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Imagine an abandoned graveyard at the witching hour, bathed in eerie moonlight and haunted by memories of lives long past. Midnight Mortuary sets the scene: a rusted, weather-beaten automobile—its once–shiny chrome now mottled and corroded—sits forlorn among tall, brittle grasses that seem to lean toward it like spectral hands. A gnarled, leafless tree arches overhead, its skeletal branches silhouetted against an immense, ghostly full moon. In the background, faint tracings of crumbling script drift across cracked plaster skies, whispering forgotten epitaphs and half-remembered incantations.