Undertaker.
Legacy Name: Undertaker.

You step into a new room and immediately regret doing so. Darkly-lit, dank and cold, the walls are lined with a multitude a coffins and the room itself seems to exude an eerie aura. You’ve never set foot in a creepier room.

The room seems to be abandoned. There’s no one in sight and you can’t really see anything that qualifies as a seen of life-at least not recent life. You shiver, telling yourself it’s because of the cold, and decide it’s probably best if you just leave. You don’t really want to be there anyway. This room is the embodiment of a bad feeling.

Your eyes widen as a coffin leaning against the wall slowly creaks open. It takes everything you have to keep back the scream building in your throat. An eerie giggle echoes through the dank room as a Graveyard Harvester steps out.

“Did I scare you?” he asks, an unnaturally wide grin splitting his face as he turns to close the coffin. “I’m sorry; these custom-made coffins are just soo comfortable. Best place to nap.” He walks silently over to table and pick up a small, black ceremonial urn. “I’m the Undertaker. Biscuit?” He holds the now-open urn out to you. You wrinkle your nose- the dirty, dusty urn is filled with a variety of dog biscuits. “No? Then perhaps tea?” He gestures toward a table that could be mistaken for Doctor Frankenstein’s experiment slab. It’s covered in small, cracked beakers, dripping what you now assume is old tea onto the filthy table.

He laughs at your refusal, a brown dog biscuit hanging from the side of his mouth. “If you aren’t here for tea, can I ask what you are doing in my shop? You seem very much alive, after all.”

You stutter and fumble with your words, unable to come up with an excuse for being in the creepy shop that you’d honestly like to leave.

His head tilts, resting on one shoulder, as he shoves another dog biscuit into his mouth. “Perhaps... you’re looking for information?”

Relieved at having an excuse provided for you, you nod and agree, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

He giggles. “Then you should know that there is a price.” Suddenly the Undertaker is inches from your face. He slowly raises finger to his cracked smile, a hungry look gleams in eyes as if he might swallow you whole. A chill goes down your spine and you back up, desperate to put distance between you.

“Show me,” he says, longing evident in his voice. “Show me a first-rate laugh.”

You pause in your slow retreat. A laugh?

“Yes, yes! I long for the joy bubbling over in my throat!” He looks to the ceiling and sighs dreamily. “Make me laugh and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Now curious about the information you might be able to get out of him, you decide to give it a try. You tell a few jokes that you can remember off the top of your head, but they all seem to fall flat.

The Undertaker stares at you unamused and then sighs. “I suppose I am doomed to a life of gloom.” He looks up you, displeasure written on his face. “You can find the door, right?”