I. How I became
I guess this story begins where all good stories do. The day I died. Now, I don’t remember much from before, but that day I remember perfectly. That morning, I woke up as usual, but there something was off. My wife wasn’t laying next to me. I thought that maybe she had gone away a little earlier than usual, it wasn’t uncommon. I got up, and looked around my room. Everything was still there, the creaky old bed that was long past due to get destroyed. The broken mirror that I found in the street one day. And single window, looking out into the alley behind the house. We lived upstairs from a butcher and his apprentice, so the smell was horrible. Nevertheless, I got ready, and went to work. I worked in the mines back then, not the greatest job, but it put bread on the table. I remember this eerie feeling as I left my house, one I couldn’t quite place. I remember it well, for I would soon feel it again.
After working for