Frankly, for sake of comfort and hygiene regarding all the living people in the room, Caleb thinks his ability to leave is pretty paramount, thank you! Thus he approaches this roughly as he would any other grotesque household chore, and a person could consider that monumentally insensitive, if they liked; Caleb probably wouldn't offer much commentary one way or the other.
"Guess not," he shrugs, swiping aimlessly back over the top of his head with one flattened hand, the last vestiges of sleep wafting away like static, and with it pretty much all hope of the solid eight to ten hours he can sometimes wring out of unconsciousness without trying. Bare feet thus planted firmly on the sheet of ice currently comprising their floor, he crosses his arms over his chest, posture loose, which doesn't mean it isn't working up to some insistence. "Hey, you can't stay in here."
That is to ....Freddy, not their spectral companion, uh. His fingers settle on the bare skin of his forearms, curled without drumming. "It's bad juju, dude, no wonder you haven't been sleepin'."