You finish your cup of coffee, grimacing at the burnt flavour, and set it aside in favour of the shovel. There’s a lot of digging to do if you want to get this hole finished by dawn.
“Tell me a story,” the corpse sitting in your passenger seat says, cold, dead eyes staring you down. “It’s only fair, you know.”
“Fair.” You almost laugh. “Alright, then. Here’s your story. Once upon a time, there was someone in the middle of nowhere burying a body. The dirt around there sucked, and they don’t do enough manual labour, so it took forever and they were unhappy. The end.”
The corpse pouts, folding its arms. “It’s tradition, sister dearest. We respect tradition.”
“Why should I?”
Silence, for a few moments, and you sigh, wipe the sweat from your brow. “Fine. Alright. Let me tell you a story.”