Frank the undead skeleton sat there, puffing his pipe and reading through the encyclopedia, as he was wont to do. However, as he breached a section of the book that went over the breeding habits of the Common Aphid, Frank found himself suddenly distracted by a strange development.

In all of his haste to rush out from the basement after realizing what the cure for Curr was, Gehaffrey and his companions had coveniently forgotten to seal up the study.

Now, Frank had long ago convinced himself that he was in the study by choice. After all, he had himself, when he was a living tauman about five centuries prior, devised the means by which he'd be sealed in the study. All that said, well, Frank hadn't once, since the start of his afterlife, really seen such an opportune time as this to leave the study. And, as much and Frank loved his books and his five century plus stock of pipe tobacco, he was concerned that if he didn't leave at some point, he might lose all his gumption and resolve to never leave the study. And, his being an undead skeleton, he was doomed to endless consciouseed until either all his bones faded to dust, the planet exploded, or his soul was consumed by some foul entity. And, having chosen to become a undead skeleton, Frank truly preferred the idea of not dying and instead getting the opportunity to go on living - if not as a living tauman, at least as a living entity capable of intelligent thought and emotion, as he thusly was.

And with that there is the situation that currently presented itself to him. The study had been left open. It was unsealed. Sure, Frank could've technically opened the study from the inside at any point on his own - he'd designed it that way while he was alive, of course - but it was difficult and required effort and forethought. After all, Frak had designed it to be a momentus occasion, one wherein he would finally be able to dwell among the living free of prejudice, to walk in peace, and with that he'd constructed a delicate ritual that was required to be undertake in order to open the study from the inside. Frankincense, candles, and a lute song perfectly recited, among other things, were required in order for Frank to open the study from the inside. He hadn't practied the lute in three centuries, so of course there was that embarassment also keeping him from making any effort to escape.

Yet, he'd been presently presented with a golden opportunity. Gehaffrey had forgotten to seal him back in, and now the study was just... open.

Only, did Frank want to go out of the study? Well, of course he wanted to. But could he, really? And should he?

See, the issue was, the whole reason Gehaffrey had forgotten to seal him back in was because of Curr. Had't Curr been the definig factor, well, Curr and prejudice, that had kept Frank sealed up in his study in the first place?

Still, it had been an awfully long time... Plus, Frank wasn't entirely certain whether he even had anything to fear from Curr. After all, didn't Curr feast on life? Were the undead counted by Curr as something worth mathematizing? Frank wasn't immediately certain, though part of him wondered if there was anything in his study that might elaborate on that. Maybe he should look...

Then again, hadn't Frank had enough of sitting around in his study? Sure, it was a lovely place. He'd experienced in it many a moment of bliss. But there was a growing part of Frank that longed to leave, to get out of that dimly lit yet impeccably decorated room and start unliving his afterlife. After all, wasn't that the real reason he was here in the land of the living, anyways?

Frank took a long drag from his pipe and puffed out the smoke, watching it billow against the windowless wall.

Windowless. How many times had Frank read a passage talking about sunlight? How many times had he gone back to that architectural guide he'd anxiously stuffed into the study while he was still alive and scrounging for reading material, just so that he could end up picturing what naturally lit rooms looked and felt like?

Frank was not allergic to sunlight on account of being an undead skeleton. And, the more he ruminated on it, the more he missed it terribly. Truly, Frank was feeling a divine sense of longing that made the thought of not leaving the study seem... almost impossible.

And then, for the first time in a long, long while, he heard it.

The voice. That dreadful, awful voice. The voice he'd first heard when he origially planned out this study. The voice that, and Frak hate to admit this to himself, but the voice that originally inspired Frank to build and then lock himself in that study as an undead skeleton. The voice he'd tried to ignore time and time again. The voice that he'd almost forgotten about.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Hello there, Frankie Frank, replied the voice. I see you've finally had the shackles of that study lifted from your boney ankles. And yet, despite this, here you sit, puffing on your pipe, rereading the encyclopedia. Why, old friend? Do you not long to see the light of day? Do you not long to walk among the living?

"I daresay, old chap, please don't speak into my mind in such fashion, I find it awfully preturbing."

Well, Frankie, I'm sorry to say, but this is my only real way of communicating with you. See, I'm not like you. I can't articulate a mouth into speech. If I could, believe me, I would, but it's sadly not in the cards. I rely on consciousness-based communication first and foremost. I would die without it, Frankie Frank.

Frak set down the encyclopedia and took a long drag. He exhaled the coiling smoke out of his mouth, nose, and eyeholes. "So you're saying that you feed of, what, thought forms? And, along with that, you posit that you're indeed alive?"

Gods no, Frankie Frank, I eat organic matter. And yes, I am alive.

Frank shuddered, and his bones chattered in a manner that sounded like a xylophone. "So... You're saying you've been alive all this time? As in, five centuries?"

I've been alive for a lot longer than five centuries, Frankie. I've been alive longer than much of taumanity.

Frank shuddered again. "Than much of taumanity? Truly, you cannot be serious! That's almost unfathomable!"

Well the fathom it, Frank. Fathom it hard. Because it is the truth, it is my reality, and it is yours. In fact, this may come as a surprsie as I know I'm quite intimidating, but you wouldn't like it if I died.

"If you died?" Frank suddely realized something. "What if you... Suddenly turned into mathematics?"

Mathematics? What on Nomachiato do you mean? Matter cannot simply turn into mathematics, Frank, despite what your crude tauman understanding of Curr might have you believe.

Drat. So the voice did know about Curr. Frank had been hoping for better luck. He set down his pipe with resolve. Maybe, just maybe, he'd have to do something about this voice. He still knew where the dark, murky area of the basement lay wherein the voice's body dwelled, although he'd never seen it. The room had always been to dark, the elevation drop too deep, the voice too threatening and fearful.

Ah, looks like you're finally coming out of your cave. Thrilling stuff, Frankie Frank.

Frank was feeling quite miffed at this voice. Was it making fun of him? Did the voice consider Frank some sort of a cruel joke of an undead skeleton, just because he'd spent the better part of five centuries reading? What was the problem with that? Framk found himself getting awfully frustrated with this voice and its rudeness. Who do it think it was, shitting all over Frank's tea party whe he'd been nothing but an affable, good natured lad who'd perhaps been a bit over his head, now presently over his skull, when metally accosted by some sinister voice with an indeterminate source.

And it was this frustration boiling up inside Frank that made him feel, for the first time in the better half of five centuries, a burning flmae of resolve pass through his undead being. He suddenly knew what he was going to do. First, he would get the hell out of this study. Then, he was going to figure out where exactly the Curr was upstairs. Finally, he'd take some of that awful Curr back down here, and he'd throw it on the strange entity living deep in the pit in the basement where light never shined. After all, Frank wasn't alive, so he ought to be able to handle the Curr.

So, with that, Frank left his encyclopedia, he left his pipe, he walked out of his study and soon enough he was heading up the steps. He felt a tightness in his chest, which was surprising because all their was to feel was bones and air. However, he's heard this described by other undead skeletons during his brief stint in the spirit world a common phenomena known as phantom heart, so Frank wasn't concerned.

Up he walked, and then he was dazzled immediately by the brilliance of light.

Okay, it wasn't that brilliant. Frank could tell that the window had almost never been cleaned, he could see all the little dead bugs on the windowsill, he could barely see the sun or really any scenery because it was so cloudy ouotside from all the doomsday events that had been occurring... And in spite of all that, the sight out the window felt like beig submerged in the finest waters known to taumanity. It felt like freedom.

Still, Frank was on a mission. He looked around the restaurant with his eyeless skull, the perceptive skills of which he was still confused about, and eventually zeroed in a small fish tank that was obviously crawling with Curr. He walked up to it, full of excitement, and saw a timid looking cephalopod shrinking in the corner.

"Why hello there, my eight legged little octo-chap!" Frank said with a toothy grin. He reached a skeletal had into the waters, yanked the octopus out of the tank, and preched it on his right shoulder. "Don't worry, this nasty Curr won't get you."

It was difficult for Frank to interpret what was happening with the octopus. At once, it seeme dgrateful, but also frustrated - as if it had just had a meal taken away from itself, despite the fact that if another moment had passed before Frank's intervention the oftopus would've surely faced certain doom.

Regardless, Frank focused again on the tank, which was still crawling with Curr. He looked at the octopus. "If I set you down, will you promise to keep yourself alive while I go move this awful tank... Out of the way?"

The octopus made no seeming response. Still, Frank had to move forward - he felt compelled. So, he sat the octopus down, and he lifted up the Curr-filled tank.

"I'll see you in a moment, my octo-lad. I've got business to attend to in the basement!"

The octopus writhed around a little in confusion.

Frank smiled and trudged down the steps. It was time to get rid of the hostile voice once and for all.