"They're back," said Maude, not looking up from her cauldron. "Told you they'd be back."
And so they were — the same three saucers, the same three jars, one of them visibly cracked and repaired with what appeared to be tape.
This time they brought the ray. Great screaming shafts of it, hot pink, and where it fell the dead came apart into neon and stood back up as glowing scaffolds of themselves, rattling, delighted, entirely uninterested in taking orders.
That's the flaw in the plan. You cannot conquer a graveyard by raising the dead. The dead are already local.
A skeleton got hold of a broom and went straight up after them.
The jars did not come back for a third.
