It was a bitterly cold, dark night at the Undertaker's funeral directory. A thin layer of dust covered the inside of the building; its walls, its ceilings, its floors, and the Undertaker's possessions hadn't escaped from the settling dirt either, the skulls and candelabras and elegantly crafted coffins were all as dusty as the Undertaker himself, who, at that time, was sleeping in one of his coffins, as he did every night. Low, muffled laughs could be heard entwined within the snores that were parting from behind the wooden lid of the coffin. All was peaceful in a macabre fashion.
And then suddenly, it all started to happen. A flustered flurry of striking crimson burst through the doors of the Undertaker's building, with a loud cry of "OK, I give up! You have to help me, as creepy as you are!" in a most infuriatingly whining tone. The Undertaker however, slept on in the warmth of his coffin, a small drool bubble forming at the base of his wide grin.
The interruption (if you could really call it that, due to The Undertaker's odd ability to sleep through practically anything) had come from none other than the flamboyant shinigami, known as Grell Sutcliffe. He was standing in the doorway, one hand on his bony hip, the other pressed up against his forehead in despair, a melodramatic expression of worry on his face. "You see, for far too many nights now, I've been alone and-." Grell stopped his speech and his expression of overdramatic despair turned into one of annoyance. "Hey, Undertaker! Where are you?! I have absolutely ghastly news!" Grell whined, throwing his head upwards and flicking his hand outwards into the musty air, his long coat flicking over Grell's slim legs as he moved. Grell pouted, realising that the Undertaker wasn't listening to him. In fact, Grell didn't even know if the Undertaker would be home at such a late hour. Grell sighed desperately, once again thrusting the back of his hand to his forehead. "Oh, what a trial my life is!" he proclaimed, before stopping to take in his surroundings for the first time. Grell shivered. "Eugh. How on earth can anyone live in a place like this?" he questioned, to an old, cracked skull that sat atop a pile of old withered leather books, as he picked it up and promptly placed it back down again. Grell ran one of his slender, gloved fingers across an old photograph and winced at the amount of dirt that was wiped off of it. 'Bloody hell, this whole place is disgusting in the most eerie of ways!' he trilled, sticking his tongue out in disgust. His body froze as Grell suddenly heard an odd noise. It was a rasping, groaning sound that seemed to be accompanied by...laughter? It was coming from a coffin at the farthest end of the room, shadowed underneath stacks of jars, Grell was sure of it. Whimpering, Grell began to step backwards, but before he could escape, the coffin's door began to creak open and it slid to the floor with the sickening clanging sound of wood against metal. The Undertaker peered through his hair and yawned, grinning. "Grell! You came just in time to see me wake up from my nap, eh?" the Undertaker cooed. "And I-" he began, but was cut off by a large book suddenly being thrown at his face. "DIE YOU HORRID ZOMBIE!" Grell yelped, throwing anything he could grab at the coffin. The Undertaker sheltered himself by his long sleeves, and cried out to Grell. "Grell, it's me! Please stop throwing those books at me, most of them aren't even mine!" "Oh" replied Grell, blushing and stopping his rampage. "Sorry" he continued, still shaken up. Grell, shaking, leant against a coffin to steady himself, and promptly fell straight into it.