You hear a noise: a brass instrument of some kind. Two notes - a brief pause - and then, it returns. You're engulfed in an endless, dismal void. You attempt to stand, but you cannot - your body doesn't respond. You can't even feel it, as though it doesn't even exist. For all you know, it may not. It's impossible to tell when in this lightless crypt. How did you get here? You try to think back. Your mental search yields nothing, aside from the chilling, cryptic combination of letters and numbers, "2spooky4me". It continually resonates through your skull, the only thing you know, the only thing you'll ever know. But the noise... The noise! This repeating trumpet chorus. You realise that your hand is still present - one of them. You can tell it's there, but you have no control over its actions. It's moving, against your will. The index and middle finger are contracting and relaxing, in time with the trumpet's siren. It finally dawns on you. You are the one playing the trumpet. While you cannot feel or see the trumpet, nor can you feel the exhaling of your lungs (if they truly exist), this is definite. You quickly look around with your eyes. nothing changes. You have no eyes. You are merely an empty skull, playing the trumpet. A skull trumpet.
Tumpet.