This is fan fiction. Every character and event in it is made up. No real promotion, wrestler, referee or show is involved, and nothing here happened.

The contract said "The Tomb Brothers." It did not say how many.

Referee Dale Pruitt found that out at 9:14 p.m., when two men wrapped head to toe in yellowed bandages walked down the ramp in perfect lockstep, shuffling, arms out, shedding little puffs of dust under the purple lights. The crowd in the little Halloween-themed arena lost its mind.

Across the ring stood El Relámpago Azul, a masked luchador who had held the tag belts for six months with his partner, a big friendly bruiser everybody just called Tank.

"Which one of you is starting?" Dale asked.

Both mummies raised a hand.

"Okay. Which one of you is legal?"

Both mummies pointed at the other one.

The bell rang. One mummy locked up with Relámpago, fed him a forearm, then shuffled to the corner and tagged out. Or did he? The other mummy came in from the opposite side, which was not his corner, and Dale could have sworn the first one never left.

"Hey! HEY! Get out!" Dale yelled at a mummy. The mummy stopped, turned slowly, and unwound about four feet of bandage, which floated to the mat. Underneath was more bandage.

By the ten-minute mark, there were bandages everywhere. Tank was tangled in one like a fly in a web. Relámpago kept getting hit with a double suplex from what was definitely two mummies at once. Dale was crawling around the ring with a flashlight he'd borrowed from a security guy, trying to read the tag numbers somebody had Sharpied onto their wraps. One said "1." The other also said "1."

Then Tank, still mostly cocooned, rolled into the corner and made the hot tag. Relámpago flew off the top rope with a moonsault, caught both mummies, and the bandages finally gave. They unraveled like toilet paper on a ceiling fan, spinning, spinning, until there was nothing left inside but a pile of linen and one very surprised black cat.

Dale counted three anyway. Nobody stopped him.

The champs held the belts up. The cat walked out the back like it owned the place. And somewhere in the parking lot, two guys in sweatpants climbed into a hearse and drove off laughing.

Happy Halloween from the RummyReports fiction desk.