It was a usual day for the janitor after those wannabe Hollywood actors and actresses left the stage. The floor was covered with fake blood that came in bags, so of course, he had to be the one to clean all of that up. He didn’t like his job, he never did. So he wished once more for the return of his dead wife after he condemned the world in some majestic way that only the deity would understand. That didn’t make him feel better. In fact, he just felt awful, especially knowing that it was raining so hard out, there is absolutely no way for him to make it back home in those shaggy clothes and worn-out shoes. 

What should I do? He thought to himself. But a cacophonous squeak interrupted his thoughts.

“Who is there?” He shouted, “It better not be you again, Frank! I’ll tattle on you to the principal!”

No answer.

The squeaking continued.

“Hello?” He frowned, “Who is there? Frank? Hello?”

He meticulously tippy toed to the front door of the theater as he halted to mop the stage floor. Frowning, he could not determine the source of the noise, so he attempted to pinpoint the squeaking object. It was no use. He returned to the floor in frustration and grasped his mop again to clean up the mess.

He whistled Mary had a Little Lamb as the squeaking began to die down, some type of rustling noises seemed to interrupt the squeaking. He did not mind, maybe it was just the wind. But a loud bang followed as a severed head dropped dead on the floor. He jumped but continued to approach the single head that remained on the center of the floor.

“Allison?” He gazed at the ceiling, “My dead wife?”