Thirteen years of undead life, and tonight was Rickety Split’s worst.

Not because his foot punched a hole in his casket. It snapped off, but he just twisted it back on.

Not because his nose dissolved in the teapot. I can find another, he thought sadly.

Not even because his favorite cat got exploded by a careless wizard, though that did make him lonely.

Sighing, he trudged up the crypt stairs and through the empty cemetery overlooking the ocean to watch ghosts surfing below.

No, tonight was worse...