An Evening In A Funeral Parlor

Hia Kiddies. I, CREEPS, have a GRAVE STORY for you all. It concerns an undertaker who has FRIGHT a COFFIN CASE, called...
It was raining during an evening back in May of 1949, over somewhere in western-New Jersey, outside a building. A sign outside of the building read: "MILLER'S FUNERAL HOME" on it. Within Miller's Funeral Home, an undertaker looked down at the dead body of an older man, lying within a casket. "Well, Mr. Baker, you are finally dead. You were just an idiot when I was a teenager sir. I remember when you called my Father when I was drinking Jack Daniel's Whiskey sir" the undertaker said to the corpse. He held up a hatchet and rose it up, over the throat of Mr. Baker's dead body then.
During the night, the undertaker drank a bottle of Jack Daniel's Whiskey, as he sat in a chair within the funeral parlor. He looked over at the coffin that was now closed and grinned. The undertaker got up and walked out, onto the front porch of the funeral parlor then. He took a drink of his whiskey as it rained. Meanwhile, the lid of the coffin opened, and the headless-corpse of Mr. Baker sat up, being a living-dead zombie. The headless-zombie of Mr. Baker climbed out of his casket, and lurched forwards in his grey suit and black and white-striped-tie then, and gray dress shoes. There was a shovel out, in the yard, behind Miller's Funeral Home, sticking up, out of the ground where a pile of dirt was at. Within the rain, the headless-zombie of Mr. Baker lurched to the shovel, grabbled it and dug up the hole. Within the hole was the head of his corpse and as his headless-zombie pulled it out of the hole, his dead eyes opened, now being dark-purple and without pupils in them. Mr. Baker's zombified-head laughed in a whispery-voice, as his headless-body held it by its pale-white-neck. 
The undertaker drank his bottle of Jack Daniel's Whiskey, standing on the front porch and looked into the window of the funeral parlor then. He then faced forward again and saw the headless zombie of Mr. Baker holding his zombified-head, standing in front of him. "Good evening, Ronald Miller. You cut off my head!" Mr. Baker's zombified-head said to the undertaker in his whispery-voice. His flesh was pale-white and his black straight short hair was messy. Ronald Miller screamed in horror and ran into the funeral parlor. Ronald Miller saw the severed-zombified-head of Mr. Baker looking into the window and screamed. The headless-zombie of Mr. Baker lurched into Miller's Funeral Home and reattached his head, making the sickening-sounds of cracking-bones. "Mr. Baker!" Ronald Miller said to the zombie, and the zombie picked up the hatchet from on a chair. It put its dead pale-hand on the undertaker's head, jerking it back, and rose the hatchet in the air. The hatchet lowered and there was the sound of it slicing a head off. That evening, Mr. Baker's dead body was lying back within its casket, now with its dead hands on top of the dead skull of the undertaker. 
That ending HEAD-ED IN THE FRIGHT DIE-RECTION eh, Kiddies? Poor Mr. Baker had quite a plan. He just had to HATCHET hee-hee-hee-hee!