User blog comment:Mr.123/Welcome to Spooky Town!/@comment-5782071-20191014043928

Dancing Skeleton:

In late 1919, a swinging party was held in a neighborhood of Missouri. Sweets were eaten, music was danced to, and drinks were had - in the case of one Tom Tennyson Tanzer, many drinks. Well-known in his community for his love of celebrations and celebratory toasts, he was always the life of the party. After the party had concluded (after many long, alcohol-filled hours), Tom did not feel like leaving the festivities behind so soon. On his way home, mumbling the words of the latest Victrola hits and stumbling down the road, he slipped and tumbled down a ditch, where he struck his head and died instantly. When he was found the following morning, the entire neighborhood mourned the loss of their most jolly friend.

A decade later, by some miraculous coincidence, another party was held on the same night in the same neighborhood. Even after such a long interim, though, when everyone had long since left his last party, the party had not yet left him. When interviewed by local police and the arriving Warehouse agents, terrified party-goers described a skeleton that had come in and began celebrating alongside them, dancing rather impressively and making a mess of the floor as it tried to eat and drink. Later investigation found, by some strange coincidence, that the grave of one Tom Tennyson Tanzer had been excavated (seemingly from the inside), and his remains were never recovered.

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Now housed in the Warehouse's Samhain Sector, the skeleton of Tom Tanzer is hung from a stand much like any artificial skeleton one may find in a science classroom. He tends to rattle, especially when bored, and should he grow too bored by the lack of excitement or joyous atmosphere of his spooky home, he will break free of his "containment" and start a party himself (several artifact disturbances have been attributed to him over the decades).

To keep him happy, agents are to play a controlled amount of music for him until he is content - nothing too boring, and nothing too exciting, lest both result in him hopping off his hook and starting a swinging soiree to liven up his, admittedly, depressing locale. While fond of the classics of his era, he has grown partial to electric swing and Minaj.

On his good days, he merely busts a few moves and pulls a few harmless practical jokes, and is benevolent enough that several agents (mostly Lattimer) have taken to dancing along with him for a while on slow days.