I was surprised by all the long faces at the cemetery when I arrived.

“What’s with all the dark looks?” I asked. “I thought this was meant to be a funeral?”

“It is, kind of,” replied Edgar, slouched across a nearby tomb, sipping from a goblet of vintage blood. “But you won’t be needing the confetti for this one, old son.”

I must admit I was still getting used to things around here. Although I was 52, in terms of death years I’m still the new-ghoul-on-the-block and this was only the second funeral I had attended post-death. This time around I had made more of an effort and had gotten my hands on a jar of multi-coloured maggots. After all, you couldn’t not welcome a new burial into the afterlife without a bit of confetti and a knees-up!

I looked back around the cemetery. All the usual souls were there, lingering and floating amongst the shadows of headstones and tombs. But just like Edgar, no one else seemed to be in a celebratory mood. If anything the mood was exactly like an in-life funeral.

Unscrewing the jar and liberating the maggots I sat myself down next to Edgar upon the old gothic tomb. Even the living stood around the graveside were different. Yes, there were the usual solemn and somber faces, but none of them were actually sobbing or openly grieving.

“I’m glad that isn’t my funeral,” I began before suddenly realizing it was actually my grave the living were stood around. “Hey! What the hell’s going on?”

“The police are exhuming your body,” said Edgar gravely, as the living slowly raised up my coffin. “So it is kind of your funeral.”

“But why?” I screamed as a sudden pain cut through me, doubling me up on the cemetery floor.

“Seems they suspect you are connected with the killings of a number of prostitutes twenty years ago,” continued Edgar mournfully.

“No, please God, no!” I wept uncontrollably, as the sensation of burning flames licked up and around my ankles.

“Sorry old son, but you’re going to hell.”