened whilst I was around. I mean, just look at the situation I was in now. Both Holy Mooh was a heap of meat in the basement. Two bloodthirsty monstrosities were battling it out somewhere in the house while I hid in my bedroom talking to a dead man. Gary must have noticed my confusion because, before I could say a word, he explained that Halloween is the night in which the devil allows all of his creations to terrorise certain places where dark energy is particularly strong. His answer did make sense. Well, it did nothing

to help me out of the tight spot I was in. Right, but Gary, what do we need to do? I asked, panic welling up with each passing second. Isn't it obvious? You need to get to the attic before he arrives. Gary replied, poised as ever. I may or may not have lost it on the old man at that point. I didn't have another ounce of patience for vague answers and riddles. You don't have to be so terse, Jason.

Suppose I should have told you about the wailing wanderer before this happened. Gary said in response to the profanity-laden scolding I'd just given him. Sorry, who? The what? I responded. Eric explained that the wailing wanderer was the most terrible of funeral guests. The wanderer was a mental patient who police shot dead in the 1950s. When they brought him into the home, he reanimated, as corpses here tend to do,

sought to take his vengeance out on everyone around him. The wanderer's malice was strong, strong enough for him to escape the home's powerful bonds and take his revenge on those who gunned him down. Every year on Halloween, he comes back to Mullins, hoping to continue his murder spree. Gary went on saying that the only real thing to do was hide. We needed to get to Gary's old room and enter the attic from there. However, to do that, we'd have to brave whatever was waiting for us in the hallway, whether that be Mary, her mother or the wanderer.

Because we were out of options, I agreed. with a great deal of reluctance. So we crept from my room and into the hall, only to come face to face with Mary's blade-wielding mother. She was crawling towards us from a shadowy section of the hallway. There was a major difference from before, though. She was missing her entire lower body. Yet still, she dragged herself towards us at an alarming pace.

Gary and I made eye contact for a moment. It was clear we were both at the same. thinking the same thing, that all we needed was on the other side of Mary's wounded murderous mother. Didn't know what had happened to Mary. I didn't have time to figure it out either. It became apparent that the woman on the floor wasn't hurrying to attack us. She was fleeing from something. Then we heard it, an ear-splitting cackle that foreshadowed the monstrosity in front of us being dragged back into the shadows. Run, Gary said, his eyes growing wide.

He barreled down the hallway and staircase at breakneck speed, almost falling on the way. Where I could wrap my head around what had just happened. I was downstairs in the parlor with Gary looking for a hiding spot. In my heart, I just wanted to flee, but I refused to surrender the home to the nightmarish ghouls. But before we could find a hiding spot, a man with long, flowing black hair in a filthy straitjacket appeared at the base of the staircase.

To my complete and utter horror, he was casually chewing on a severed finger. Fuck, the wailing wanderer, I remember thinking to myself. I turned to Gary, who turned back to me with a look of equal shock. Before we could run, the man tackled me to the floor

and wrap bony, rotten hands around my throat. Thrashed and bucked as hard as I could, but that didn't stop the wanderer from digging his razor-sharp broken fingernails into my neck. Of the pungent stench of death and broken glass to sail at my face as the wanderer let out a wail, only to be struck upside the head with a vase by Gary. This didn't have the intended effect, however. Gary's efforts only pissed it off even more. The wanderer screamed louder and leaned down,

biting at my face as I flailed and struck him with any part of my body I could. It's like being stuck under a boulder with jagged, decayed tea. Suddenly I felt an intense burst of pain as my assailant sank his teeth into my ear, ripping part of it off. Then tried to force the piece of flesh into my mouth as he laughed hysterically, all the while taking punches and kicks from Gary. I'd given up any chance of living when the wanderer was thrown across the room by an unbelievable force. I scrambled to my feet, clenching my bleeding in.

ear in my hands. Scary Mary used my misfortune as an opportunity to mount a vicious attack on the wanderer, beginning the nightmarish melee once more. I wasn't complaining, though, as she'd inadvertently save Gary and me. Gary practically dragged me into the attic and locked the door from the inside after this. To say that went well, he said, shooting me a sly grin. Well, was he completely fucking insane? I'd just had a corpse got all Mike Tyson on my ear.

Despite my growing rage, I elected to keep my mouth shut because I was still in absolute shock from both the day's events and the blood loss. Sat in the dusty, cramped attic for hours, just reminiscing on old times and listening to the fight rage on downstairs. There was something surreal about knowing that I survived this job this long. Gary pointed out that my family would be proud if they could see me today. despite being in unbearable pain his comment confused me

was he not proud of me was I doing a poor job as the undertaker the stroke of midnight there was a knock at the attic door Jason you made me proud every damn day do me a favour and answer that door

would you? Gary said in an encouraging voice standing at the attic threshold was the man I knew as Lucifer "'Hello, son. It's all over now. "'They have to go back,' he said in his calm southern draw. "'What?' I asked.

"'Half delirious by this point. "'With out another word, Lucifer snapped his fingers "'and transported me back to my office. "'I called out for Gary and tried to find him, "'but there was no trace or answer of him anywhere. "'I was still in excruciating pain "'on account of my ear being partially big, written off, but the parlour seemed completely untouched, all except for a neat-looking envelope

sitting on a casket. Upon opening the letter, saw a brief message scrawled in neat cursive. Couldn't have done it better myself. Till next year, Gary Lee Mullin. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review

as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.