Azazel dashed toward the tavern where his room awaited on the second floor.
"Hey, no need to cover up, I've seen it all already on your way here. You've got something to be proud of!" a bystander shouted after Azazel.
Azazel ran even faster.
When he entered the tavern, the bartender was the first to spot him.
"Hey! Look who's back!"
"Oh ho, the hero returns. Welcome to manhood!" the patrons cheered.
"Incredible, he's no longer a virgin! The gods themselves would be proud!"
"A toast for our fine young man who's come into his own! Cheers!"
"To cheers, to cheers!"
Azazel's face turned tomato-red as he hurried toward the stairs. Passing the bar, he paused, attempting to explain. "You know, the world is a strange place."
"Indeed, we agree, the world is a strange place, right, brother?" the two-headed bartender's one head said.
"Of course, brother. And no need for explanations, we understand."
"Thanks." With that, Azazel hurried upstairs.
Behind him, the teasing continued, "Hey, look at his butt when he runs, so white."
"Yeah, yeah. White butts are the best! I love white butts."
"Tell me, Jack, do we really understand?" one head whispered to the other.
The other head rolled its eyes in response, "Oh, give it a break, Paul. How could we possibly understand?"
After Azazel went upstairs, people had their laugh at the poor devil's expense, then returned to discussing recent events in Sigil.
The tavern was like that – people drank and gossiped and information flew as freely as the liquor.
"Hey, did you hear? Not long ago, those fools from the Chaos Brigade planned an ambush in the Lady's Ward!"
"Really? I'd heard whispers, but I thought it was just a joke. What happened?"
"What else? Those idiots were taken down by the Lady before they could even finish their war cry. Oh, and there's someone you have to hear about, Jadril from the Market District."
"Huh, seen him a few times. Was he involved too?"
"More than that, but the funniest part is, the guy didn't even have a nickname. As they threw him into the Maze, he was shouting 'I am Jadril'—no nickname!"
"Oh, that's just sad. No nickname? I can't imagine. Poor guy."
"Anything else of note?"
"No, um. Well, if there's anything, today's the 'Day of the Dead.' Not that it's good or..."
Suddenly, the tavern fell silent. It started with one table ceasing their chatter, their ears straining, and then like a contagion, the hush spread throughout the bar.
Everyone held their breath, listening intently.
They heard wailing, moaning, women's cries.
The two heads of Paul and Jack turned a sickly shade of purple, both mouths moaning in anguish, "No way, not this unlucky!"
The sounds grew louder, the cold wind blew in from outside, chilling as if to freeze souls.
"Run! The procession is coming!"
Someone shouted, and the tavern erupted into chaos; patrons scattered, leaving nothing but overturned chairs and spilled drinks.
"Damn it! Why does the 'Grand Procession' have to pass my tavern! I hate them! I hate the Dustmen!" one of the bartender's heads cursed the procession organizers while the other yelled after the fleeing patrons, "Pay your bill! Don't rush off! You haven't paid yet!"
Dressed, Azazel came downstairs to find the tavern deserted.
What on earth happened?
Watching the bartender recede into the distance, Azazel pocketed his money and headed in the opposite direction.
Well, I wanted to pay, but there was no one to take my money. It's not that I didn't want to pay. Can't blame me.
Azazel shouldered his pack and stepped out. He was unaware of the event causing the commotion; he hadn't been in Sigil long enough. Had he stayed a couple more years, he would have known what people were fleeing from and joined them instead of strolling away leisurely in the opposite direction.
Today was the festival of the Deadmen, the Day of the Dead! On this day, ghosts and corpses emerged from the mortuaries, forming grand parades that roamed the streets and alleys of Sigil.
It was a day of revelry for the departed.
But a day of suffering for the living.
The zombies and skeletons formed grand processions, wandering the streets. Some of the dead would knock on the doors of residents, who would open them to find last week's funeral subject standing on their doorstep.
"Hey! Remember me? I'm your old friend, back again. You were just at my funeral last week. How was it? Did they do a good job?" the zombie asked with a voice less dull than most, joyful even, for he had died only recently and his body hadn't entirely withered yet.
Then the zombie saw a half-naked woman wrapped in a sheet emerging from the house, "Who is it disturbing us at this time? Don't you know we're busy in bed?" she asked impatiently.
The woman stopped short at the sight of the zombie, who returned her gaze with his own dull eyes. It took a while for him to express shock; showing emotion was harder for the undead, so it took him some time to manage.
"Why are you here?" both zombie and woman asked almost simultaneously. The zombie continued, more impatiently, "Didn't I say I'd be back? But you're my wife, why are you naked in my friend's house?"
"I... after you left, I was very sad. Just so sad," his wife answered hesitantly, clutching the sheet tighter.
"So sad you ended up in my best friend's bed? And busy?" the zombie pressed.
"You're dead!" the man of the house interjected.
"I know, I was the star of my own funeral last week! But now I'm back, and I find this! It's upsetting, you know? I was already dead, which was upsetting enough, and now this. It's even more distressing." The zombie turned to his wife, "We're not divorced yet, are we? You did this before we've even split up! Fantastic! Is he better than me? You know what I mean."
...
The rest of the interaction typically unfolded in similar fashion; whether the answer was strong or weak, it wouldn't be easy for the living. Sometimes the dead would even demand one last act of intimacy.
In short, these dead returning home and saying, "Hey, I'm back," often brought great trouble and chaos to the living. And as polite as the zombies in the procession might be, the ghosts were even worse, rarely even bothering with doors—though this was also because ghosts seldom used them. They passed through houses, furniture, even people's bodies.
Sometimes they'd reach a hand out from your belly, scaring you half to death. Sometimes they'd pop their heads out of urinals, causing you to splash yourself. Or they'd just hold you, caressing you. Ghosts often carried a lot of negative energy with them, and their touch was far from pleasant. The physically weak could become seriously ill from just one caress.
All residents of Sigil despised these days; it was just too disruptive. Rumor had it that the powerful Harmony Brigade was attempting to outlaw the Day of the Dead as an illegal holiday. But so far, they'd had no success.
However, this particular Day of the Dead was destined to be unlike any other because Skarl, the leader of the Dustmen, had joined the procession.