Life is hard, and with death comes precious little relief, as Los Angeles-based paranormal detective Cal McDonald realizes in “Criminal Macabre: Die, Die, My Darling” (Dark Horse). In the opening panels of this one-shot (a comic that is not part of a series and just stands alone as a complete story), writer Steve Niles’s character is “unbelievably pissed off” upon discovering that being undead still means living the “same shitty existence [he] always had” since he “saw his first dead body when he was eight years old.” After years of working with a network of ghouls, the alcohol-and-drug-fueled antihero has recently—and reluctantly, it seems, though his death is not explained here—joined their ranks and realizes there are unpleasant occupational hazards. These include: fingers that break off and reattach at will, the need to learn again how to breathe (if he wants to continue smoking), and the possibility that consuming alcohol may now have unpredictable effects.

Frustrated, Cal refuses to appreciate the irony in his newfound similitude to his ghoulish buddy Mo’Lock, but there is no danger of the messenger getting shot here. Quite to the contrary, Mo’Lock’s response to Cal’s self-pity is to shoot him straight through the chest, leading to an altercation in which Cal first realizes his strength has magnified, then acknowledging that Mo’Lock is still stronger. The two come to a truce lying amidst the rubble.

And then a giant stranger named Darren Finch and his fetal sister Virginia enter the room looking for one detective Cal McDonald.

If that sounds pretty damn weird, it’s because it kind of is. “Die, Die, My Darling” is audacious, yet utterly self-assured, in the way that it does not bother to elucidate on the trials and tribulations of the recently undead or on the many ways in which it is unusual for a large man to unbutton his coat, only to reveal a seemingly translucent womb in which his sister had “been asleep for a long time”—and that fetus possesses enough sass to demand Cal not interrupt her. In response to all this, Mo’Lock and Cal, eerily rendered with weathered faces and vacant eyes by Christopher Mitten and colored by Michelle Madsen, seem only puzzled, even vaguely amused, not horrified.

In this comic, a lot of violent action swiftly unfolds in chaotic, packed panels. According to Virginia, there is some sort of mysterious war, heralded by three signs, that will start at midnight, and if Cal does not make a kill in time, he will be murdered (again?) by armed vampires as he chills on his front porch. Cal is skeptical—in my humble opinion, understandably so. Suddenly, there is a creepy red baby the dynamic duo decides not to kill (because it is a baby), instead taking out the parasitic siblings. The world doesn’t end, and Cal and Mo’Lock decide to give the baby a chance to grow up and wreak havoc, and that baby watches them walk off into the sunset all buddy-buddy.

I may have been glib about the plot, but rest assured, “Criminal Macabre: Die, Die, My Darling” is, truthfully, quite compelling. The concise one-shot is an example of skillful storytelling in the way it so succinctly gives new readers (Cal McDonald’s first story was released in 1990 as part of an anthology by Arcane Comix, writer Niles’ self-publishing company) the essential facts they need about the antihero and his ghoulish colleagues. At the same time, newcomers are not mollycoddled; Niles is not apologetic in expecting them to accept both his conception of what the undead can and cannot do and Cal’s wavering moods and unpredictable behavior. Also interesting, and unusual, at least for me, is how tightly focused this story is—I have more experience with ensemble casts or teams when it comes to comics with non-realistic elements. This sharpness is visually reflected in the frequent use of tight close-ups and panels that eschew background details for focus on the action, but it is also evident in the extremely small cast of characters—though this does make the absence of females, save the “human snow globe” Virginia conspicuous, if you prioritize that in the comics you read.

All in all, “Die, Die, My Darling” is a low-commitment introduction to the character and perhaps even to other work by Niles, who is known for bringing horror comics back to prominence. With its ambiguous ending, perhaps some readers would go in search of older comics featuring Cal, as to fill in the details of his ambiguous past, though I am unlikely to do so.