Chapter 1: The First Nightmare

The coffins served their purposes, and at night they were the Undertaker's bed.

The old man, a retired Grim Reaper with long silver hair, set aside his black top hat and crawled into the nearest coffin, curled up in his robes, and fell asleep. However, it wasn't long before he was woken up by the sound of the shop's front door opening; the cheerful, silver bell clinking as the door opened and closed again, even thought he could have sworn he had locked the door and put up the sign saying that the shop was closed.

He lifted the lid to his coffin. Nobody was inside the shop but him. Undertaker crept out of his coffin and moved to the door to lock it. It was snowing outside and not a lot of people were moving about.

"Hm . . . must've been my imagination, I suppose."

Undertaker turned to return to his coffin, only to find that every coffin in the room had changed positions. They were all lined up and facing towards the door; towards him. The lids had been removed, revealing corpses resting inside; corpses that hadn't been there before. A bizarre sense of dread and foreboding began to claw at his gut; the sense that something here was very, very wrong.

He strode over to the coffin furthest to the left and looked inside.

A tall man with midnight black hair and pale, ivory skin laid there. He looked as if he were asleep with his hands, which had a pair of brand-new, white servant's gloves covering them, folded across his chest. He wore a fine tailcoat that was made out of high-quality wool. This man was familiar to him and for some reason seeing him like this brought a smile to his face.

"Well, well . . . I never thought we'd meet like this, butler," he stated with a grin, "Whatever will your precious master do now?"

Suddenly the corpse's eyes opened. The eyes had long lost their light and were now a dull brownish-red in color. The slitted pupils, once a very prominent feature in this man's eyes, were now so faint they could hardly be made out. His eyes gazed up at the ceiling with his mouth slightly agape, but he did not move at all, nor was he breathing. Undertaker checked his pulse just to be safe. The man was dead, and Undertaker let out a sigh.

"It's been a pleasure knowing you, Sebastian Michaelis." He said before letting out a crazed chuckle.

Undertaker moved onto the next coffin. Inside was a boy no older than twelve or thirteen years old; a boy he had been anticipating the arrival of for quite some time, now.

"Oh my!" Undertaker commented, "So this is what happened to my little lord."

The boy lay in a much similar position as Sebastian; straight with his hands folded across his chest. He was dressed in a dark blue overcoat with matching shorts. He wore a white dress shirt and a blue bowtie, and over his right eye was a black eye patch.

"Well," Undertaker said, "I suppose you and you butler will be able to travel through the depths of Hell together, then."

As it had happened with Sebastian, they boy's one good eye opened and stared up at the ceiling. Looking back at Sebastian, Undertaker realized this boy's face held a much calmer, more peaceful expression, as opposed to the butler, who looked more troubled and full of sorrow.

Moving onto the third coffin, Undertaker observed—much to his discomfort—a younger man with dark brown hair and a pair of rectangular spectacles on his face. He was dressed in a plain black suit and necktie; incredibly ordinary, just as he'd always been.

"William T. Spears . . ." Undertaker muttered to himself, "Whatever happened to you, you poor, dull fellow?"

For a third time, the corpse's eyes snapped open; their original bright green color glazed over in white.

Chills began to race down Undertaker's spine. He knew now that there was definitely something wrong with their bodies, and there were still more. He could name them all.

Sebastian Michaelis.

Ciel Phantomhive.

William T. Spears.

Elizabeth Midford.

Ronald Knox.

Grell Sutcliff.

There was one last coffin at the very end of the room, and at this point Undertaker didn't want to look to see who the last person was. All he wanted was to go back to sleep. But his curiosity was getting the better of him and he cautiously strolled over to the seventh and final coffin.

His face fell in horror and confusion at what he saw.

A man in long black robes and a black, crooked top hat lay there. His long silver hair stretched down to his armpits and a disturbing grin was frozen into his face.

The man lying there . . .

. . . Was old Undertaker; himself.

In fear, Undertaker backed up against the shop's door; not wanting to watch as the eyes to his own corpse opened.

"What is this?" he asked himself.

And, for a seventh time, the eyes of his corpse—his corpse—opened. They were milky white; unseeing. Then suddenly, they blinked. The eyes of all the corpses began to blink and move. Eerie snapping sounds started in their necks as they began to move and their bodies groaned as they sat up.

They did not get up from their coffins, but their dead, unseeing eyes stared at him.

Sebastian looked at him with a miserable, sad gaze.

"I did not ask for this." He said in a weak sorrowful voice.

Ciel followed, "I was not responsible for his death."

Then William, "I was just doing my job."

And Elizabeth, "I only wanted to make Ciel happy again."

Then Ronald, "I couldn't take it anymore."

And then Grell, "I didn't want anyone else to get hurt."

Undertaker then looked at his own corpse, who still sat there grinning at him. After several long minutes of terrifying silence, it spoke.

"You will not be able to save them. They will die, and you will not care. Am I wrong?"

It was hard to scare Undertaker. Over the course of several hundreds of years, he had witnessed every form of death imaginable; each ranging in different forms of brutality. But the sight of these corpse's, and the fact that they were speaking to him, had him shaking in his boots.

"Will you not care that I died because of him?" Sebastian asked.

"Will you not care that I died because my butler failed me?" Ciel asked.

"Will you not care that I died to save you?" William asked.

"Will you not care that I died of a broken heart?" Elizabeth asked.

"Will you not care that I had nothing left to live for?" Ronald asked.

"Will you not care that I died trying to save the one I love?" Grell asked.

Undertaker was frozen, "I . . . I . . ."

He watched as his corpse grinned wider, "You. Failed. Them."

Out of fright, Undertaker collapsed.

Undertaker woke with a start and looked around wildly.

He was lying in one of his custom-made coffins with the lid on it. His heart was pounding and sweat coated his face.

"A-A dream?" he asked himself. He then cracked open the coffin's lid and looked around inside his shop. I was just as he had left it and the sun was just starting to rise.

He laughed at himself.

"It was just a bad dream."