And then, one night, when he was cutting the patties... it happened.

- He forgot the secret sauce? - No.

- He didn't wash his hands? - No!

- Irregular portions? - No!

He cut off his own hand by mistake.

You mean like this?

Or like this? Or this? Or this?

But what about this? Or this? Or this?

- Or this? Or-- - Except he wasn't a sponge!

So?

So it didn't grow back!

Oh, no!

And he replaced his hand with a rusty spatula.

And then, he got hit by a bus!

And at his funeral, they fired him!

So now, every...what day is it?

- Tuesday. - Tuesday night!

His ghost returns to The Krusty Krab, to wreak his horrible vengeance.

But tonight's Tuesday night!

Then he'll be coming.

How will we know?

There are three signs that signal the approach of the Hash-Slinging Slasher.

First, the lights will flicker on and off.

- Next... - Dude, can I have some ketchup?

Oh, here you go.

Next, the phone will ring and there will be nobody there.

And finally, the Hash Slinging Slasher arrives in the ghost of the bus that ran him over!

Then he exits the bus and crosses the street without looking both ways.

Because he's already dead.

Then he taps on the window with his grizzly spatula hand.

No.

He opens the door...

He slowly approaches the counter!

And you know what he does next?

What?

You really want to know?

What?

Are you sure you want to know?

What, what, what does he do?

- He gets ya! - Ah!

Hold on!

Don't you want to hear my annual scary story?

No thank you, Mr. Krabs. Eh, does it have monsters in it?

Ay, the worst monster of them all.

Uh... no.

Is it a true story?

True as the deep blue.

OK, maybe just a little.

Have a seat, me boy.

Hot, hot, hot, hot hot.

Every year on Halloween night, the Flying Dutchman descends on Bikini Bottom, in a pirate ship just like this! Only bigger!

Excuse me, did his ship look like a Krabby Patty?

Like I was saying, the Flying Dutchman swoops down and starts stealing people's souls.

Do souls look like pickles?

Ay, as a matter of fact, they do.

Then he puts them where you can get 'em.

In his soul bag.

I've come for your pickle.

Ah, scaredy pants get easier to scare every year.

Squidward.

Nothing like a good ghost story, eh me boy?

Hit it, Fingers!

They're good.

♪ Oh, we're the ghouls of the briny deep ♪

♪ Under the waves we like to creep ♪

♪ Sleeping in coffins with spider webs ♪

♪ As ghostly pillows beneath our heads ♪

♪ Oh, we're the ghouls of the briny deep ♪

♪ Under the waves we like to creep ♪

♪ We wear black shrouds That look quite neat ♪

♪ But we don't wear shoes 'Cause we have no feet ♪

♪ We like to haunt And frighten and scare ♪

♪ Till you jump right out Of your underwear. ♪

♪ We like to eat eyes and brains And drink right out of rusty drains ♪

♪ We don't keep animals Like cutesy snails ♪

Gary!

♪ Our favorite pet's The Cat-O'-Nine-Tails! ♪