[ WP ] `` What ? Of course I 'm not dead ! ''

I tried once again to sit up from the cold metal table, but the Undertaker's assistant held me down and another grabbed my legs. I kicked out at them and tried to struggle free. `` Jesus, I told you people I'm still alive, what the hell are you doing?'' 
 
 At last the undertaker turned to face me and with a wave of his hand his goons stepped back and released me. I swung my legs over the edge of the table and faced the man who seemed to be in charge. He was a tiny man, hardly over four foot tall and with a pronounced limp as he walked in a circle around the table. The room was cold, but the clipped German tones echoed into the tiled walls and made me shiver. 
 
 `` I'm qvite afraid zat it eez impossible Meester...'' He checked a clip board. ``... Jones. Ve have the medical records from ze hospital here and it quite clearly states that you died during surgery.'' He shook his head sadly. `` Vat a waste of a young life.'' 
 
 He nodded and the assistants stepped forward and grabbed me again and began to force me back onto the table. `` Please, there has been a mistake, I'm clearly not dead!'' 
 
 My back was now pressed into the table and I felt a strap flip over my head and a second around my chest and then a moment later they tightened until I could no longer move. I felt the hands disappear and I tried to sit up, but I was quite trapped. 
 
 To the side there was a faint scrabbling noise and I could just make out the form of the Undertaker as he struggled to get up onto the step that had been set up at the side of the table, but at last he made it and suddenly loomed over me. 
 
 `` I can pay, I have money, my family would pay anything to see me alive again. I do n't even know why I am here.'' I strained against the straps, but they were thick leather and did not move. 
 
 He reached out now and grabbed my face, twisting it one way or another, pulling down my eye lids and gazing deeply in the back of my eyes. All throughout his examination he muttered quietly to himself in a mixture of German and English, only the odd word loud enough for me to hear. 
 
 `` Ze temporal lobe region will be quite anpassungsfähig, aber wir brauchen mehr Platz auf der rückseite.'' He shook his head, `` Zis vill just hav to do!'' 
 
 He was gone and I heard him jumping down and then his tiny feet pattering around the room and out of the door. Straining I could just make out the assistants who still stood silently. `` Please, help me, i'll do anything.'' 
 
 There was a pause and then one appeared over me, blocking out the light from above. He spoke in a thick gruff English accept, his voice deep and gravelly. `` You need to shut the fuck up, mate. Dead men are n't supposed to speak and you're beginning to piss off the boss.'' 
 
 I tried not to sound too pathetic, it seemed like a trait that would go down badly with this man. `` Please, just tell me where I am, or why?'' 
 
 I could see it slowly filtering through his brain and at last he came to some sort of conclusion. `` You're fucking dead. Now shut up.'' It was not the conclusion I had hoped for. 
 
 A moment later the Undertaker returned and scrabbled back up to the table. Clenched in his hand was a metal tray with a range of saws and scalpels. I tried not to scream. I failed. 
 
 Somewhere in the distance I could hear the undertaker, whoever the fuck he was, counting in German down from ten. `` zehn, neun, acht, sieben, sechs, fünf....'' The world began to swim and go faint; it darkened shrank to a point and I heard my screaming stop and at last the world was black. 
 

