A/N: I'm not good with dialects, so please forgive how proper chef may sound ._.

"Nice to see that you remember me."

"Y-you're not here…"

"Trust your senses, fool! I'm right here! Chef Hatchet!"

"I read once that anything effects the senses…you're probably just some bad tuna."

Chef raised half of his unibrow.

"Ain't you gonna ask about the chains?"

"No. You're not real."

"I'm real! Real irritated! I got things to do! When you die, you're required to walk a long distance, helping those you can in order to get into heaven. The worse you are, the father you have to walk, and the more chains you gotta carry."



"I can't hear you! I'm not listening! LALALALALA!"




Chef took Chris' hands and yanked them from Chris' ears.

"Listen up, you're gonna be visited by 3 ghosts, tonight."

"Uhh…no thanks, I'm good."

"Good? You're anything but good, fool! At 1 am, you'll be visited by your Christmas past. 2am, your present. 3am, Christmas yet to come. Got it?"

And with that, the deceased man vanished before Chris' eyes.

"…I'm gonna go to bed, now. That couldn't have just happened."

And, with that, the silver-haired man hobbled across the room into one of his many bedrooms and pulled himself into the luxurious silk sheets.