A Suitable Corpse

By William T. Adair
© 2019
Copyright©2019 Art, story and content by William T. Adair
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the author
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events,
locales,
and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
actual
events is purely coincidental.

First Printing, 2019

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Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
 CHAPTER 1
Devin Tusow slowly ran the back of his hand down the side of Sasha’s
face. She was, indeed, very beautiful, and he wanted to feel her flesh. Her
eyes had already been glued closed, and the smell of formaldehyde filled the
air. He wished they’d come up with a new smell for formaldehyde. It was
breaking his concentration.
He stood up from his chair at the dining room table, leaving his half-
eaten salmon filet, and promised Sasha, who surely didn’t want anything to
eat, he’d be right back. Hurriedly, he walked down the hallway and into his
bedroom, where at the far end of his dresser there sat various glass bottles of
fragrances. He walked beside the dresser, and selected a purple one. When he
sprayed it, the air instantly smelled like candy. Too sweet, he thought. He put
it down, and reached for the pink one. It was elegantly shaped, if you
considered a multi- faceted diamond- shape elegant. He sprayed it into the air
and breathed in the aroma. It smelled like roses, but not too strongly. It was a
simple smell, but it reminded him of a girl he’d dated in high school when he
was sixteen.
The girl from his youth. Her name was Trinity, and she was the one who
got away. She was very beautiful, and had a classic hour- glass shape that
caused his heart and groin to tingle when he slid his hands from just under
her armpits, his palms near his thumbs stealing a nonchalant inspection of the
sides of her breasts, all the way down to her hips.
But she’d been a deceitful, conniving girl, always paying close attention
to other, more handsome boys, and he’d noticed when she would playfully
wrap her arms around their necks and steal a glance from him to see his
reaction. It was only after they broke away from the other men to go about
their business that she’d resume paying attention to him. If he protested her
actions, she would brush it off and reassure him that he was the only boy that
she was serious with. He never quite understood what that meant. Was she
just flirting with the other boys? Was she casually fucking them? She never
fucked him. Not in any way, shape or form. She only kissed him, and on
occasion, felt his yearning erection over his pants, giving him sexy smiles
and sometimes giggles. It was cruel, to be honest, he thought.
How could something so beautiful be so cruel?
 He set the bottle back down onto the dresser and placed his palms on the
dresser’s edge, leaning forward, his shoulders high, his head hung low. He
took a deep breath, and pondered the notion that maybe he should’ve killed
her. He’d had plenty of chances to when they were alone in his room while
his parents were gone. They would watch a movie, make out, and there were
many times they’d taken an afternoon nap together in his bed. He easily
could have crept out of bed, retrieved a kitchen knife and kill her. But he
wouldn’t have known where exactly to stab her. He wouldn’t have wanted to
destroy any part of her beauty. Perhaps between the breasts would’ve been a
good start.
Sasha’s beauty was unblemished. From what he knew, she’d taken her
own life by way of several prescription pills that were meant for mental
health. The others who’d committed suicide that he’d taken home typically
had used more violent means. For instance, Lisa had cut her wrists. It had
been done the correct way, too. Down the road, not across the street. He’d
had to make sure she was wearing long sleeves, but come on. Did he really
want her to wear long sleeves for the whole duration of her stay with him?
Then there was Tina, who’d put a rifle in her mouth and blown the back
of her head off. The morgue had left the remains of her brain, but did nothing
for the large hole before sending her off to In God’s Arms Mortuary. She
would be laying on her back during the funeral anyway, he thought. Not too
big of a deal.
Why did the most beautiful suicide victims always seem to die violent,
gory deaths? He’d tried to arrange her long, dyed- black hair on her head so
that he wouldn’t see it. But he’d still known it was there. At one point, he’d
begun passionately kissing her, becoming aroused and beginning to think that
this may be the one who he’d lose his virginity to. But as he pushed his lips
against hers hard enough to feel the stitches that held them together, his hand
accidentally pushed into the hole in her head, caving in what was left of her
brain, and when he opened his eyes, the back of one of hers had been pushed
so hard that her eyelid had ripped from the glue that had kept it closed and
pushed it out pretty far. So that was it for Tina. He’d had to fix her eye when
he got back to the mortuary. But being a six- year veteran mortician, he knew
a few tricks and was able to successfully actually stitch beneath the crusty,
dried glue, and conceal it with makeup and fake eyelashes.
There had been four other girls besides those two, not including Sasha.
But none of them seemed to do it for him. There was always something
fucked up. Either they had gross wounds, or weren’t beautiful enough,
weren’t sexy enough, weren’t the right build. The list went on. These were
the best girls that had arrived at his funeral home, but none of them were
suitable enough to lose his virginity to. None of them compared to Trinity.
For Christ’s sake, he was twenty- nine years old. He was about to turn
thirty next month, and he had a goal. He would not reach his thirtieth
birthday without knowing the pleasures of a woman. He sighed at the thought
that in order to keep that goal, he might have to settle for less than what he
was looking for; less than what Trinity had been.
He looked at himself in the mirror. He’d unbuttoned the top button of
his white shirt earlier, and he was feeling kind of hot. He attributed it to his
desire to have sex. After all, his apartment was a cool sixty- five degrees. It
was a temperature he thought Sasha would enjoy. He stood upright, and felt a
tug in his groin. He looked down at his brown slacks, and saw that he was
developing an erection, visible within them.
“Not right now. Not just yet. Settle down,” he said aloud, and picked a
black comb up off the dresser. He started combing his dark brown hair, and
noticed the part in the middle of his head was a little fucked up. He slicked
his hair back, and parted it again, and then rubbed his face, admiring the
smoothness of it. Then, he put his hands to his sides, with his shoulders back.
“You can do this,” he said to himself. “I hear she was a nice girl, full of
happiness, caring and giving in her life. She’s pretty and she’s ready and
willing to receive you.”
He snatched the perfume bottle back up off the dresser.
When he got back to Sasha, she was just the way he’d left her, sitting
upright at the dining room table in his small dining room with pictures of
relatives passed adorning the faux- wooden walls. Of course she is, you
fucking dolt. She’s dead, he thought. Sometimes dealing with the dead all the
time got to him. He had literally zero friends and his parents had both died in
an automobile accident. He was as alone as they came.
“I brought you a little gift,” he said to her. “Something that you’ll enjoy.
Something that will make you smell pretty and compliment your beauty.”
He sprayed her once on either side of her neck. The result was
disastrous. Not only could he still smell the formaldehyde, but mixed with the
fragrance made it nearly unbearable. It reminded him of the times he hadn’t
showered for days, when business was slow and he hadn’t found any pretty
corpse’s in a while. He’d bought a can of the cheap body- spray they were
always advertising on tv. The kind that was supposed to be appealing to the
women. He’d sprayed himself, being too lazy and depressed to shower,
particularly in the crotch area in an attempt to cover up the smell of moldy
flesh and smegma. It didn’t help at all. Now it just smelled like body spray
and rotten, slimy balls.
Today, he’d showered, put his deodorant on, shaved, sprayed a little
cologne – the good stuff – on his chest and neck, tucked in his shirt, and just
all- around made himself presentable.
He set the perfume on the table, walked over to the dining room window
and opened the curtains. He rested his elbow on the frame, and nestled his
temple on his fist. Peering out into the night sky, he knew this wasn’t going
to work.
Without looking at Sasha, he said, “You know, I know you were looking
forward to tonight. So was I, I swear. But to be completely honest with you,
something is off. It just doesn’t feel quite right. It’s not you, trust me. I think
it’s me, and all my hang-ups. You see – if I may be frank – I have a lot of
issues. You know, in my head. I think that I’m looking for the perfect girl,
but deep down inside I know that nobody’s perfect. You’re close, but not
perfect. So it’s my issue. I’m waiting for someone who doesn’t exist.”
He turned around to face her. Her head was turned, looking at him. His
eyes went wide, and his jaw dropped. That’s not the way she was when he’d
turned away from her. Her head had moved on its own! Not only that, but her
eyes were open, looking at him with a gaze that suggested pity. He noticed,
being the observant mortician that he was, that there was no visibly torn flesh
on her eyelids. Her skin glowed warmly, and her hands were in her lap. She
was strikingly beautiful.
But his excitement began to fade.
“No, no, no,” he said. “Not this again.”
He closed his eyes, gently at first, then, squeezed them hard. This had
only happened once before, and it had scared the shit out of him. He’d
wandered his house, aimlessly, at a quick pace, not knowing what to do with
a re- animated corpse. How would he explain it to the family?
But now he knew better. He’d learned from his experience. Sasha wasn’t
re- animated. He would open his eyes, and this would go away. Slowly, he
opened them. She was sitting there, facing forward with her arms dangling at
her sides, a cold, dead corpse.
As he walked over to her, he figured that he might as well use her for
something. He reached for the bottom of her blouse, never taking his eyes off
her face, and grabbed hold of it. Delicately, he pulled it up over her large,
stiff breasts to reveal a pink bra. He pushed her forward so that he might
unclasp it, and the momentum was quicker than he’d anticipated. She
collapsed forward, hitting her head hard on the table.
“Ah, shit! Fuck!” he said, and quickly came to her side, sitting her
upright again. There didn’t appear to be any damage to her face. Her nose
wasn’t broken, from what he could see. That was good. That was all he
needed.
“Perhaps, we should spare you some dignity,” he said, hardening inside
of his pants. “We’ll just leave that on.”
He turned her chair sideways so that she was facing him, and leaned her
back, slightly. Unzipping himself, he felt like was already on the verge of
climax at the thought of what was about to occur. When he reached into his
underwear and pulled out his penis, he immediately began masturbating. He
stroked himself hard and fast, clenching his ass- cheeks so tightly that they
became numb. He thrust his hips back and forth in a sexual motion, but
nothing came of it. He could not ejaculate.
Utterly frustrated, he collapsed backward into his chair, breathing
heavily, his chest rising and falling, as he looked at her smooth, unglazed
chest.
Fucking Christ, he thought. What if he eventually found ‘the one’? He
didn’t want to spend all this meticulous time and effort to find whoever she
might be, only to ejaculate within seconds from so many instances of not
being able to. He wanted to be able to have a good time with the experience.
To really get a chance to feel the inside of a vagina, and to explore every inch
of her body with his hands and mouth.
Sasha winked at him.
“Ah, fuck,” he said.
 CHAPTER 2
As Devin drove the hearse, he looked at the clock, which read nine-
thirty AM. He would open for business at ten. That was about the earliest
he’d ever seen anyone drop by on Saturdays. He hated grief in the morning. It
annoyed him, and he couldn’t understand what was so wrong with stopping
by in the noontime, or even in the afternoon. Didn’t these people have jobs?
He supposed it was that ‘Bereavement Leave’ he’d heard about, where you
got to take a little vacation when someone kicked the bucket.
As he ran his thumbnail along the bottom of one of his front teeth, he
silently cursed himself. This was way later than he should’ve returned Sasha
to the Funeral Home. He was running a pretty big risk. Last night’s affair had
left him sleeping like a baby, unable to wake up at the customary time that he
returned his dates.
It was already getting warm this July morning, and he cranked the
manual window down. The hearse’s AC had gone out long ago, and he
welcomed a breeze, however slight. It was one of two that his funeral home
used. The other was a little worse for the wear, with scratches in the black
paint here and there, a mysterious rumble in the engine that no one could
figure out, and the faux leather seats inside were splitting here and there. That
one was reserved for picking up bodies from the coroner’s office, hospital, or
maybe one of the few old folks’ homes in the area. He truly wanted an
upgraded vehicle for the funeral home, but he still, after several years in the
industry, didn’t make enough to cut it. He was so broke, in fact, that he didn’t
know what he would do if either of the vehicles began to have mechanical
malfunctions, or if he were in an accident.
He had a more modern, normal car at home for running errands and
such, but he always drove the hearse to and from work. He didn’t want to
leave it in the two- car driveway at the mortuary. The neighborhood was
pleasant enough, but you never knew what rats the night would bring. There
had only been one incident there since setting up shop, and it was mere
graffiti on the side of the building. It was in blue spray paint, and read, ‘If the
hearse is a- rockin, don’t com-a knockin’. It had freaked him out. It had been
two days after his first date with a corpse, and he’d thought that surely
someone was on to him. But he didn’t believe that it was against the law to
simply bring a corpse into his home while in his care, which was all he’d
done. He’d simply brought her home, talked to her for a while, and given her
one little goodnight kiss. He hadn’t even acknowledged her verbally at three
AM the next morning, which had eventually grown to be his customary time
to return the corpses back to their caskets, while putting her away. He’d
devised an excuse. He would just tell the authorities that he was taking his
work home with him. He figured that wasn’t entirely untrue, as he often put
some final touches on them with makeup, and they’d surely buy it. His home,
should they search it, was filled to the brim with makeup, perfumes,
mortician’s wax, and various other supplies pertaining to the temporary
preservation and presentation of the deceased.
But he was never questioned. Never bothered. Cops didn’t even look in
his general direction while he drove through the streets in his hearse. He
figured that the sight probably made them think about the dangers of their
jobs.
“Doing ok back there, love?” he called out over his shoulder to where
the casket was. In the past, he’d simply placed bodies in the back and covered
them with a blanket. But eventually, he’d figured that if he was pulled over
by the cops, or some nosy asshole decided to peek into the hearse, a casket
wouldn’t look out of place, while a blanket covering something shaped like a
body would definitely be a cause for concern.
Getting Sasha’s body in the casket hadn’t been too difficult of an ordeal.
However, getting the casket into the hearse was another story. But with the
help of a dolly, every muscle fiber in his body and sheer will, he’d managed
to get it in.
He smiled to himself as he rounded the corner and began driving down
the street where work was located. He could see it as he approached; red
brick with white trim, and a freshly- mowed lawn out front.
“Why didn’t you fuck me last night, Devin?” came a soft voice from
behind him.
His eyes opened wide and his smile instantly vanished. He instinctively
pushed on the break a little, before quickly realizing that it would be a little
strange and out of place for the neighbors to see him stopping in the middle
of the street in his hearse.
“Sasha?” he called out, facing forward the whole time. “Sasha… I’m
sorry, but I never want to see you again.”
He waited for a response, but none came. Of course none came. She was
dead, silly. Jesus, sometimes he thought that he was going nuts! He was
almost to the funeral home. A couple more moments. Then, he would get out,
go to the back of the hearse, open its rear door, and prove to himself that
there was nothing to concern him.
As he pulled into the driveway, he scanned the sidewalks and street for
anyone who might see him or his date from last night. He came to an almost-
screeching halt, threw the car in park, and got out, not bothering to close the
door. The bottom of his grey suit jacket flapped behind him as he rounded the
rear of the car. He quickly opened it and got in. When he hurriedly lifted the
white casket’s lid, he saw Sasha. She was perfectly still, lying in a red felt
interior, looking a little too peaceful. With his forefinger and thumb, he
lightly parted her lips, only to find the stitches that he’d put in there the night
before.
He breathed a sigh of relief, and wiped beads of sweat from his brow
with the back of his hand. After he exited the vehicle, he laughed at himself.
“Ha!” he said, thrusting his arm out and pointing at the casket. “I told ya
she was still dead!”
“Good morning, Mr. Tusow!” Someone said from behind him, causing
him to jump, and he immediately positioned himself so that he was mostly
blocking the back of the hearse. He felt all the tension and rigidness in his
body from the fright leave him when he turned around.
“Jesus, fuck, Frankie, you scared the piss out of me.”
What the shit was he doing there this early? He wasn’t supposed to be
there until eleven.
Frankie was an eighteen- year- old dipshit, with thick- framed glasses
and buck teeth. Devin felt that he really only required one helper to help with
sales, lifting and moving bodies, operating the cremator and cleaning up.
Devin was annoyed by him, but the good part was that Frankie was so dense
and gullible, that he wouldn’t have to worry about him finding out his little
secret. That’s why he’d hired his silly ass. There had been plenty of qualified
applicants, and some of them would’ve been able to make his work- life a
whole lot easier. But they would’ve noticed what was going on pretty
quickly, when a body went missing for a night or two. Or what was destined
to be a week, once he found the girl of his dreams.
“Sorry, Mr. Tusow,” Frankie said as he pushed his glasses up the bridge
of his nose.
Devin scanned him from head to toe- curly black hair, white button- up
collared shirt that seemed to fit loosely on his scrawny frame, brown belt
holding up tan khaki pants, white socks visible because of his pant- legs
being too short, and black, wing- tip shoes. He looked ridiculous.
Devin realized he’d been simply staring at the boy without saying
anything. He shook the animosity from his head. “Oh. Well, it’s ok, Frankie.
It’s not your fault. These things happen. What’re ya… what’re ya doing here
this… this early?”
Frankie smiled.
“Well, I woke up early, didn’t have anything better to do with my
Saturday, so I ate my cereal and came right here,” he said with a proud voice,
swinging his arms.
Frankie peered over Devin’s shoulder.
“Watcha got there, Mr. Tusow? A new casket? They deliver it to your
home this time?”
Devin turned his head to look at the casket, and stumbled over his
thoughts for the words to use.
“Uh… oh, that? Yeah… that… that’s our new casket.”
“It looks the same as the one we put the lady in yesterday,” Frankie said.
Dammit, why do you have to stick your goddamn nose in other
peoples’…
“Well, uh… yeah. Yeah, when her parents were deciding which casket
to bury her in, I was looking at this one too, and thought, you know what?
That’s a mighty fine casket.”
“Oh. Well how’d it get to your house so fast?”
“Oh, well that’s a… that’s a funny story…” he tried to stall for time
“real funny story…” come on. Come on! He suddenly snapped his fingers.
“Picked it up at Strawberry Valley! Yep. I picked it up from Strawberry
Valley yesterday after work. Remember how I sent you home early
yesterday? Yeah. I had to pick up our brand new casket from Strawberry
Valley.”
“Oh. Well, ok.” He took a step and leaned in, attempting to grab it.
Devin blocked him with his body. Frankie looked at him, his face scrunched
with confusion. “Well… don’t you want me to help you bring it in, Mr.
Tusow?”
“NO!” said Devin, and immediately tried to calm himself and relax his
posture. “No, I- I’ll… well, we’ll… you and I,” he quickly pointed his finger
back and forth between the two of them, “we’ll get this later.”
 Frankie took a hard look at him. Then, what was probably a few seconds
but seemed like an eternity to Devin, he slowly developed a smile.
“Well… ooookaaay, Mr. Tusow. Just open the door for me, and I’ll start
prepping the equipment and instruments.”
Devin gave a slight smile and nodded. “Yeah, Frankie. I’ll let you in.
We have a twelve o’clock that’s apparently gonna come in today. I don’t
know if she’s expecting us to pick up a body or not.”
“Well darnnit, I hope so, Mr. Tusow. I like my work here, and it makes
me feel accomplished when I can help you with a good ol’ cadaver or two.”
He walked towards the front door. It was almost a march, as he swung his
arms with determination.
Devin leered at him. Fucking lame- ass.
He bit his lower lip and shook his head, composing himself. What had
come over him? The kid was alright. Good heart. Good head on his
shoulders. He was an all- around good employee. Even more of a dork than
himself, but he understood being awkward. He should give the kid a break,
and appreciate his willingness to help out.
He walked up to the porch where Frankie was patiently waiting and
grinning, patted him on the shoulder and unlocked the door.
 CHAPTER 3
As Frankie began to organize things in the morgue, he felt uneasy about
Mr. Tusow’s behavior. He seemed to be very fidgety. Very nervous. It
concerned him. It made him think that maybe he’d come into possession of
the casket by less than honest means. The funeral home didn’t have a great
budget, and had been struggling for some time. It was to the point that family
members of the deceased often had to go to the manufacturer in Strawberry
Valley to select a casket, and then he and Mr. Tusow would go and transport
it. Caskets should already be here for the family to choose from, he thought.
They probably already had enough stress in their lives. Thank God they were
one of only a few funeral homes in their relatively small town, and while
nearly half of their prospective customers left to find a casket only to never
return, the others simply went along with the program.
He suddenly felt the discomfort of his clothes bunching up in between
his backside, and he struggled to lower his pants more at his waist by
working his belt back and forth. He reached back and grabbed a handful of
his pants and pulled it out of his ass. He liked the look of his pants being
pulled high. He thought it made him look more crisp, and it prevented his
pants from bunching up anywhere. Except for in his ass. It wouldn’t get up
there too badly at first, but when he started moving around, it would start to
work its way in there. No matter, he thought. He would just leave them down
as he worked this morning, and pull them up when he heard someone enter.
After he’d cleaned the morgue table, the counter and gave the already-
sterile instruments another quick rubdown, he looked at his handiwork for a
moment before turning around and leaving the morgue.
As he walked down the hall, he leaned into the open doorway of Mr.
Tusow’s office. Mr. Tusow sat there with his elbows on his desk and his face
in his hands. His usually pristinely combed hair looked pretty messy. That’s
odd, he thought.
Frankie stood there for a moment, looking at him. For the first time ever,
he felt nervous about him. There was something very off this morning, and it
made him feel uneasy. He raised his fist to knock on the open door, and
hesitated with his fist in the air. He didn’t want to startle the poor fella,
whatever the case was. Maybe he was just stressed out over finances. Or
maybe he had been working himself too hard. After all, he usually arrived at
the funeral home first, and left sometime after Frankie did. Today was the
first day in the year or so that he’d worked there that Mr. Tusow had arrived
after him. Before today, he’d never been there without Mr. Tusow already
being present.
Finally, with nervous tingles throughout his body a split second before
in anticipation, he lightly knocked on the door. Mr. Tusow snapped his head
up. There were dark circles around his usually vibrant eyes. The eyes
themselves were bloodshot.
“Hi, Mr. Tusow!” Frankie said with a smile, using all of his effort to
sound joyful to be there. He always liked to stay positive, but Mr. Tusow’s
seemingly glum demeanor today had him feeling a little down, and he felt
sorry to think that today it was more of an act on his part, rather than a
genuine feeling.
Mr. Tusow lowered his head back into one hand.
“Hi Frankie,” he muttered. “What can I do for you?”
Seeing that Mr. Tusow was no longer looking at him, he figured he
figured there was no need to keep smiling, if he really didn’t feel entirely
happy. Slowly it vanished from his face, and he lowered his head a little. His
shoulders dropped. He really didn’t want to proceed. He wanted to get out of
there, and just do his job and leave. He hated that he felt that way today.
Every other day, he loved his job, and was excited to help out and feel
accomplished. But today was different. Today was somehow screwy.
“I- I was just w-wondering if you had any s-special projects you wanted
me to attend to,” he said, struggling to maintain the act.
“Uh… no. No, I don’t have anything special. Why don’t you go into the
Dead Room and do any last minute touch- ups that might be required. Let me
know if any of the facial features need to be adjusted,” he said without raising
his head.
Frankie was beginning to feel sorry for him, and worse, sorry for
himself. He rarely felt down, and hated it. He wanted to run out of there;
wanted to run out of the funeral home’s front doors, down to the curb along
which his lime green, rusted Pinto was parked. He wanted to get in his car
and drive away. He would get to his house, get himself another bowl of
cereal and a glass of orange juice and watch some Saturday morning cartoons
to get his spirits back up. But, no. He had a job to do, and by golly, he was
going to tough it out and do it.
 He forced the smile back on his face even though Mr. Tusow was not
looking at him, lifted his head back up, and pulled his shoulders back.
“Okay, Mr. Tusow. You let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks Frankie,” Mr. Tusow mumbled.
The Dead Room was where they kept the embalmed, dressed and
prepared bodies of the deceased, pending the viewings and funerals. Some
were in their caskets, and others were awaiting their loved ones to select one
for them. As he entered, he flipped the light- switch next to the door. The
room lit up with a soft glow, unlike the sickly bright lights of the Morgue
Room, where Mr. Tusow did the majority of his work. He took a deep breath,
and felt a little relief. The Dead Room always felt peaceful.
He began inspecting the bodies, making sure that their clothing was nice
and neat, adjusting collars and making sure the shirts on the men were neatly
tucked. He adjusted ties to look just right, smoothed out the blouses and
dresses that the women wore. He made sure that all facial features looked
peaceful, and that no eyes or cheeks seemed sunken in.
As he made his way around the room, he kept a mental note of who all
was in there, so as to not miss anyone. That’s when he realized something
wasn’t right. Where was the Sasha girl? He looked around the room, and
particularly at the vacant space, where he was sure she was yesterday before
he left. He ran from one side of the room to the other, and in every direction,
frantically looking into coffins. But she was nowhere to be found.
*
Devin sighed as he hung up the phone. The coroner’s office already
wanted him to pick up a body. Apparently, it had something to do with
steroids, alcohol and ecstasy. It was too early for this shit.
What is wrong with you, he thought. This definitely wasn’t like him. It
was the second time this morning that he’d caught himself slipping into a
seemingly hostile state. No matter. From here on out, he was determined to
make his day better, and to keep his outlook positive. There was no need to
grump about. What was this all about anyway? Was it his failed night with
Sasha? That was ok. He didn’t need Sasha. So she wasn’t the one, so what. It
was important that he hold onto his virginity until he found someone special.
Someone who made him feel good, that he felt comfortable around. Someone
like Trinity.
Sasha was just a… Oh shit! Sasha! She was still in the back of the
hearse, not the Dead Room! Frankie was in the Dead Room right now!
He got up hurriedly, knocking over a stack of papers and his morning
coffee in the process. As he burst through his doorway, coming to an abrupt
stop in the hallway to turn, he stumbled and fell to his knees. His time on the
ground was brief. Within a split second, he was back up, running down the
hall, feeling hot. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.
As he became nearer and nearer to the open door of the Dead Room, he
could see Frankie, frantically rushing from one side of the room to the other.
What the fuck was he going to tell him? Hurry! Hurry! But too late. He was
already in the room now, without a plan.
Frankie turned to face him. Devin immediately stood upright and
relaxed his shoulders, using all his effort to look and act casual.
“Heyyyyyy, Frankie,” he said as smoothly as he could. But he knew his
voice still sounded a little shaky, and he was breathing heavily, sweating, his
adrenaline coursing through his veins like a freight train. “Whadaya got goin’
on, my friend?” Act casual. Act very nice to him. He’ll be more willing to
accept excuses and calm down if you’re extra nice to him.
“Mr. Tusow!” Frankie said frantically. “The Sasha girl’s gone! I don’t
see her anywhere!”
Ok. He had a plan. He had this.
“Oh, well, she’s in the Morgue Room.”
“Th… the Morgue Room? Well, what the heck’s she doing in there,
sir?” His face was all scrunched together, glasses askew from his rushing
around.
Was this a confrontation? He’d never seen Frankie be confrontational.
Should he continue to act casual? Should he put him in his place to end the
questioning? No. That would only make his suspicions grow. He had to act
like everything was completely normal.
“Yep. Morgue Room. Everything started caving in, and her face looked
a little fucked up.”
Frankie’s eyes went wide, and he reared back. Fucked up? Her face
looked a little fucked up? What had gotten into him? This was unlike him,
and Frankie knew it too. And by the looks of him, he probably couldn’t
believe what he was hearing. He was a good kid, who never cursed. He was
too clean and squared away. He was also docile. He could use that to his
advantage.
“I’m sorry, Frankie. It’s been one heck of a morning so far. I was out of
line to use foul language. I’ll tell you what, why don’t you get a gurney and
body bag, and I’ll meet you out front. We have to go pick up a guy from the
coroner’s office.
Frankie, visibly breathing hard, his bird’s- chest rising and falling, stared
at him with eyes wide open for several moments, half of his shirt un- tucked,
one of his shoes untied and his mouth agape.
Ah, man. He knows. He knows.
But soon, a smile formed across his face, slowly, and he ever so slightly
shook his head. He seemed to compose himself, and said, “Oh, Mr. Tusow. I
should’ve figured you had everything under control. I mean darn it, I had
some horrible thoughts going through my head. Like maybe someone broke
in and stole her. You know, there are a lot of sick people in this world. Awful
people. Way different than us. Ok. I’ll go get things ready. Can I drive?”
Devin breathed a sigh of relief. That was way too close for comfort.
“Yeah, Frankie, you can drive.”
He reached in his pocket and retrieved his mess of a key ring, handing it
to Frankie as he approached. Frankie took them, smiled at Devin, and gave
him a quick nod. Then he proceeded down the hall.
Devin wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, turned
to exit the room, and heard whispers from behind him. He quickly turned
around. No one was there. It was just his mind playing tricks on him from the
massive surge of stress. He took a deep breath and pursed his lips. If he
wasn’t careful, his heart might explode, and he would end up on the slab
before the guy waiting to be picked up from the coroner’s office even made it
here.

*
Something’s wrong, Frankie thought as he drove the hearse, with Mr.
Tusow in the passenger seat. Something’s terribly wrong. Mr. Tusow was
hiding something from him. Maybe he’d taken Sasha back to the Morgue
Room to put some finishing touches on her and accidentally damaged her
somehow. Or maybe something like that happened to her while he was trying
to move her on his own.
Mr. Tusow had been acting funny all morning, and Frankie thought that
his demeanor and the fact that Sasha’s body wasn’t in the Dead Room might
be connected. He’d sure been in a rush when he came in there. Sweating and
everything, like he was real nervous about something. But then, why would
he send him in there in the first place?
His smile found his face once again, and he gave a couple of sharp
breaths through his mouth, as if laughing silently, and accidentally snorted.
Yeah. He wouldn’t have sent him in there if he had something to hide. He
was just being silly.
He looked at Mr. Tusow, who was staring at him.
“What?” Mr. Tusow said.
“Whadaya mean?”
“What’s so funny, my friend?” The question was non- confrontational,
and Frankie was pleased to see that he wore the warm smile that he was used
to. Whatever had been bothering him seemed to have passed, and he seemed
like his usual calm, cool and collected self. Frankie felt a sense of relief and
easily came up with an excuse for the laugh.
“Oh, I was just thinking,” Frankie said. “Remember when I first started?
I was so nervous. It was really strange being around dead people. And now
look at me. On my way with you to pick up a body like it’s nothing. I’ve
come a long dang way, haven’t I?”
Although the thought was meant as a false excuse for the laugh, it was
genuine. He was proud of how far he’d come. Mr. Tusow lightly patted his
shoulder.
“You sure have, Frankie. You sure have.”
Frankie adjusted himself in his seat so that he was as upright as possible.
The sun was out, the streets didn’t have too many vehicles on them this
morning, he felt proud, and the happiness had returned. Everything was
gonna be ok.
 CHAPTER 4
The corpse was built like a brick shit- house, and it had taken the pair of
them a great deal of effort to get the guy onto the gurney. Devin had no idea
how the hell they’d managed to get the ridiculously muscular guy into the
back of the hearse. When they rolled a gurney to the open door, they had to
lift it to get it in there. Fortunately, they’d had a security guard to help them.
Taking him out wasn’t too much trouble, as the guy was strapped down and
even with a relatively short drop, all they had to do was roll him out of the
back. But again, they had to transfer him from the gurney onto the stainless
steel mortician’s table. But they’d managed, and now here the cadaver was,
in all his glory. All of it.
Standing straight up, not less than twelve inches high, was the man’s
thick, vein- laden erection. The guy- his name was Garrett- had died from a
lethal concoction of steroids, cocaine, ecstasy and, of all things, Viagra. At
least that was his friends’ best guess, after seeing him put all of that into his
body. But the toxicology report would take some time to yield results. He’d
died in a downtown club. Dropped right in the middle of the dance floor. Guy
must’ve thought he was gonna party and then get lucky, Devin thought. He
wished he had that kind of confidence. How the hell had this guy concealed
this monster from others in the club? Devin’s only guess was that he probably
hadn’t tried to. Maybe he was advertising.
Devin averted his eyes from the penis, towards the crudely- stitched ‘y’
shape that the coroner had carved into Garrett’s body.
The wheels of the embalming machine squeaked as he rolled it to
Garret’s tableside. He tried to ignore the ugly erection as he used a raggedy,
disinfectant- soaked cloth to begin wiping the body down. He scrubbed
Garrett’s face, shoulders, chest and arms, and his abdomen. Then, careful not
to bump the penis with his arm, scrubbed around his pelvis and worked his
way down to his legs and finally, his feet.
He stood next to his head and began to massage his cheeks, trying to get
some of the stiffness out. Then, he worked the arms, and as he continued this
process, working down the body, he dreaded the task at hand. How was he
going to get rid of this erection? Would it go away on its own, after
embalming? He certainly couldn’t clothe the guy with that monstrosity
standing up the way it did. He thought about cutting it off, but then began to
question his ethics. Even with the other corpse’s that he’d brought home,
he’d always treated them with the utmost respect, but after last night with
Sasha, and now this guy… he was growing concerned about his decisions. He
quickly shook the notion out of his mind, and decided to leave Garrett with
his dignity.
He lightly touched it, and immediately pulled his hand away. This was
going to be awkward. But of course, the man was dead. And Devin had a job
to do. He sighed heavily, thrust his hand to the stiff member, and grabbed
hold of it. He looked at Garrett’s face. Well of course there wasn’t a reaction,
he thought. He squeezed it roughly, and did this repeatedly, working his way
up and down the shaft, trying to relieve the stiffness. He looked at the ceiling
and tried to think of anything else as he squeezed and massaged it.
Garrett groaned.
Devin instantly pulled his hand away, horrified, looking at Garrett’s face
again. Quickly, he checked Garrett’s neck for a pulse. There was none, and
the eyes were mostly closed, save but for the smallest of slits.
Devin chuckled. He knew damn well that sometimes a groan or two
would escape a cadaver. It was nothing new.
“I must be truly going mad,” he said aloud, and realized how stupid he’d
been. The erection was present because it was engorged with blood. He knew
what he had to do, which was to make a huge mess for Frankie to clean up.
He reached for his instrument tray and retrieved his scalpel, and as he stared
at the cock, he figured this was going to be awkward. But it was a whole lot
less awkward than squeezing a dead man’s penis.
But first thing was first. He carefully made a sizeable incision into
Garrett’s lower neck, into the carotid artery. When he withdrew the scalpel,
watery plasma gushed out, followed by a slop of dark- red, jelly- like
congealed blood. It slimed out of the incision, and he used one hand to cover
it with his cloth. With the other, he grabbed the tube from the machine meant
to inject embalming fluid and shoved it considerably deeply into the artery.
He repeated this process on the jugular vein, inserting the tube meant for
draining Garrett’s blood.
Garrett flatulated. It made Devin jumps, but he quickly composed
himself and turned on the embalming machine. Soon, the smell of rotten shit
offended his nostrils, and he instinctively covered his nose and mouth with
his hand. After a few moments, his fingers slid from his face, and he caught a
glimpse of himself in the small mirror which hung on the wall. It looked like
he’d suffered a bloody nose, and perhaps had bled from his mouth, except the
blood was much darker than that of a living person. It smeared from the
bottom of his nose, across his lips and down the front of his chin.
Ah, hell. My dumb ass forgot that there was blood on my gloves, he
thought, and cursed his panicked haste to avoid the stench of Garrett’s gas.
He gathered saliva on his lips, careful not to touch them with his tongue, and
then spit the blood to the floor. Foregoing the urge to immediately wipe his
face with disinfectant, he knew what was sure to exit Garrett next. He needed
an A/V Closure plug, quick.
He hastily walked over to the counter and pulled out a drawer beneath it.
He grabbed the plug; a relatively thin cylindrical rubber devise, with screw-
like threads which began to spiral down its cone- shaped length, where it
widened significantly, flatly at the bottom. Underneath the bottom of it there
was a plastic tab, which was meant to be used by the mortician to screw the
thing into the cadaver’s anus. Devin wasn’t about to deal with shit.
He set the plug down on his instrument tray and put one hand
underneath Garrett’s shoulder, the other underneath his buttock. Slowly, he
rolled Garrett onto his side and admired the blue- purple colors that covered
his whole back and ass from the blood settling. The only problem was that
Garrett kept rolling, and he was quickly running out of real estate on the slab.
Just before he rolled all the way off, Devin managed to reach over the top and
grab his front; one hand full of muscular pectoral muscle, the other full of
thick cock.
“Goddammit,” Devin muttered.
Using the chest muscle and cock, he pulled Garrett back up, using his
own weight, his back muscles and shoulders, crouching down and leaning
back. In this fashion, he shimmied Garrett towards him, and adjusted him so
that he wouldn’t roll back over. Then, he let go, carefully stood upright and
leaned back, pushing his fists into the base of his own spine. A few popping
sounds offered some relief, but there was still pain.
He put his hands on his hips and glared at Garrett’s ass. Even after all
these years, he hated doing this. Normally, he simply tried to rid bodies of
any fecal matter during his cavity embalming procedure. But sometimes
bodies, like Garrett here, couldn’t wait for that.
“Dammit, guy,” he said quietly as he picked up the plug.
He knelt down besides Garrett’s ass, grimacing. With one hand, he
pulled one cheek away from the other, and although there was none
physically present, the smell of fecal matter wafted into his nostrils. He
wretched a little, and looked at Garrett’s anus. He didn’t lubricate his
instrument. Doing so would increase the chances of it sliding back out,
despite the threads. He pressed the tip of the devise against the anus and
started to push. The body let out another groan.
“Oh, would you shut up already? I don’t like this any more than you,
do” Devin hissed without looking away from what he was doing. He reached
the cone shaped base where the threads began, and used the plastic tab on the
bottom to screw it in. The thing was screwed in about half- way, when
Garrett groaned again, this time more intensely.
“Oh, but I do like it,” Garrett said.
Devin immediately stood up and looked at the back of Garrett’s head
with wide eyes. He rushed around the slab as Garrett Propped himself up on
his forearm.
“Tell me something, Devin,” Garrett continued, “You ever fuck a man?”
Devin, mouth agape, frowned.
“Have you ever at least thought about it?” Garrett smiled at him, and
grabbed hold of his ridiculous penis. “It’s okay. Everyone’s at least thought
about it.” He began masturbating.
“W- what the f-“ Devin managed, and looked at the masturbation that
was happening. He dashed for the instrument tray and grabbed his scalpel.
“Motherfucker!”
He raised the scalpel in the air, and lunged at Garrett, who was already
sitting up. He easily shoved Devin hard enough that it not only made him fall
on his ass, but slide on it a few inches once he hit the floor.
Garrett stood up, and cocked his head to the side, clearly uncomfortable
with the tubes in his lower neck. He reached with his opposite hand and
yanked out the tube that had been injecting him with embalming fluid. It hit
the ground, pumping out dyed- red fluid in various bursts. A strong, chemical
smell filled the air.
Garrett took a couple haphazard steps toward Devin, who scooted back
about a foot, terrified. Then, still with a look of discomfort on his face, and
still cocking his head to the side, he yanked out the tube that had been
pumping blood out of him. It fell to the floor and gave off a whirring, sucking
sound in bursts that were in unison with the other tube. He straightened out
his neck, and looked down at Devin, smiling. He slowly continued to walk
towards him, dark- red slime and coagulated chunks oozed down his neck
and chest, its consistency like that of pudding and jello mixed together. His
cock bounced with each step.
“Ah,” Garrett said, “Much better. Tell me, Devin, would you prefer to
pitch or to receive?”
Sweating profusely, Devin kept scooting back, holding the scalpel out in
front of him. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them several times, but
he couldn’t blink away this madness. All he could focus on was the engorged,
bouncing penis, coming at him like a 3D movie. Garrett stopped, with a
confused look on his face, and reached behind him.
“Tell ya what, chief,” he said, “we’ll try a little of both.”
With a hard tug on the A/V plug, feces, with a consistency not unlike
that of his blood, came out of his backside in a fountain, the more watery
stuff running down his legs. As the sloppy waste splattered on the floor
behind him, he resumed his approach. The smell of shit mingled with the
sickly chemical smell of the embalming fluid and the coppery scent of blood.
It was almost unbearable, and Devin vomited in his mouth several times,
choking it back down each time. Garrett presented the plug to Devin, and
then casually tossed it to the floor.
With his muscular arms hanging at his sides, and his enormous member
dancing up and down, side to side, Garrett was closing in. Devin, with his
eyes fixated on the penis, could bear no more. With a shriek, he lunged
forward with the scalpel, piercing it directly into Garrett’s urethra. The direct
bullseye was quite unintentional, although very effective. Garrett gasped,
stumbled backward and the fell to the floor.
Still in a crazed rage, Devin was quickly upon him, adrenaline coursing
through his veins, stabbing and slicing at the penis. Although Garrett’s blood
was congealing, Devin was surprised to see that the sudden release of the
swelling caused the blood to explode out of it.
Garrett was on his back, spread- eagled, seemingly letting the attack
happen as Devin, on his knees next to him, continued slicing at the offending
organ. Then, Devin heard the footsteps of someone running from down the
hall.
He looked at the doorway to see Frankie standing there with a look of
horror on his face.
Devin looked around at the mess, down at Garrett, who was perfectly
still, with a shredded penis, then back up to Frankie.
 Ah, fuck, he thought.
“Frankie… I…”

*
The smell was horrific, and instantly made Frankie feel light- headed
and queasy. He put his hand to his mouth. The sight of his beloved boss made
his head spin, and his thoughts become like a multi- car pileup of confusion,
contradicting speculations and unsettling questions as to what he should do
next. He wanted to run, but at the same time felt frozen in place.
There, kneeling on the ground beside the body they’d recently brought
in, was Devin, visibly sweating and breathing heavily. He had blood smeared
from his nose to his chin, and held a silver scalpel with blood dripping from
it. On the ground next to him was the body. His neck, chest and torso were
covered in blood, and his penis… oh god his penis… lay in a contorted,
sliced up disarray across his lap, which was flooded with thick blood, the
consistency of honey, that oozed down his hips and balls. The floor was
covered in feces, congealed blood and embalming fluid. An A/V closure plug
was on the floor nearby, and next to that was a tube pumping out embalming
fluid, and another, making intermittent sucking sounds.
He fought with his thoughts, trying to find the words to say.
“Frankie… I…” Mr. Tusow said, but Frankie finally selected his own
words out of hundreds running through his brain.
“Mr. Tusow, you’ve made a huge mess of things in here. What the heck
is going on?” Frankie said.
Mr. Tusow looked at the body and cleared his throat as he stood up and
carefully placed the scalpel on the tray.
“Well, Frankie, “he said. “You see, I needed to relieve the pressure from
the penis so that it wouldn’t be visible during viewings, and, well… while I
was trying to insert the A/V plug, I rolled him over a little too far. As he fell,
it ripped the embalming tubes right out of him, and so, naturally, I started
trying to lift him back up.”
“Well, Mr. Tusow,” Frankie said, the calmness in his voice surprising
even him. “You seemed to have really done a number on this poor fella’s
penis. Pardon the language, but you sliced that thing to holy heck!”
Mr. Tusow folded his arms and put his fist to his chin, smearing more
blood on it. “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I did. I should be more careful.”
“You…” Frankie began, and mimicked lightly wiping his chin and
mouth in a circular motion. “You have a little something…”
Mr. Tusow seemed confused, and then Frankie could see the instant that
the lightbulb went off in his head. His eyebrows raised, and he turned to walk
to the mirror above the counter. He took a paper towel, ran some water from
the sink over it, and scrubbed his chin, mouth and nose.
“Well… ha- ha… I supposed I did indeed have a little something,” Mr.
Tusow said, and he crumpled the paper towel in his hand as he turned around
to face him. “Sometimes I get so wrapped up in my work, that I forget the
basics.” He laughed, and it sounded nervous to Frankie. “Silly me. You
wanna help me get this guy back on the slab?”
“… Yeah… sure…” Frankie was still skeptical. Mr. Tusow had been
acting very strange all day, and now this. What the heck was going on? He
decided to risk the question. “Is… is everything ok, Mr. Tusow?”
Mr. Tusow, who’d been trying to re- position the body, paused his
efforts and looked at him.
“Why… yes, Frankie. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know, you’re just acting different. Is there something I could be
doing better, or any way that I could help a little more?”
Mr. Tusow stood up, his face all seriousness, and began to talk towards
Frankie, peeling off his latex gloves. At first, Frankie felt fear. After what he
just saw, and now that look on his face… he really felt like turning and
running. But he was a loyal helper. He didn’t want to give up on Mr. Tusow.
Maybe he was blowing this out of proportion. After all, mistakes happen, and
maybe Mr. Tusow was just having an off day.
He froze as Mr. Tusow approached him and grabbed his shoulders,
giving them a reassuring squeeze.
“Frankie, if this isn’t for you, I completely understand,” he said. “But as
far as I’m concerned, you are the ideal helper. I think you’re perfect for your
job. You know, as long as you’re comfortable with it. But if you aren’t, it’s
ok. I can find someone else. It’ll be hard to find another helper like you.”
Frankie felt a warm feeling come over him. Nothing had ever made him
feel as special as when he worked here. He’d been considered a ‘dork’ all his
life, and Mr. Tusow had always made him feel like he had a purpose. He felt
that he belonged. And he had in return, been loyal to Mr. Tusow. Why should
he stop now over a bad day and an accident? Everyone had bad days, and
accidents happened.
He smiled and tilted his head to the side, feeling warm and appareciated.
 “It’s ok, Mr. Tusow. You won’t have to find someone else. You’re stuck
with me.”
“Good, Frankie. I’m glad to hear it. You’re quite irreplaceable. I’m
happy to be stuck with you, and wouldn’t want it any other way.”
He gave Frankie the slightest of shakes, and let go as he turned back
towards the cadaver. As he approached it, he said, “Alright, Frankie. How
about cleaning some of this up? I’m terribly sorry for the mess.
Frankie curled his lips, hesitating for a moment. Then his smile once
again found his face.
“Sure thing, Mr. Tusow. I’ll go get the mop bucket.”
 CHAPTER 5
Devin, for the first time in his life, wished he had a cigarette as he paced
the front porch of the funeral home. Not only was he going nuts, but Frankie
had almost found out. He really felt like he needed a vacation. You know, to
get away from all the death for a while. But it was out of the question.
Frankie didn’t know the first thing about the actual body preparation process,
other than how to dress them nice and neat, and position them appropriately
in their caskets. Other than that, he cleaned Devin’s messes. He felt bad that
Frankie was cleaning up the huge mess from the Garrett fiasco. All of those
chemicals, shit, and that nasty, clumpy blood was probably making poor
Frankie gag, while he was out here pacing around with worry, wishing he had
a cigarette.
He used his hand to brush back his stringy, damp hair, and pondered his
hallucinations. Were they at all based in reality? He had the fleeting notion
that maybe the dead were trying to communicate with him somehow, but he
quickly dismissed it. Garrett had simply fallen off the slab, and his mind had
tricked him into thinking that an attack was immanent. All along, it had just
been him, a cadaver, and his discomfort of being around a dead person with
an erection. A really silly thing to concern himself with, he thought, and he
was mad at himself for letting such a thing get to him like he had. It was all
about the human body. Anatomy. Men got erections, and as a professional, he
needed to get over it and deal with it. He was happy that Garrett’s family
wouldn’t have to see the mangled meat that had become of his penis.
But what about the plug? He was certain that he had inserted it properly,
and that it had been screwed in securely. How had it come out? He must not
have used a big enough gauge. All of that shit and blood… and that massive
erection coming towards him as blood and feces trailed behind him,
splattering on the floor… and the smell… the smell of formaldehyde mixed
with human waste and the coppery scent of blood… the ordeal was getting to
him. It made his stomach into knots, and his oatmeal was not happy about it.
He dashed off the porch and around the corner of the building, his
mouth filling with his breakfast, and some of it trickling out of his nose. The
acidic taste of orange juice did not mix well with the oatmeal, and was
burning his sinuses.
 At last, he was leaning over the bushes, surely out of sight of any would-
be customer, and completely let loose. A mixture of orange juice, oatmeal
and bile forced it way up his throat and out of his mouth in a fountain of a
disgustingly chunky consistency. The bushes rustled in protest of the vile
cascade that splashed against them. He farted under the pressure, and he
squeezed his anus, hoping he wouldn’t shit his slacks
As he dry- heaved, nothing left in his stomach to come up, he heard a
car pull into the driveway. He spit the remnants left in his mouth, and looked
up to see a red sports car had parked in the front of the building. A car door
closed, and the unmistakable sound of high- heels clicked up the three stairs
and across the porch. The bell rattled as the visitor entered the funeral home.
Devin inspected his suit, checking for any vomit that may have spilled
onto himself, and smoothed his shirt and tie before walking around to the
front of the building. The car was very clean and polished, and he smiled.
Surely this was someone with money. Now it was just a matter of securing a
sale. Frankie was inside, no doubt practicing his sales pitch. But Devin had
an intuition that this may be a hard sale. He walked up the stairs and into his
business.
*
Frankie had just stripped off his yellow cleaning gloves and was
washing his hands when he heard the bell sound at the front door. He quickly
dried them, and left the bloody mop bucket in favor of greeting whoever it
was. He walked down the hallway, past Mr. Tusow’s office, glancing in to
find no one there, and was pleasantly surprised when he came into the main
lobby to find an attractive blonde woman, probably in her early thirties,
wearing a neat, black skirt and a dark blue button- up top that fit her perky
breasts nicely. She turned her oval face here and there, looking at the various
coffins and caskets, and then smiled when she saw Frankie.
“Welcome to In Gods Arms Mortuary,” Frankie said gleefully, and then
remembered what Mr. Tusow had told him about not sounding too happy
when he greeted customers, as most of the customers who came in were
dealing with the grieving process. “My name’s Frankie. How can I help you
today?”
Mr. Tusow came in through the door, looking a little more disheveled
than Frankie was used to seeing him.
“Hello, there,” the blonde said to Frankie. “My name’s Vickie. Vickie
Huckson. I’m here because of my folks.”
“Oh. I’m very sorry to hear that,” Frankie said, lowering his head. He
looked up with only his eyes to catch a glance at Mr. Tusow, searching for
any signs of coaching or approval. Was he looking at her rear end?
“ Oh, don’t be sorry yet,” Vickie said, with the slightest hint of a smile
from her ruby- red lips. “My parents are together in a care facility, but I’m
afraid they’re very sick. They both have lung cancer, and wouldn’t you know
it, despite their failing health, they still continue to smoke. I’ve long been
through with trying to convince them to quit, and I suppose it’s too late
anyway. I just want to be sure that I have everything prepared for when it’s…
you know… time.”
“Well, sure,” Frankie said, nodding his head. He pushed his glasses up
the bridge of his nose. “You can never be too prepared. It makes things a lot
easier when the time comes, to have a plan already in place. It alleviates a lot
of stress, and lets you focus on grieving instead of having to focus so much
on arrangements. Are you interested in plots of land? Coffins?”
Vickie ran her fingers along the golden side- handle of a burgundy
coffin.
“I think I just would like to look at a few coffins for today. And maybe
set up a time to go look at grave sites.”
“Well,” Mr. Tusow interjected, “We can definitely set up an
appointment to look at some sites.” He came around from behind her and
wore a pleasant smile, with his hands clasped in front of him. Frankie
admired his posture and respectful demeanor, although he couldn’t shake the
notion that Mr. Tusow seemed to be checking her out the way one might
investigate the body of someone they might ask out on a date. He’d never
seen Mr. Tusow act in such a manner.
“Step on over here, if you will,” Mr. Tusow went on to say, and he
placed his hand on her shoulder to redirect her towards a counter with some
large binders on top of them. “Let me show you our portfolio of plots, as well
as a few other caskets we have available for order.”
As Mr. Tusow flipped through a big black binder, Frankie couldn’t help
but to look at Vickie’s round, firm ass. But a feeling of shame came over
him, and he turned his head, not wanting to disrespect a woman who was
making some difficult decisions for a sad situation. So he decided to make
himself useful. If Mr. Tusow convinced this lovely lady to view a site or two,
he would need to take down her name, address and phone number. He
reached into the drawer behind the counter and took out a log book. Not long
after, Mr. Tusow ushered the woman towards the desk. Damn he was good,
Frankie thought.
“We’ll just fill out some paperwork, and then we’ll be all set,” said Mr.
Tusow, as he stepped behind the counter. He scribbled some things on the log
book and turned it around, so that she might also jot down some notes.
“Just enter your full name, your address, your email and your phone
number,” said Mr. Tusow. Frankie knew the reason for obtaining the address.
They had a stockpile of addresses to send literature displaying their nice, neat
coffins and gravesites that they partnered with the caretakers to utilize. Was
he now staring at her breasts as she leaned over to write? Frankie had never
seen this side of Mr. Tusow, and he felt ashamed at what he was witnessing.
It made his face feel hot, and his scalp tingled.
With a couple sweeps of the pen, Vickie signed the paperwork and
carefully pushed the log book back to Mr. Tusow, who turned it around to
review it. Frankie stood facing the adjacent wall and watched only with his
eyes. Mr. Tusow looked up at her and gave a warm smile.
“And is there a Mr. in the house, in case I should reach him?”
Vickie smiled.
“Oh heaven’s no. I live alone. I like my freedom,” she said.
“Well, then! Looks like we can get everything started. We can set an
appointment as soon as the day after tomorrow, if you’d like to get the ball
rolling. Or we can set it for as far out as you like. Right now, our schedule is
fairly open.”
“Yes, the day after tomorrow would be lovely,” Vickie said. “Which one
will we start with?”
“You seemed to be fairly interested in St. Francis Peaceful Sleep
cemetery. So, if it’s all the same, perhaps we can begin there?”
“I would like that,” she said, and she held out her hand. Mr. Tusow held
it delicately for a moment, before she withdrew it and said, “I’ll speak to you
on the phone soon, then?”
“Absolutely,” Mr. Tusow said. “I look forward to it.”
Frankie could see a hint of unease on Vickie’s face at the comment. His
attraction to her was peeking through his professionalism just a little, just
enough to make Frankie, and, he suspected, Vickie feel awkward.
Vickie gave a quick heave of her chest before a short sigh, and said,
“Yes, well… I’ll speak to you soon. Thank you.” She turned around and
began to walk towards the door. Mr. Tusow was so obviously watching
Vickie’s ass sway back and forth as she clicked her high heels across the
floor, that his upper body tilted at an awkward angle. Frankie wiped his
forehead, although no sweat was present; it was a nervous habit.
When she exited, Mr. Tusow stood upright, clasped his hands together
and looked at Frankie, eyebrows raised, and a smile on his face.
“Well! Looks like we’ve most likely begun a sales process, dear
Frankie.”
Frankie continued to face the wall, with only his eyes looking at Mr.
Tusow. “Yes,” he said. “Looks like we have.”
Mr. Tusow walked past him, the smile never leaving his face, and patted
Frankie on the shoulder as he did so.
*
Devin walked through the door and onto the porch just in time to see the
red sports car drive away. He felt giddy, not unlike when he’d first had his
flirtatious behavior acknowledged and welcomed by Trinity. Vickie seemed
receptive. He was sure that she caught eyes with him more than once, and
surely she knew that he was checking her out. Maybe the dead weren’t the
answer to his yearning after all. He did like the lack of fear of judgment, but
someone to actually engage back with him… someone to actually participate
in his advances was something to be excited about.
Those firm breasts. Those hips that swayed, and that ass… god that ass.
He imagined it swaying as it pushed into him, allowing him deep access in
between her legs. He imagined himself reaching to cup those perfect breasts,
their breathing in unison, their bodies one in a rhythmic pace. He felt himself
stiffening in his pants, and he reached down to give it a squeeze over his
slacks.
“Mr. Tusow?” came Frankie’s meek voice from behind him.
Devin turned his body sharply to the side, so as to hide his pelvic
protrusion.
“Frankie… I…”
“I got most of the blood, and embalming fluid mopped up, Mr. Tusow.
But our deceased friend is still lying in excrement, and I can’t get to it or the
blood underneath him. I need help getting him back on the table, and then I
can mop up the rest and begin sanitizing.”
“Oh. Uh, yes, Frankie. I’ll be right in to help with that.”
 “Mr. Tusow?”
Fuck. Why wouldn’t he leave him alone?
“Are you feeling ok?”
Devin turned his head, a split second elapsing before a warm smile came
across his face.
“Why, yes, Frankie. Why do you ask?”
“You just seem a little… off today. Is something the matter? Like… is
something bothering you?”
Frankie was getting suspicious of his actions today. Think, Devin, think.
He felt his penis shrivel down to normal size, and he turned around.
“Oh, I’m just fine, Frankie, my friend. A little worried about our
finances, but I’m just fine. I simply must close a deal with this Vickie lady.
We’re in dire need of some sales, so that you and I can continue doing what
we do best.”
“So it’s nothing I’m doing wrong? Listen, if there’s anything I can do,
anything at all-“
“No, Frankie! Heavens, no! You are a tremendous help, and I love
having you around to help me.”
Frankie pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Usually Frankie
was all smiles, but he was exhibiting a look of genuine concern.
“Frankie, trust me. I’d let you know if something was the matter. We’re
partners after all.”
Frankie gave a small smile. Devin knew the notion of partnership would
allow him to ease up a bit.
“Ok, Mr. Tusow. You just let me know if there’s anything I can do to be
more helpful.”
“I will, my friend. I will. Thank you.”
“Frankie turned around and walked back into the funeral home. Devin
followed him, keeping a distance. He took a deep breath and exhaled through
circled lips. He felt sure that his excuses had appeased Frankie
Once they were in the Morgue Room, Devin, the slightly bigger of the
two, grabbed Garrett underneath his armpits and across his chest, while
Frankie grabbed him underneath his knees. It had been simple enough to roll
this guy off the gurney, but now they were going to lift him off the floor, and
the thought of what they were about to attempt already made Devin’s back
hurt. He and Frankie weren’t the strongest fellows in the world, that was for
sure.
 “Alright, Frankie. On three.”
Frankie gave a nod, a look of eagerness and determination on his face.
“One…” Devin continued, “two…” He saw Frankie lick his lips and
look at him with wide eyes. Devin dropped his rear- closer to the ground,
preparing to lift with his legs, not his back. “Three!”
There was an audible disturbance in Garrett’s gut as they lifted him, and
after a moment of the two attempting to walk towards the table with him,
Garrett’s ass, hanging lower than the legs Frankie was holding, erupted in
farting sounds and burst a shower of liquid feces strong enough to cover
Frankie’s upper legs, pelvic region and abdomen in liquid shit. He
immediately dropped Garrett’s legs and bowed out his arms, looking down at
the disaster which covered him. Meanwhile, gravity pulled at the upper body
that Devin was still holding up by the chest, and a tearing sound emerged
from Garrett’s chest as the y- incision split, spilling blood, embalming fluid
and innards onto the floor with wet, smacking sounds. Devin dropped him,
Garrett’s head hitting the floor with a loud, dull thud, immediately creating a
growing pool of blood.
The two slowly looked up at each other in unison, Frankie’s arms still
bowed.
Frankie slowly began to shake his head.
“Oh, no, Mr. Tusow. Ah, geez…”
“Frankie… I… oh, man. I’m so sorry…” But what could he say? Never
in his years of practice had he ever seen anything like this.
“Mr. Tusow.. I’m covered in… in poop!”
“I know. God, I know.”
Devin lowered his head and put the inner- blade of his hand against his
forehead. Finally, he looked back up at Frankie, composing himself and
preparing his voice for a professional tone by clearing his throat.
“Frankie, these things happen. Why don’t you go to the washroom and
use as many paper towels as you need to wipe as much of it off as you can.
Then take the rest of the day off. I’ll pay you for a full- day’s work. I’m very
sorry this happened.”
“I’m covered in poop!” Frankie reiterated, shaking his hands frantically,
with his fingers spread apart. “Dead- guy poop!” His eyes and mouth were
open wide as he visibly trembled.
“It’ll be ok, Frankie,” Devin tried to reason, although he knew he’d be
freaking out far worse if he were in Frankie’s position. “Just wipe yourself
off as best you can, and get yourself home. It’s probably best if you just
throw those clothes away. Here.” He walked over to the counter and reached
up to grab a bottle of disinfectant soap off the shelf. He walked over to
Frankie, careful to walk around the splattering of feces and blood, and
handed it to him. “Take a hot shower and use this.”
With a trembling hand, Frankie took it from him. Then he turned around
and slowly walked towards the door, taking wide, bow- legged steps.
“Oh my God! Oh my God! I can feel it sticking to my marbles!”
“Heh. Marbles.” Devin coldly said under his breath, quiet enough to
ensure that Frankie couldn’t hear him.
 CHAPTER 6
The door creaked open, the living room of the one- bedroom home
dimly lit by the moon and sickly yellow glow of the streetlight by the curb
outside, and Devin fumbled with the grocery bag as he struggled to free his
key from the doorknob. Once the key finally slid out, he tossed his key- ring
onto the table next to the door. The keys made a jingling sound, as he entered
and kicked the door closed with the heel of his foot. The door slammed shut,
and he leaned over to flip on the light switch. The light came on, illuminating
the tidy living room’s neatly placed furniture, coffee table and the few picture
frames of family members who’d passed over the years. They hung on the
walls not only as memories, but as a reminder that he was all alone in this
world. The last to go were his parents, who’d perished in a car accident on
their way back home from their lifelong dream vacation to Paris.
He crossed the living room into the dining room, and set the bag on the
table and turned on the light, then to the kitchen to turn on its light as well. It
often offered at least some comfort to have as many lights on in his home as
possible, so as to not dwell in an inch of darkness. The darkness always
depressed him, and he couldn’t have that. The darkness made him have
terrible thoughts, thoughts of his loneliness, his meaningless existence, and of
course, his work. The only room that he allowed darkness was his bedroom,
leaving the hallway light on, and his door open.
It didn’t help that he kept instruments, chemicals, and an embalming
machine in the corner of the living room to remind him that he was
constantly surrounded by death. He simply didn’t have enough room at the
funeral home to keep them all there, and he liked to be well- stocked and
well- prepared. Suppose the embalming machine at the funeral home broke
down, or he ran out of chemicals or supplies? There would be no money that
should’ve been invested, had the home made more money in the first place,
and he wanted backups, should such things occur. So, he’d scooped up any
cheap supplies he could find, mostly from other funeral homes in the nearby
towns and cities who’d upgraded or gone out of business.
But now was no time to ponder these things. He had Vickie’s address,
and surely by their mutually flirtatious behavior earlier, she wouldn’t mind a
surprise dinner and a little nightcap. He was excited by the prospect of the
delight she was likely to feel by his thoughtfulness. He had two filets of top
sirloin, some red potatoes and some collard greens. And for later, he had
some top- shelf whisky, which he hoped would seal the deal. Yes, he felt like
tonight was the night. Tonight, he was bound to get lucky. No dead people,
but an actual warm, breathing, living woman.
He turned on the stove to heat up his pan, and his excitement had him
almost skipping as he walked over to the grocery bag. He took out the steaks,
wrapped in plastic, and swaggered back to the pan.
As he cooked the meal, the scent of fresh cooking meat wafting in the
air, his mind turned to Trinity Monroe. With all of these thoughts of dating
again (because he’d never even dated since his love affair with Trinity back
in high school), it was his only reference to any sort of relations with a
female, beyond the dead and what he saw on television.
In a way, Vickie kind of reminded him of Trinity. Not in their
mannerisms, heaven’s no. Vickie was far more mature. Less ‘bubbly’, as it
were. But then again, Trinity had been his high school love. Vickie was all
adulthood. True, he should’ve killed Trinity while he had the chance, and
explored her body before entering it, but this was a living woman. This would
be what was considered normal. He supposed he’d much rather lose his
sexual innocence to a living body, rather than a dead one.
The way in which Vickie reminded him of Trinity was her physical
attributes. Vickie was blonde. Trinity was a true strawberry blonde, but the
look was close enough. Both had medium- sized, perky breasts with curves
down the side of their bodies, flaring to just the right width at the hips, and
robust legs. Even the pouty lips, small noses and long eyelashes on their oval
faces were the same.
His thoughts suddenly turned to sexual protection. He hadn’t had sex
with any corpses yet, so there was no risk of HIV, but the last thing he
needed was little Devins running around. He couldn’t see himself being a
father. Not yet, anyway. Plus, although he couldn’t imagine a woman like
Vickie to have the virus, he didn’t want to take the chance.
He walked over to the drawer closest to the dining room and opened it.
There, three condoms sat. He was saving them for his loss of virginity. He’d
learned through his training that even corpses could transmit HIV/ AIDS,
especially when introduced to moisture, and he would definitely need his KY
jelly if he were to go all the way with one of them. But he put the act of
affection with a dead girl out of his mind. Tonight was Vickie’s night with
him. Tonight, he would lose his virginity to Vickie. He hoped he wouldn’t
orgasm too fast, but even if he did, he felt confident that he’d be ready again
within minutes. His excitement would ensure that.

*
Vickie sneezed and felt a discharge into her panties as she sat at the
dining room table. True, she was wearing a blood- red dress, but any seepage
might leave a dark spot, or worse, run down her leg. Why did this have to
happen now? It always seemed to happen at the most inopportune times.
In any event, she hoped that Todd wouldn’t notice.
She turned her head to look at the television in the living room to see the
evening news, chewing her food as she contemplated her next move.
“This is really good,” she said, forking another bite- sized chunk of
lamb. “I’ve never had it before. Very fancy,” she continued with a smirk, and
an exaggerated raise of her eyebrow in a playful manner.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Todd said, and blotted the corners of his
mouth with his napkin.
Now was the time, before any damage could be done.
“I’m sorry, but will you excuse me for just a moment,” she said, trying
to sound cool and collected.
“Yes, of course,” he said with his forearms on the table. She noticed that
he never had his elbows on the table when they ate. He was a true gentleman
with gentlemanly manners.
She carefully got up out of her chair, pinching her upper thighs together.
She hadn’t anticipated her period to come this early, and hoped there
wouldn’t be anything noticeable as she walked away from the dining room
table. Her monthlies usually started out light, but this was more akin to a
goddamn brook.
She walked down the hall, past the two bedrooms on the left and ran her
fingers along her paintings on the opposite wall before rounding the corner
into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She turned around in front of
the mirror and twisted her head to look at her backside, and was relieved to
see no dark spots. She turned back around and inspected her front, and found
the same results- no evidence.
She hiked up her dress and pulled down her panties before sitting on the
toilet. Her pink underwear were a different story, and although she was a
little upset that the sexiest pair she had were stained, she was happy that
they’d kept the blood at bay.
“Shit,” she said, simply. Tonight was supposed to be the night that she
made love to Todd. They’d been dating for quite some time, and she’d held
back, not wanting to give it up so easily. There had been insinuations of sex
becoming immanent, although neither one of them had outright mentioned
anything about it. Tonight they’d opted to have dinner at her place, and she
was probably just as eager as he was to take this to the next level of intimacy.
Maybe more- so. She felt bad that she would disappoint him. After all, right
or wrong, it was probably an expectation at this point. Don’t think like that,
she reminded herself. She shouldn’t be expected to do anything. She was a
strong, independent woman, and sex would be her choice, not his. And even
with these thoughts, the situation was nagging her. They were in her house.
They’d already made out several times tonight alone, with several other such
occurrences since their second date. Two of those times, she’d allowed him
to fondle her breasts. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe it was a sign that
things were moving too fast, and she should give this all an opportunity to
flourish a little more. All in all, she might need to put the sex on hold, lest she
feel like a slut afterwards. But she was horny, dammit.
After pissing and wiping herself, she also wiped the upper- portion
between her thighs, and slid her panties the rest of the way off. Then she
flushed, washed her hands, and retrieved a tampon from the cabinet below
the sink. Taking the soiled panties with her, she went to her bedroom, and
threw them in the hamper.
After selecting a very modest pair of underwear from her dresser (after
all, Todd wouldn’t be seeing them), she pulled them most of the way up and
inserted the tampon before pulling them the rest of the way up to her waist.
Good as new, she thought, but was still a little glum that what she’d
thought would be the most exciting part of her evening was now ruined.
She walked back down the hall and reclaimed her place at the dining
room table. Todd looked up at her and smiled as he chewed his last bit of
food. She smiled back as she took her last fork- full into her mouth.
Her mouth, she thought. She could give him a blowjob. That would
certainly please him, and would be a step between making out and fondling,
and actual sex. But the thought made her shake her head slightly, without
realizing it.
“You ok?” Todd said with a look of slight concern on his face.
“Oh. Yes, I’m sorry. I was just thinking about our dinner. It was
delicious,” she said with a smile. Then she continued her thoughts. She hated
giving blowjobs. She’d felt degraded every time she’d given one. And all but
a couple of those times, the guys hadn’t mentioned that they were about to
ejaculate, causing her to either endure the taste and swallow it all, which
upset her stomach, of leave her gagging as she let it spill out of her mouth,
making her feel like a dirty whore.
No. There would be no blowjob tonight. Maybe a handjob.
“I got something for you,” he said, with his charming, dimpled smile,
his face covered with a deliberate shadow of facial hair, the hair on his head a
little longer, but styled.
He reached into his navy- blue blazer and produced a dark- blue, velvety
clamshell case. He reached across the table and opened it for her to reveal a
three inch long strip of white gold, adorned with diamonds and a thin, gold
chain.
She carefully removed it from the box and held it in her hand, the chain
draped over her fingers. Todd stood up and she tilted it back and forth,
admiring its sparkling brilliance.
“Todd, I… I…”
“You love it, right?”
“I absolutely love it! I wasn’t expecting…”
“Listen,” he said, “You deserve it. You’re so beautiful, and you deserve
to wear beautiful things. I would give the world to you.”
The world? Well, that was a little much. Maybe this was moving too fast
after all.
He got up and walked around the table to her, gently taking the necklace
from her hand. He slowly pulled her hair back, and she assisted him by lifting
it up in the back. He draped it across her chest and around her neck, affixing
it in the back. She let her hair fall back down and touched the necklace.
He walked around to face her. She stood up, and posed in a mock model
stance, smiling.
“Brilliant,” he said, and slowly clapped his hands, quietly.
She stood up to him and embraced him.
“Thank you so much,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting anything like it. It’s
gorgeous.”
They kissed passionately, her arms around his neck, his hands resting on
her hips. Then, he began caressing her up and down her back with one of his
hands, reaching further and further down with each down- stroke, until his
fingers delicately touched the top of the crack of her ass. Soon, it was rubbing
one of her cheeks, until finally, it grabbed it firmly.
They swayed together, her walking backwards, while he stepped
forward with her in unison. She realized he was taking her over to the couch
in the living room. He reached further and further down her ass, his fingers
running along her crack, until he was underneath it, moving to work their
way between her legs.
“Wait… wait…” she said between smacking kisses. Her hands moved
from around his neck to his chest, giving him the slightest of pushes.
“Tonight’s not a good night.”
“What are you talking about? Tonight’s the perfect night,” he said with
his charming smile. He began to hike up one side of her dress, trying to bring
her leg up around his.
She pushed him a little further away.
“No, just please trust me. I really like you. I like you a lot. But not
tonight, ok?”
He dropped her leg, a look of confusion on his face. He rubbed his chin
and turned around, taking a few steps away from her.
She tilted her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It has nothing to do with you, I promise. I’m just
having… issues right now. It’s really hard for me to explain-“
“No,” he cut her off. “You don’t need to explain. I know exactly what’s
going on here.”
He turned around. She maintained her look of innocence.
He flared his arms out to the side once, and said, “You’re a fucking
cock- tease.”
She reared her head back, astonished. “What?”
“You let me take you out, show you a good time, spend my money on
you, invite me here and I give you gifts… but you were never looking for
anything else. You’re just like the rest of them, with your hang-ups, your
daddy issues, or whatever the fuck is going on with you, and you hold back.
You fucking kiss me, let me touch you, and that’s where it ends. You need
more. More gifts, more money, more spending all my fucking time, and I’m
left with my dick in my hand until you finally decide to take it to the next
level. Well, let me tell you something. I’ve already proven myself enough.
I’m through proving to you that my intentions were nothing but good. I could
be spending this same time and money for someone who’s looking to be
serious. This is bullshit.”
He marched over to the front door, flung it open and stepped onto her
porch, his figure silhouetted in the moonlight. She ran after him.
“Wait!” she called out to him. “You don’t understand! Let me explain!”
When she reached him and put her hand on his shoulder, he turned
around and aggressively pointed at her, his finger inches away from her face.
“No, you don’t understand! Let me explain something to you! It’s been
about two years since I’ve been searching for someone new. Since I’ve been
searching for the right woman. I thought it was you. I really did. But you’re
nothing special. Just another gold- digger.”
He looked at the necklace, and through clenched teeth, said, “You don’t
deserve this,” and reached up to yank it off her neck, easily snapping the
thing chain. When he did so, his fingernails raked her chest, and she leaned
over, touching it, and began to weep.
“That’s right. Cry you’re little eyes out, with that whore makeup. ‘Cause
you won’t be using them to see me again. Ever!”
He turned around and stormed to his BMW parked along the curb. He
got in, turned the ignition and harshly revved the engine, before screeching
the tires as he drove away.
“Jesus Christ,” Vickie said, raising her hands out to her sides and letting
them drop to slap her hips. Her tears stopped falling, and with her last couple
of sniffles, she realized that she’d been dating a fucking psychopath.
“You alright?” came a voice from the side of her walkway. There,
standing on the lawn in slacks and a white button- up shirt, holding a foil-
covered porcelain tray with Tupperware on top of it, stood a slightly tall, thin
man. His hair was neatly combed, but his face… there was something
familiar about his face. Was that the fucking funeral director? Devin?
“I’m terribly sorry to have had to witness that. I’m sure you’re
devastated,” he said, as he walked up to the porch.
She looked down the street. Todd’s car was no longer visible.
“I’ll live. What’re you doing here?”
“Well, I thought maybe I’d stop by and bring dinner. Although, it looks
as though you may have already eaten. But I did also bring this.” He held up
his hand to show her a bottle of whisky. “So, you know… especially after a
rough night… it’s not too late for a good time.”
Confused, Vickie looked at the bottle, then the plate of food, then his
face, and anger began to build in her as she slowly started to realize what was
going on here.
“So let me get this straight,” she began. “I came to your funeral home
today as a customer. You were professional, and showed me different
variations of what I wanted to see. I gave you my name, number and address
as part of your requirements to further our business, and you used that to
decide to come on over and have some kind of… what, date?”
“Well, I mean, if you want to call it that, I won’t complain. I simply
noticed that there might’ve been some kind of chemistry between us, and
thought maybe I’d do something nice for you. I brought steak and this bottle
of whisky. I thought at the very least, we could get to know each other
better.”
“Chemistry? No, Devin. There wasn’t any chemistry, and quite frankly,
you’re creeping me out.”
“Creeping you out? Whatever for?” He took a few more steps towards
the raised porch, so that he was right next to it, looking up at her. “All I’ve
done so far is bring some dinner and a drink.”
“So far? What the fuck are you talking about? What else would you
do?”
“I don’t know. What would you do?”
The smug look on his face, the crazed grin, the confident tone in his
voice… it was making her both worried and angry.
“Devin, I think you’d better leave. Lose my address, lose my number,
and please just forget I ever came into your place of business.”
“Oh, come now. There’s no harm in a little nightcap at least. You just
had some bozo run out on you like an idiot. I’m here to save the evening.”
He put one foot on the raised porch. She at first recoiled in fear. Then
rage overtook her. Who did this guy think he was? Maybe he came here all
dressed up, with offerings to gain her approval of him, get her drunk, and
thought he might get lucky. In any event, he scared her, and that fear was
being taken over by something more primal.
With a sharp swipe of her hand, she knocked the items from his hand,
causing the Tupperware to land on the lawn, and the porcelain plate to hit the
stone walkway, the steaks bouncing out of the tinfoil, the plate shattering.
Somehow, he managed to hold on to the bottle of liquor.
Devin looked at the mess like a scolded puppy. Then, he slowly looked
up at her, a look of rage forming on his face.
“Devin… I…”
 But it was too late for apologies or sympathy. Within a second, he leapt
up onto the porch and was grabbing for her. She turned around to retreat into
her house.

*
Devin tried to stop himself, but couldn’t. His actions were already in
motion, and even though he knew that what he was doing was wrong, his
anger had already taken over. He should turn around and run back to his car,
and hope that she wouldn’t call the police. He should end this before it went
any further. He had no idea what would happen once he got his hands on her.
Either way, he set the whisky bottle on the kitchen table and kept up the
pursuit.
His skin was crawling, his heart pumping wildly and he could feel his
face completely flushed. All of his muscles tensed, and his breathing was out
of his control. His fingers had become spread, stretched and gnarled as he
reached for her, their shape resembling someone with rheumatoid arthritis.
He had no idea why this was coming over him. It wasn’t like him at all, and
he realized that over the last couple of weeks, he had slowly been taken over
by something dark- something sinister.
It was in the living room where he caught up to her. He reached out to
grab the back of her dress, and ended up with a handful of the back of her
bra. But her insistence to get away from him was strong. She tried to proceed,
the strap of the bra stretching. It slipped from Devin’s fingers, snapping her
in the back so hard that when combined with her momentum, it sent her face-
first into the floor.
“Woops,” Devin said, stopping as he pressed his fist to his mouth.
“Sorry.”
She turned around and propped herself up with her arms so that she was
in a sitting position. A small trickle of blood ran from her nose, settling on
her upper- lip.
“Really? Bra- snapping?”
“I’m terribly sorry, I-“ He frowned. “Why am I explaining myself to
you?”
He rushed at her and grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her up off
the ground. She squealed and reached up to claw at his hand. As her
fingernails raked his skin, he was aware of the peeling flesh, but his
adrenaline was spiked, and he felt minimal pain as he dragged her over to the
couch. She began to scream, and Devin looked towards the front door,
realizing it was open. Someone might hear her and come over or call the
police.
He violently bent her over the couch and reached around her face,
pressing his palm and fingers hard against her mouth. She continued to
protest with muffled screams, as he pressed his hips against her buttocks. So
firm and round, he thought, and he felt his stiffening penis struggling to be
free from his slacks.
“It’s ok, love,” he said. “If you just stop with this nonsensical struggling,
I’m sure you might enjoy this just as much as me.”
But in his heart, he knew what this was. He was about to rape her. But if
he could just get her to consent… if he could just get her to stop struggling
and let it happen, would it still be rape? This had gone a little far, with his
aggression and persistence, but maybe if she calmed herself and realized that
there was indeed some sort of chemistry between them, it would simply turn
into consensual sex. But he’d hurt her. She was bleeding. Maybe if…
She bit his fingers hard. He withdrew his hand, shaking it desperately.
His other hand moved from her hip back up to her hair and yanked her head
back.
“I told you, love. Just relax and let it happen. Surely this is what you’d
anticipated tonight. Not with me, but with that insufferable turd who ran out
on you. As I said… I’m here to save the evening.”
She began to scream again. He looked at the open door and again
covered her mouth, this time pressing too hard for her to bit him, his opposite
forearm around her face, cocking her head to the side so that her chin was
almost in the crook of his elbow.
As her muffled attempts at screaming grew ever more desperate, she
raised her leg and thrust it behind her, stomping on his foot.
“Mother f-“ he managed as she began to shriek freely again.
He did not look at the door this time. His anger had now completely
taken over. His left hand reached across the back of her head and grabbed her
chin, his opposite hand reached across her face and grabbed a handful of hair.
He pulled on her chin with everything he had, simultaneously pulling her hair
in the same direction, clockwise. Soon, he heard what sounded like many
pencils muffled and snapping. Her back arched, and her ass pressed hard
against his agonizingly throbbing member, which still yearned to be free
from its fabric prison.
 Her screams became reduced to sharp, quiet exhales, as though her
efforts to scream were becoming futile. Her voice was not coming out; only
breath. As he continued to pull, he could clearly see the side of her face from
over her shoulder, her eyes impossibly wide and blood- shot.
*
Well, this has ended up being one fucked up night, Vickie thought as her
neck continued to pop, her limbs becoming numb.
*

Devin squeezed his eyes shut as he leaned over her back and twisted
with all his might. The pencils now turned to large sticks. He was really
doing this. He was really committing murder. He should stop now, before
that happened. He should take his chances that he might not go to jail over
this. He could tell the police that she had been the one to invite him over, and
that she wanted sex, and when he wouldn’t give it to her, she called the police
to make a false report out of anger. Yeah, maybe something like that. If he
ran now, he could tighten up his story before the police came to his
apartment.
He let go of her head and stood upright, his hands sliding down to her
hips.
“Look, I-“ he began, gripping her hips. When he opened his eyes, she
was staring back at him, her head completely backwards, with wide eyes,
mouth agape with spittle coming out of one side.
“Ah!” Devin shouted in shock.
She was expired. He was officially a murderer. He pushed her further
against the couch with his hips, so that the top half of her was fully bent over
the back of the couch, her feet nearly dangling.
“Wait here,” he said, and rushed toward the front door and slammed it
shut.
When he returned to her, he couldn’t help but to admire her silky
smooth legs, her dress teasing him, begging to be pulled up over her rump.
Over the television, he heard mention of a murder, making him cover his
mouth with his scratched- and- bitten hand as he gasped.
“They’re not talking about you, dumbass,” Vickie said.
He looked at her backwards head. There was a matter- of- fact look on
her face, but not too serious. In fact, it was a look of un- amused sarcasm.
“Pardon?” he said.
“It’s way too early for anyone to know what you’ve done to me,” she
continued. “They’re talking about some other murderer. Some guy killed his
girlfriend a week ago in Strawberry Valley. I’ve been following the story.”
“Oh,” Devin said, relaxing a little. “Right. Well… I suppose it won’t be
long ‘til I’m the star of this television program, will it?” He chuckled.
“Maybe. Maybe not,” she said. “But you’ve come this far, and well, I’ll
just be a rotting body in the ground soon. The least you could do is send me
off with one final experience.”
“Um…”
She rolled her eyes.
“Get over here, Devin. Fuck me. Get it over with.”
He stood there for a moment, eyes fixed on hers. His breathing still
hadn’t quite calmed, and his shoulders rose and dropped with each breath.
“Right,” he finally said, shaking his head quickly, as if that might rid it
of the absurdity of the situation.
She motioned with her head for him to come over to her, her neck
making awful cracking sounds with each motion.
Devin didn’t like the noises. He didn’t like her being this aggressive
about the prospect of sex, and he didn’t appreciate her filthy verbiage
pertaining to what was about to happen. Was she really the one that was
meant to be his first lover? Well, hell, she better be, after all of this, he
thought. She slowly licked her lips at him.
“Need me to suck on it a little to get you going? You could just stand on
the couch and squat down to put it in my mouth.”
He looked down at his pants. His penis was still rock- hard, jutting
beneath his slacks, yearning to be free.
“Uh… no. No, I don’t think that will be necessary. Thank you for the
consideration.”
He once again turned his attention to the television. The news anchor
was talking about how the victim’s body had been stabbed several times
before her throat was slashed. He frowned.
“Well that’s a little excessive, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one who just turned my head a full one-
eighty, you tell me.”
She had a point. He was no better than the man he saw being led from a
courthouse in chains in a clip obviously taken earlier that afternoon. He
imagined himself in chains. He wouldn’t do so well in prison, and he began
to panic at the thought that he very well could be on the receiving end of his
first sexual experience with a man, once the other inmates got hold of him.
His breath became quick and heavy. His poor anus wouldn’t be able to take
it. He would shit, he decided. As soon as they yanked his pants down, he
would just shit.
“Oh sweet Jesus. I’m gonna get raped in prison. They’ll rape me until
I’m prolapsed.”
“You know, once they have their minds made up to have their way with
you, there won’t be anything you can do to dissuade them. They’ll carry out
the deed. Most guys who go to jail think they can somehow change their
minds… like… turn them off of the idea. After we got divorced, my ex
husband called me from prison in tears. He talked about how they turned him
out. He shit all down his legs and onto the floor, but he said they just laughed
at him. Thanked him for the lube.”
“Oh my God!” He began to back up until his ass hit the bar separating
the living room from the kitchen. He slid down to the floor in a sitting
position, tucked his face into his arms which folded across his knees, and
began to weep. “Oh God, no. No, no, this isn’t supposed to be the way my
life turns out.”
“Got a rubber?” Vickie said.
He looked up with teary eyes, confused.
“Do you have a rubber?” she said again.
He looked at the floor as he reached into his pocket and produced a
crinkly packaged condom. He held it between the gaze between he and
Vickie.
“Good,” she said. “How neat is your manscaping?”
“P- pardon?”
“Your bush. Is it out of control, or is it trimmed back.”
“Uh… trimmed.”
“How far?”
He looked at his pelvis. Somehow through all of this, he was still hard.
“Very close to the skin. I like to be tidy.”
“Well, you’ve got that going for you. Come over here. Give a girl a nice
send- off. Don’t let anything spill when you take the condom off after you’ve
finished. You can only hope that your short pubic hair won’t leave any
samples. Make sure you rub down any part of me you’ve touched with
rubbing alcohol. There’s some in the bathroom, down the hall.”
“Rubbing alcohol?” this was all very foreign to him.
“Hell, I don’t know. I’m no expert. I’m just thinking on the fly.
Anyway, then you might want to take a zip-lock bag from the kitchen,
remove my nails on my right hand – that’s the hand I scratched you with –
and put them in there and take it with you. You want to get rid of any DNA
that you can. I won’t even run my fingers through your hair, because you
wouldn’t want any of it to be left behind. Now come over here. I like a thumb
in my ass while I’m being fucked, if you care.”
He held out his thumb and inspected it for a moment.
“Yes… yes, of course.”
She nodded again, motioning for him to come over to her. When she
did, the awful cracking sounds returned. He winced.
He got up and slowly began walking over towards her. When he was
within reaching distance, he reached out and pulled her dress up over her
hips. He was surprised to see that she was wearing large underwear that
covered most of her private areas.
“A little modest, wouldn’t you say? I see underwear like this on the
corpses of old women.”
“Oh, that, uh…” she began, but he was already pulling them down to her
knees.
“What? What on earth is this?” he said, grasping at a string between her
legs with his thumb and forefinger.
“Uh, Devin? Might wanna wait a sec… maybe think of another way
to…”
He pulled the string, and out came a bloody clump, followed by strands
of shiny, wet, crimson ribbons.
“Good Lord!” Devin said, now realizing what this was. At the funeral
home, everything was either dried up or thoroughly coagulated. He had no
experience with a living woman’s monthlies, or a living- dead woman’s
monthlies for that matter. And this was apparently a heavy one. Strands of it
reached as far as her knees, while bits on it broke off and splattered to the
floor.
“I had no idea that it got this bad for you poor ladies!”
“Yeah, well… it doesn’t. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that
I’m dead. I don’t know.”
 “Well it’s downright disgusting!” he said, covering his nose and mouth.
He’d smelled death more times than he could count. The smell of blood was
also nothing new to him. But this smell seemed different. He supposed it was
the smell of wet pussy mixed with the deepest copper.
“Oh, will you grow up?” Vickie said.
“Listen… I am grown up, ok? But… Christ… you could’ve at least
warned me.”
“Well, it wasn’t at the forefront of my mind, ok? My boyfriend dumped
me, you killed me, I’m fucking dead. Sorry if my period wasn’t the first thing
on my mind.”
“Well, I don’t know where to go from here. I mean, this… this is pretty
fucked up, right here,” he said, rearing his head back.
“Oh, don’t be such a pussy. Just stick it in my ass.”
He had just begun to spread one of her ass- cheeks for a peak, when
something on the news again caught his attention.
“… neighbors say that Trinity Monroe and Rodger Dylan Seymore had
seemed like the perfect couple. They were very social and outgoing, but one
day… one week ago today… the cheerfulness stopped. Arguing with loud
voices could be heard from the residence, and on occasion, the sound of
breaking glass broke the silence of an otherwise peaceful neighborhood,” the
news blabbed. Then a large, red- faced middle aged woman came into frame,
with a microphone in her face.
“Yeah, Trinity was such a nice girl,” the woman grunted. “Very sweet.
Very kind. What happened is just awful. Just… awful,” she continued, and
began to tear up.
A picture appeared in the top right corner of the screen. It was her. It
was the one that got away. His beloved Trinity… the one who he still
fantasized about to this day… was… gone. The picture of her on the screen
was just as he remembered her. Ever so slightly thicker, but the strawberry-
blonde hair, the cute, faded freckles that crept over the bridge of her upturned
nose and under her eyes… she was as stunning as ever.
“Today at his arraignment, Mr. Seymore pleaded No Contest to the
slaying of Trinity Monroe, and is awaiting sentencing,” the news anchor
blabbed. “Yesterday, family and friends attended a funeral to say goodbye to
Ms. Monroe, mourn her loss, and celebrate the life that she lived. Now,
here’s Dick Leeching with sports.”
Devin let Vickie’s cheek slide from his grasp, his eyes still watching the
television as a rich athlete was interviewed, though not hearing a word he
was saying.
“Trinity,” Devin said, simply.
The athlete looked directly into the camera.
“Better go get her, and hope the grave hasn’t fucked her up too badly
yet,” the athlete said.
Vickie, who’s eyes had been straining to see what was so damn
important on the television, looked back at Devin, and she sighed.
“Well, just like life, such is death, I suppose. Can’t have it all. But this, I
gotta see.”
“Pardon?” Devin said.
“Stop saying pardon! Take me home with you. At least let me live
vicariously through this Trinity girl.”
“Are you out of your mind!?” Devin shouted.
“Shhh. The neighbors will hear you.”
Devin quickly looked from side to side, not knowing exactly where he
should be looking, before his eyes finally caught the window. The drapes had
been open this whole time. But what he was hearing trumped any notion that
someone might be watching. He leaned close to her face.
“You’re telling me that you want me to sneak you to me car, take you to
my house where you’ll wait until I collect the woman I was always destined
to have, so that you can… what, watch us make love?”
“Make love. Ha. You’re funny. We both know that you’re gonna fuck
the shit out of her. I bet you’ll blow your load in under five minutes.”
“Well that seems a bit presumptuous,” Devin said, scrunching his face at
the sting from her words.
“Yeah, but that’s the beautiful part of us dead folks, I suppose. I mean,
I’ve only recently died, so I’m no expert, but I assume that once someone’s
done with us, they don’t have to actually be… done. Catch my drift?”
Devin stared at her.
“You can make love,” she said ‘make love’ in the most mocking voice
that Devin had ever heard “to her as many times as you want. You want this
girl so bad? Make it count. ‘Cause you can’t keep her forever. Even with all
those chemicals you weirdo’s have.”
“You’re right,” Devin said, staring at the floor blankly. This is the only
shot I have left.”
“Exactly. Take me with you. If you don’t want me watching, dig
someone up for me too.”
“Oh come, now!” Devin protested.
“Look, asshole. You came here for me. You came here wanting me. And
you killed me for that desire. Now, you won’t even give me the time of day,
now that this Trinity girl’s popped up on your radar. So I basically died for
nothing. Take me with you, get me a man for the night, or so help me God, I
will come after you with everything I have! I’ll make some rotten- ass flesh-
eating friends, and I will come for you until you’re just as fucked as I am!
I’m the one who got screwed here. And not even literally! You owe me!”
She reached out, arms stretching backwards, and awkwardly began
grabbing at him, brushing against his erection several times.
“Ok, alright! Jesus!” Devin let go of her. She slid off the couch and hit
the floor, hard. She sighed and looked up at him from the corners of her eyes.
“Oh, and do you think you can refrain from fucking up my appearance
any more than you already have? Fix my damn head!”
There was a split second of confusion on his face before he came to his
senses.
“Oh! Yes, of course!”
He got down to the floor, kneeling on her back with one knee, and
placed one hand completely around the back of her head and grasping her
chin on the other side. With the other, he simply cupped the back of her head.
He didn’t want to endure the agonizing task of the slow series of snaps that
had gotten her in this position to begin with.
“Ok. Ready?”
“Just fucking do it already!” she demanded.
With the sound of crushing an aluminum can, he yanked with both
hands with all of his might.
“Fuck!” she shouted. “Oh, sweet Jesus. Pick me up.”
“You can’t get up on your own?” he said as he got to his feet.
“How do you expect me to do that with a broken neck, genius?”
“Well…” he began, with a finger raised in the air as if to make an
important point. But his voice trailed off as he said, “Garrett did it…”
“Wait…” she said. “Garrett… Hanson?”
He noticed her tilt her head as she pondered this. She could, indeed,
move.
“Yeah,” he said. “Friend of yours?”
“Something like that. How does it look… you know… flaccid? Does it
still look huge?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty large,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“God, that thing’s beautiful,” she said.
“Well, not anymore. I had to stab the shit out of it when he tried to put
the moves on me.”
“You mutilated it? How in Christ’s name could you bring yourself to do
that to something so majestic?”
“I’m pretty sure he was going to use that ‘majestic’ part of him to… you
know… defile me.”
She laughed.
“Yep. Sounds like Garrett. He’s never been one to limit himself.”
“Yeah, well… he seemed to be moving around just fine. Get your ass up
off the floor.”
With her body popping at various points, Vickie slowly rolled onto her
hands and knees. Bracing herself on the backside of the couch, she raised one
knee and planted her foot on the ground. She did the same with the other, and
seemed unsteady at first, using the couch to balance herself. Then, her neck
popped as she turned her head to face Devin as best she could, although her
head remained lopsided. When she let go of the couch, she fell back to the
floor.
“Dammit!” she said.
“Well,” Devin said, “Garratt’s neck wasn’t broken. Maybe it’s hindered
your full abilities after all.”
“That’s who I want,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“Garrett. That’s who I want for the night once you get Trinity.”
“Oh, no. Not a chance,” Devin said, shaking his head with his palms
facing her.
“We just went over this, Devin. You owe me.”
“What do you even want with him? Look, I already told you. I sliced up
his penis.”
“I’ll take my chances. The guy’s always gotten off on a little pain.
Twisting his nipples… stepping on his balls in high- heels… that sort of
thing. Especially if he’s already dead, I don’t see a difference.”
Devin put his face in his hands, and with a muffled voice, said, “You’re
going to ruin everything. All I want is a nice evening with Trinity.”
“Oh, relax,” she said, folding her arms without falling over. “We won’t
interfere with your bedroom time with her. Garrett and I can just fuck on the
kitchen floor or something. Lord knows we’ve done it in stranger places.”
“This is madness. Utter, complete madness,” he said, rubbing his eyes
with the palms of his hands. When he was finished rubbing them, he kept
them there, not wanting to look at her. He didn’t want to see the scene that
had unfolded in the last while.
“Hey. It’ll be ok,” she said in a sympathetic voice. “Everything’s going
to be ok. You’ll have the girl of your dreams back in your arms, if only for a
night, I’ll have my fun, and won’t even be a bother to you, and then we’ll all
go… well, we’ll all go wherever it is we’ll all go. In the ground, I guess. I
mean, I can’t imagine we can stick around for long.”
He briefly looked in her eyes, and lowered his hands, nodding with the
slightest hint of a smile. He walked over to the kitchen table and grabbed the
bottle of whisky, and held out his arm in a motion for her to join him. She
sighed.
“Hello?! I can’t get up.”
“Oh. My bad.”
He walked over to her, put her arm around his neck and lifted her to her
feet. Then the two of them made their way towards the front door.
*
Marge stepped out onto her porch, and shivered slightly. For such a nice
night, there sure was a draft, but her nicotine habit took priority. Her husband
didn’t approve of the habit, but she’d given up caring what he thought years
ago. Sixty- eight years old, and no shortness of breath, not a spot on her
throat or lungs to be found, and she didn’t smoke so much that it broke the
bank. It was one of the few pleasures that life had left to offer her, and she’d
be damned if she would give it up just because her ding- a- ling husband
didn’t approve. Besides, he chewed tobacco. Was that supposed to be any
better?
She pulled a cigarette out of its pack and tapped the filter- end against
her lighter, put it between her lips and lit it. She sucked smoke into her mouth
and breathed it down into her lungs. Upon exhaling, she saw a peculiar sight.
There, across the street, was Vickie Huckson, being led down the sidewalk by
a well- dressed man with fancy hair. His arm was around her. Didn’t she
already have a boyfriend? And why was her head lolled to the side like that?
What she saw next alarmed her beyond the rest of it. The gentleman
opened the passenger door to a hearse. A hearse! What in the sam hill was
Ms. Huckson doing getting into a hearse with that weirdo? The man got into
the drivers’ seat, and Marge cursed herself for not getting the license plate as
the ridiculous contraption drove off.
She looked over at Vickie’s house, and noticed the dining room light
was still on beyond the front door. Why had her head been like that? Had this
yahoo gotten her drunk and led her away from her home?
She took another drag of her cigarette, cinched up her robe, and, looking
around, crossed the street in her slippers. On the lawn, she noticed two steaks
and a couple pieces of Tupperware, and on the cement nearby, a large,
shattered plate. She shivered.
She groaned a bit as she stepped up onto the raised porch. She never
could understand why anyone would build a raised porch and not include any
stairs. Flicking her cigarette out into the street, she looked to both sides of
her, then behind her, as she slowly put her hand on the doorknob. As she
turned it, there was no resistance. It was unlocked.
Silently, she turned the knob all the way and slowly eased the door open.
Entering the residence, she noticed that nothing seemed immediately out
of place. To her left, there were two plates of mostly- eaten food on the
dining room table. Up ahead, the florescent lights were on in the kitchen, but
all seemed fine. It was when she walked a little further into the home and
looked into the living room on the left that something gruesome caught her
eye. There, on the floor behind the couch, was a puddle of blood. She slowly
walked towards it, eyeballing the front door a few times, hoping no one
would return.
As she stood before the puddle, soaked into the tan carpet, there was a
clump in the blood, with a string attached to it. A tampon, perhaps? But why
would anyone in their right mind pull it out and discard it here, and what was
more, why would they just stand there and bleed? No, something definitely
wasn’t right.
She shivered, her goose- bumped flesh tingling, and she couldn’t seem
to get out of the house fast enough. She didn’t bother closing the door as she
ran back across the street to phone the police.
 CHAPTER 7
Frankie held his bowl of cereal in one hand while he threw open his
drapes with the other and peered out across his manicured lawn. It was
another beautiful morning, and his lawn was covered in morning dew. He
smiled. It wasn’t every guy his age that had their own place, and had the
privilege of taking care of such a beautiful lawn. He was grateful that his
parents had helped him purchase it.
He shoveled another spoonful of cereal in his mouth, and could barely
hear the morning news over the crunching. Normally, he would be watching
cartoons, but the few channels that had them on at this time of the morning
were showing re- runs of episodes he’d already seen a thousand times.
Besides, watching the news in the morning was the more mature thing to do.
Like being ready for work in a timely fashion. He was already dressed in his
customary khaki pants, white, short- sleeved button- up shirt and black tie.
He was careful not to spill any cereal on himself as he sat down on his couch
in front of the television.
The news showed more footage of the guy who murdered Mr. Tusow’s
childhood girlfriend a week or so ago in Strawberry Valley. He wondered
how Mr. Tusow felt about the whole ordeal, but hadn’t dared to ask him. He
figured he was probably having all sorts of emotions about it, and didn’t need
to hear it brought up. After all, Mr. Tusow always called her the one that got
away, and well, now she was definitely ‘away’. He chuckled, snorting, and
tried not to spit out milk, but quickly stifled himself. That wasn’t funny, and
he felt ashamed that he’d thought so for a moment.
Having swallowed his last bit of cereal, he tilted the bowl to his lips and
loudly slurped the remaining milk. Maybe he would check in with Mr. Tusow
about the Trinity situation today. You know, just to make sure he was holding
up alright. He’d been acting very strange over the last couple of weeks,
having bizarre mood- swings, acting nervous, and lacking the skill and
professionalism that had previously accompanied him at work. Maybe he
needed someone to talk to. He’d never heard Mr. Tusow talk about friends or
family, and they’d never socialized outside of work.
Frankie set the bowl in his lap and peered into it.
He generally trusted Mr. Tusow, but lately, with his strangeness about
him, Frankie hadn’t been feeling one- hundred percent sold on Mr. Tusow’s
honesty. If he was hiding something, he had no idea what it might be, other
than feelings, but he felt almost frightened of him lately. Like he might snap
at any moment. If he did snap, Frankie wondered what that would entail, but
surely nothing good.
It was time to leave for work. Today, he decided he would take his old,
dented- up car to work as opposed to his bicycle. The Beater, as he called it.
He hoped Mr. Tusow would be in a better mood today.
*

Devin wasn’t in a good mood today. He’d spent all night hauling and
embalming, and now he had two corpses in his home, doing god only knew
what. One stolen corpse, and one that he’d murdered. He’d only had time for
a nap of forty- five minutes… perhaps an hour, and now he was at his funeral
home, working on a decapitation victim. He’d received no information about
how the incident had occurred, but his worry and stress halted any curiosity.
He didn’t care, and hoped the severed head of the gentleman didn’t start
trying to talk to him. If he did try, it would prove difficult. The head was
submerged in a buck of formaldehyde, until he was done with the body and
could tend to it.
He was annoyed that he’d had to bring Garrett home first, being that he
didn’t yet know where Trinity was buried. He would have to make some
phone calls today. Strawberry Valley was fairly large, and it had a few
funeral homes scattered across it. He would have to call each of them and let
them know that he wanted to pay his respects. The shitty part was that he
would also have to cover the grave back up, lest he be quickly suspected as
the culprit. If he went asking about it, and then her grave was found the next
day dug up and minus a body, it wouldn’t take Sherlock Holmes to put two
and two together.
Devin heard bubbles within the bucket rise to the surface and burst. He
looked over at the bucket, a short distance away on the floor, hoping it was
just gases escaping Randall’s head. That’s who the paperwork that came with
the body, separated as it was, identified him as. Randall. The only other
information that he knew was that Randall was a twenty- six year old
Hispanic male. Or at least he had been, before somebody or something
lopped off his head.
Having tied off the arteries and main vessels in Randall’s neck, Devin
continued to work on the body, ice- cold not only from blood loss, but from
being refrigerated at the coroner’s office until he could be embalmed. As he
poked and prodded Randall’s body with objects and instruments, he was
happy that half his work had already been done for him. By the time that
Randall had arrived on Devin’s slab, virtually all of the blood was gone from
his body.
The bubbles burst again inside the bucket, and Devin heard a quiet,
muffled sound.
He rolled his eyes, without turning around to so much as look at the
bucket, and continued to work. As he did so, he found himself talking aloud.
“It’s cool. I think all I need is my moment with her. Then I can be done
with all of this talking- with- dead- people nonsense. I’ll bring Garrett back
and get that cattle- cock pill- popper all done up nice and neat for his asshole
friends and family to say goodbye. Then, I’ll lay my beauty back into the
earth. And then… I’ll bury the other one so deep in the woods, no one will
ever find her. Yes. These are the things I’ll do. But only after I dig her up,
bring her home and share my love with her.”
The muffled sound and bubble persisted: a cracked- voiced scream
underwater. Except the water was embalming fluid.
Devin sighed heavily, threw his instruments onto his tray and marched
over to the bucket. Without hesitation, he thrust his hand into it, grabbed a
fistful of hair and yanked the head out and up to eye- level with him.
“Owe!” Randall shrieked.
“Shhh!” Devin insisted and looked at the closed door which led to the
hallway. That’s all he needed right now, was for Frankie to start getting
suspicious. Then, he returned his intense look back to Randall’s eyes.
“What the fuck do you want, Goddammit!” Devin hissed in a whisper.
Randall’s reply didn’t match his face at first. It was nasally. It cracked
seemingly the whole time he talked. His face was more hardened, with
perhaps more life experience than what his voice made him sound like. A
thug with the voice of a teen going through puberty. That was funny.
“Ay, Vato,” Randall’s head began, “How do you know she wants your
ass in the first place, ese?”
Even though the disembodied head had a point, Devin’s ego would not
allow him to show it.
“Ah, she’ll want me. We were high school sweethearts. She loved me
back in the day.”
 He looked at the ground, and lowered the head slightly.
“Had a funny way of showing it sometimes, but yeah. She loved me. I
can feel it now, just as I felt it then. I’m sure some of those feelings are still
lingering.”
Randall chuckled.
“Cabron. Come on. How long has it been.”
“Oh, it’s been years. Years,” Devin said, staring at the countertop but
not seeing it. He was having flashbacks of Trinity in the sunshine, on the
grass- covered field behind the school, spinning around with her arms out,
smiling, dancing.
“She was beautiful, huh, man?”
“Yes,” Devin said plainly. “I suspect that even in death, she’s beautiful.”
“Well, ese, you know… not all dead people can jus’ up and talk and
move around, and sheet.”
Devin lifted the head back up and looked into its eyes.
“What do you mean?” he said with a look of concern on his face.
“If she’s the one, she might not be a willing participant, if you know
what I mean. She might just lay there, and be nothing but a dead beetch.”
“Don’t talk about her like that! And what are you saying anyway?”
Devin said, shaking the head slightly. “It seems like every damn dead person
wants to talk to me these days!”
“Aye, man, chill. We can work it out. I have a way to ensure she’ll be
back and aware.”
Devin was skeptical. On the other hand, her just being a dead body
wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all.
“Tell me.”
“I’m a necromancer, homes. I can make sure the dead are back to life.
But it only works up to a certain point after they’re dead. If they’re too
fucked up and rotten, it won’t work.”
Randall looked pretty ordinary when he spoke. There were only so many
faces one could make, and without his body to use his hands to express
himself, he was an object of little emotion.
“I was planning on digging her up tonight.”
“Alright, then. We go tonight, eh. Get her, and bring her to your place,
and I’ll make sure she’s awake.”
Devin rubbed his face with his other hand.
“Ah, for pete’s sake. How many dead people do I have to have in my
house to have this girl love me.”
“She’ll only love you for the night, ese. Then you’ll need to put her
back.”
Devin contemplated for a moment. It made sense. Even all the
embalming fluid in the world couldn’t keep a body forever. And besides, love
or none, this was about a conquest. This was about becoming a man, and
losing his innocence to the perfect person.
“Deal,” he said.
“Mr. Tusow?” Frankie’s voice came from behind him.
Devin dropped the head back into the bucket, sending formaldehyde
splashing up and over it edges and onto the floor. He turned around abruptly.
“Yes, dear Frankie!” Calm down. “Yes? What can I do for you?”
Frankie looked at the bucked with his mouth open and a look of shock
on his face, then back at Devin and got a stuttering start to his announcement.
“There’s a police officer in the lobby wanting to speak with you.”
Fuck!
*
The cop was short, fat, and balding. He took a loud sip from the lid of
his styrofoam coffee cup, and he smelled like bacon and syrup. Devin
guessed the smell was emanating from the stains on his uniform. Even though
the uniform was a very dark blue, Devin could still see them. Remnants of
breakfast, he supposed. It was one o’clock in the afternoon. Why hadn’t this
guy stopped by his house and changed shirts?
When the cop was done with his long sip, he stretched the corners of his
curled lips and hissed an exhale of satisfaction, before continuing his
conversation.
“So you see, there’s only three funeral homes here in town. Problem is
there are quite a bit more in Strawberry Valley, which really chaps my ass.
I’ll have to check them all out, since we only have a vague description of the
suspect: A white guy, well- dressed, but a little worse for the wear. Even
more of a problem is that that describes about eighty- five percent of you.”
Devin looked over at Frankie with a smile on his face. But Frankie
wasn’t smiling. He didn’t even look Devin in the eyes. He traced Frankie’s
gaze to his own hand. Vickie has sure scratched the hell out of him. He put
the evidential hand into his pocket, the smile never leaving his face, and
looked back at the cop.
 The cop hadn’t noticed the exchange of looking and concealing. He was
too busy fumbling with his coffee and getting his notebook from the pocket
of his big, fat ass.
“Now,” he finally said, having retrieved it, “where were you last night at
approximately nine- o’clock in the evening, Mr. Tusow?”
*
Frankie stood in confusion, shifting his weight from one foot to the
other. Mr. Tusow was not bringing up the fact that Ms. Huckson had been in
yesterday, and the cop, what’s- his- name, wasn’t asking. He wondered if,
under all his stress lately, perhaps Mr. Tusow had forgotten. He wondered if
he should bring it up, or just keep his mouth shut. Before he had a chance to
ponder it further, his instincts kicked into auto- pilot, and he blurted out his
comment.
“Ms. Huckson was in yesterday, Mr. Tusow, don’tcha remember?” he
said abruptly.
The cop stopped writing and looked up from his notebook at him. Then,
he lowered the notebook and glared at Devin.
“So… our person who is missing under suspicious circumstances was in
this very funeral home yesterday? Don’t you think that would be some
information I might want to know, you knucklehead?”
Frankie winced a little at the insult. It wasn’t what he was expecting. He
assumed all police officers were respectful. They were supposed to represent
the cities’ finest citizens. But here the officer was, perhaps losing composure.
“I… I…” Devin began. “I didn’t recognize the name. Which one was
she?”
“I already described her to you, giblet,” the cop said.
“Oh, yes! Tall, fit… with dark hair, almost black. Now I remember.”
So he did forget, Frankie thought. Mr. Tusow must have been more
crushed than he thought over the Trinity girl dying in such a violent way. It
made sense to him. At least, he convinced himself that it made sense.
“Um, excuse me. Officer?” Frankie said.
The cop just shot him a look.
“I remember her, but Mr. Tusow here, he’s been under a lot of stress
lately. Please understand, he hasn’t been himself lately. You see…” he held
out his hands in blades, his arms bent at the elbow. It was a motion and
posture that suggested he was about to make a valid point. “Mr. Tusow’s
highschool flame was brutally murdered recently.” Devin choked and
grunted. “He really was in love with her, and I have a feeling that he wanted
to contact her again at some point. Maybe rekindle something. And now he’ll
never get the chance. So please, officer. Please understand.”
The cop again turned his attention towards Devin.
“You’re a suspect,” he said. Devin stared at him blankly.
“Yes, of course,” he finally said. “I’ll cooperate fully with your
investigation.”
“We sent a sample of the blood from Ms. Huckson’s home in for testing,
but it’ll be a little while before we get the results. Goddamn busy labs, taking
they’re sweet ass time, getting paid by the hour and all. Until then, you stay
put. Don’t go skipping town. You so much as spit on the sidewalk, you’ll be
taken in, and held until we can resolve this. Understand, funeral man?”
Well, what an asshole, Frankie thought. Maybe he should’ve kept his
mouth shut. Now Mr. Tusow was a suspect.
“I understand,” Devin replied.
“Good. You too,” he said, turning to Frankie. “Keep your nose clean and
stay in town, until I tell you that you can do otherwise.”
“Yes, sir,” Frankie said, a little rattled at the notion.
Without saying another word, the cop turned around and walked out the
door.
“Frankie?” Devin said in a low, defeated voice.
“Yeah, Mr. Tusow?” Frankie said, still looking at the door.
“Go home.”
Frankie turned to Devin with wide eyes, his mouth agape.
“Mr. Tusow, I…”
“Go home,” he said again. “Take the rest of the day off. I’m going to
finish up my body for the day, and then I’m gonna do the same.”
“Yes sir,” Frankie said. He lowered his head and shuffled out of the
funeral home.
*
Frankie felt like weeping on the drive home, but he swore that he
wouldn’t. That’s not what mature grown- ups did. Besides, he’d only done
what he thought was right. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Still, Mr. Tusow
seemed upset with him. But why? It was the truth, and if there was nothing to
hide, why get upset?
 Then, he let the truth be set free inside of his mind. Mr. Tusow was
hiding something. The Sasha girl missing, the attack on Garrett, Ms. Huckson
missing, the deep scratches on Mr. Tusow’s hand… surely, he was hiding
something.
Oh god. He really has lost it. He’s lost his mind, and he’s killed Ms.
Huckson, Frankie thought. Either that, or maybe… just maybe… she’s still
alive and he’s holding her captive.
“Shit,” Frankie thought. And he knew in an instant what he had to do.
 CHAPTER 8
“Orale, vato,” Randall said as Devin’s shovel hit the coffin. He’d been
digging for he didn’t know how long, and wiped sweat from his brow. He
looked at the moon. It was full. Fitting. “Eh, man… choo need help?”
Randall continued, and laughed at Devin when he looked at him with a fuck
you look on his face.
“You can help later, by keeping your promise if I can’t rouse her,”
Devin said.
“Ayyyy… choo got nothin’ to worry ‘bout, ese. Uncle Randall’s
gotchoo,” he said. His head was firmly planted in the loose dirt next to the
grave.
Devin tried to open the coffin with his hands, but it was no good. The lid
was stuck. He grabbed the shovel, reared it back, and swung it forward. The
spade stabbed between the lid and the box. Then, he began thrusting his arms
downward, holding the shovel with a death- grip in anticipation, putting all of
his weight into it. Finally, the lid opened with a loud cracking sound followed
by creaking.
He grabbed the lid with one hand to prevent it from closing, and threw
the shovel next to Randall’s head. Then, he grabbed the lid with his other
hand and slowly lifted the it. The moonlight illuminated the body within the
moonlight slowly, inches at a time. Devin’s heart fluttered, and once the
casket was all the way open, he stood up and put his hands on his hips,
breathing heavily from both labor and anticipation.
There, in all her glory, was Trinity: strawberry blonde hair, long
eyelashes, small, pointy nose, full, pouty lips. She was wearing an elegant
white dress, and her figure was evident beneath it: medium sized breasts, flat
stomach, perfect hips, and sleek legs. Her skin had turned a greenish- grey
color, and he could see her skin splitting at various points along her exposed
arms and legs which oozed reddish- yellow and green slime. In addition to
those were evident knife- wounds, and she wore a thick black choker, he
guessed to cover up where her throat had been slashed. Under any other
circumstances, he might’ve closed the casket back up, opting for a fresher
body. But this was different. This was his beloved Trinity.
“Daaaaaamn, homes. Choo were right. This chick’s hot as fuck,”
Randall observed.
“Have some respect!” Devin said. He knew that she was indeed hot as
fuck. He didn’t need to hear it from some severed head who didn’t have
respect for the deceased. But then again, Randall was deceased, and Devin
didn’t have any respect for him. Touche’, inner voice. Touche’.
“Ah, don’t be so sensitive, my guy. Let’s get out of here, before
someone sees us.”
“Yes. Let’s.”
*

Frankie caught his head dropping again. He shook it, and adjusted
himself in the seat of his car, correcting his posture and gripping the steering
wheel. He squeezed his eyes shut several times, trying to focus and remain
vigilant. He looked at his cell phone. One o’clock in the morning.
“Come on,” he said to himself. He had been pondering horrible things
that he might see upon Mr. Tusow’s return. Suppose he brought back Ms.
Huckson. If he did, he hoped she would at least be alive. But dead or alive, he
would call the police. His mind was already made up on that. Now, as he
watched Devin’s home from down the street, he felt prepared for anything. It
wouldn’t change his disgust, but he’d be prepared. Mr. Tusow was definitely
hiding something. There were too many coincidences. But he still hoped and
prayed silently that there was an explanation, and that he would be proven
wrong. He was so disappointed, and he wished that his feelings towards this
man that he’d looked up to for over a year would – could – return to normal.
Up ahead, traveling the opposite direction than he was parked, he saw
headlights. As they drew near, the sleepiness he’d been feeling slowly began
to lift. As it slowed near Mr. Tusow’s driveway, he saw it was a police
officer. The cruiser shined its alley light on Mr. Tusow’s residence, pointing
it this way and that. Of course they were keeping tabs, Frankie thought. As he
watched the cruiser set back into motion, Frankie took a deep breath. The
cops weren’t to the point where they’d be sticking around for very long yet.
He was glad. Glad, because he had to know. He had to see it with his own
eyes. He didn’t know why he felt this way, but he did. Indeed, he would call
the police if needed, but he had to be the first to see.
Another pair of headlights appeared up ahead. They grew brighter at a
fast pace. Whoever this was, was driving fast, and as the car drew nearer,
Frankie could see that it was one of Mr. Tusow’s hearses. He licked his lips
and leaned forward.
The hearse gave the slightest of squeals from its tires as it pulled into the
driveway. Mr. Tusow got out, frantically looking back and forth. Frankie put
his energy drink to his lips and after taking a drink, swallowed hard.
Seemingly satisfied, Mr. Tusow reached into the hearse, pulled out a burlap-
looking sack, and walked to the back of the hearse.
“Oh no,” Frankie said in a whisper, even though Mr. Tusow wouldn’t
have been able to hear him either way.
He watched as Mr. Tusow opened the back, opened the large door of the
vehicle, and began to slide out the gurney. Once most of the way out, its
folding legs dropped down, and Mr. Tusow carefully set it onto the ground.
He quickly pushed it to his front door, shutting the driver’s side door along
the way, used his key to open his front door, and entered with the gurney. As
the door slammed shut, Frankie felt the sudden urge to urinate. He felt the
surge of both excitement and fear of what he was about to do course through
his body. But he was having a hard time getting out.
“Go,” he said to himself. “Go see what’s happening!”
*
“Aw what the bloody fuck,” Devin said after he closed the door.
Garrett looked up from between Vickie’s legs, long strands of blood and
slime clinging to his mouth from her crotch. They were on the living room
floor, naked, and Devin observed that there were large dark stains on the
carpet. The smell of blood and shit were strong, and Devin noted that there
was also shit smeared on Garrett’s chin.
“Hey doc,” Garrett said.
“I’m not a doctor, you imbecile. What the actual hell do you two think
you’re doing?”
“Say… I don’t mind the blood, but can you get me one of them ass-
screws? I’m not a fan of scat,” Garrett said so matter- of- factly that Devin
knew for sure that he was out of his damn mind. First, he tried to rape him,
and now this. What was wrong with people.
“Yeah, Devin. Screw me in the ass,” Vickie said, breathy and seductive.
“He’s already got someone to screw,” came Randall’s voice from the
sack. “Let me out, homes.”
Devin pulled the head out of the bag and set it on the velvet body bag
that concealed Trinity.
 “Who the fuck is that?” Vickie said.
“It’s Randall,” Devin replied as though she should already know that.
“Yeah, it’s Randall, beetch,” Randall said. “And if it’s head you’re
looking for, I’m your guy. ‘Cause you know… that’s all I am.” He followed
up his offer with maniacal laughter.
“Everyone just shut the fuck up!” Devin shouted with so much
authority, he even shocked himself. Everyone Stopped moving and stared at
him. Devin didn’t quite know where to go from here. He was sick and tired of
the dead talking to him and bullying him. He refused to be anyone’s patsy
any longer. All he wanted was Trinity, and he was already beginning to think
about taking all three of these dead people to the lake and tying rocks to
them. As for Trinity, he would give her another burial.
“Alright,” he said, finally. “Knock off the ‘playing doctor’ shit, and just
be still for a few moments.”
He turned to the gurney and slowly unzipped the bag. In the mellow,
yellow glow of his living room lights, Trinity’s face was as beautiful as ever.
Age hadn’t seemed to have blemished her one bit. As he unzipped the bag the
rest of the way, down to her feet, he ran his hand along what was exposed of
her leg. It caught some ooze from where the skin had either split, or had been
stabbed; he couldn’t tell the difference in the open splits of flesh. Her leg was
cool and smooth, as he rubbed the slime down it. His breath began to get a
little heavy.
“Dayum, Devin. No wonder you…” Garrett started.
Devin shot him a look from hell, and extended a tensed arm, pointing at
him with a sharp finger.
“I said shut the fuck up!” he shouted. Garratt rolled from his stomach to
sit on his butt, and held his hands up in a defensive manner. He looked to the
floor with wide eyes, and exhaled hard through a circular mouth.
Devin picked up Randall’s head and placed it on his small, living room
table. Then, he turned back around to face the gurney, and delicately leaned
down and wrapped Trinity’s arm around his neck. He scooped her underneath
her legs, behind her knees, with one arm, and the other cradled her across the
backs of her shoulders. He gently lifted her up, a feat that was surprisingly
easy, brought her over to his recliner and ever- so- gently, sat her in it.
He knelt in front of her and gently squeezed her shoulders, giving her
the slightest of shakes.
“Trinity, sweetie. It’s me. It’s Devin. Don’t you remember me? How
silly, of course you do. Wake up for me, honey. Please… wake up.”
He looked at her glued- shut eyes. They weren’t rolling around behind
her eyelids, and she didn’t move a fraction of an inch.
He looked at Randall, and sighed.
“Ok. What now?” he asked.
“I don’t know how else to say this, homes, but… you need to undress
her.”
“Aw, come on, guy,” Devin said, dropping his shoulders down and his
head to his shoulder.
“Ay, man, I don’t make the rules, I just use them.”
“Hey, how to you know how to do this anyway?” Devin said skeptically.
“Eh, homes, I’ve never done thees before. But I’ve seen it. For a long-
ass time, my family has been in cahoots with Santa Muerte.”
Devin had no idea what that meant, and he didn’t care, as long as it
worked. He gently leaned her forward and unzipped her dress. Sliding it off
of her shoulders, he was getting aroused. The arousal grew as he maneuvered
her, working the dress off of her until it was on the ground and her legs were
free of it. Then, he leaned her forward again so that he could unclasp her bra.
He struggled with it for a bit, trying to figure out the puzzle. He’d never taken
one off.
Vicky hissed a noise that suggested that she found him pathetic. He shot
her a look at the tail end of her rolling her eyes. When their eyes met, Devin
had a scowl on his face. She pursed her lips together and put on an innocent
face.
Finally, he simply ripped the bra apart in frustration, composed himself,
and gently sat her back upright. Her breasts were beautiful; full, but not too
big. Ever so slightly pointed. Areolas and nipples only a few shades darker
than the rest of her skin, greenish- grey as it was, with a subtle pink glow
about them.
“Well, vato?” Randall said, breaking Devin’s blissful concentration.
“We gonna do thees?”
“Yeah. Well, what next?” he said.
“Choo see, homes, for whatchoo wanna do, I have to awaken the right
parts first, otherwise there’s a chance she won’t register being turned on.
When you do it manually like thees… when they don’ wake up, you gotta
make sure everything’s in place. Like, so everything will work out the way
you want them to.”
 Devin was dumbfounded. He had no idea of what the Mexican was
talking about.
Randall raised an eyebrow at him.
“The fuck you talking about,” said Devin, finally, and he surprised
himself with how vulgar it sounded coming out of his mouth. It was
completely out of character. But then again, he’d said and done things lately
that were completely out of character as well.
“I need to speak into her pussy,” said Randall.
“What?!” Devin shouted. Garratt and Vickie started laughing. Devin
looked over at them. Garratt was shaking his head which were in his hands.
Vickie lay there perfectly still. Then it came over him. Vickie still couldn’t
move.
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be a quadriplegic?” he said. “How were
you getting off by this dolt doing what he was doing?”
She eyeballed him and gave him what he would consider a seductive
smile.
“I like to watch,” she said.
“Yeah, homes, she likes to watch. Well, she can watch thees, and behold
my gifts. Then she can watch the top of my head between her legs.” Then,
Randall let out the same maniacal laughter as earlier.
“Maybe. If you’re lucky, that is,” said Vicky.
“Yeah. And while you do that, maybe I can fuck your throat. You
know… from underneath,” Garratt suggested.
“Ooh. You mean you want to fuck him where he got chopped? While he
eats me? That’s pretty fucking hot,” Vickie said.
“Nah, faggot,” said Randall. “I’m not down for that gay shit.”
“Who the fuck are you calling a faggot?” said Garrett. “I’ll show you a
faggot. You ain’t got a choice now, shithead. I’m gonna fuck your neck and
cum out your mouth!”
“Deveen! Don’ let him, man! Tha’s fucked up!” Randall pleaded, and
his accent seemed even more pronounced.
“All right, everyone just shut the fuck up!” Devin shouted with his fists
in front of him. “I’m sick of this shit. This is madness! All I wanted was
Trinity, and now I have you assholes in my house arguing about who’s going
to have sex with who and how it’s gonna be done!”
His breathing was heavy, and he began to feel light- headed.
After a lengthy pause, with everyone staring at him, Vickie started to
say, “Devin, you…”
“Shut up!” shouted Devin, simply aiming at her with his fist. “You
shut… up!”
After a few seconds, Devin closed his eyes, and began taking deep
breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth. They were slow and
deliberate, and soon, he felt himself begin to relax a little. He looked at
Randall with his eyes open half- way.
“Let’s do this.”
“Ok, jefe’,” said Randall.
“But no funny business!” Devin shouted, pointing at him, and he felt the
same heavy breathing and light- headedness momentarily returning to him.
He again closed his eyes, and looked at Trinity when he opened them back
up.
Slowly, he walked over to her and got on his knees in front of her. He
slid his fingers between her purple panties and her hips, and began to slide
them off. A wonderful smell of perfume and vagina wafted into his nostrils,
but was betrayed by the underlying smell of chemicals. If she smelled like
death or rot, it was lost on him.
His arousal began to return to him as he lovingly spied her short,
trimmed pubic hair. The sides had been shaved, and it was a medium- sized
stripe of gorgeous strawberry blonde to match the hair on her beautiful head.
Her legs were slightly parted, and when he pulled her panties from her feet,
he grasped her knees with either hand, and began to part them. There,
between her legs, was her beautiful vagina, labia petite and shaved, and
although the rest of her had the greenish- yellow shade to it, she was still
rosy- pink down there.
Devin slowly stood up, momentarily unable to take his eyes off the
awesome site that he observed. Then he forced himself to look away, and
towards something the polar opposite: Randall’s ugly, severed head. He
walked over to it, grabbed it by the hair, and yanked it up to eye- level.
“Owe! Sheet! Fuck!” Randall shouted. “Easy, man!”
Devin brought Randall’s face close to his.
“Like I said,… no… funny… business!”
“No, no funny business, jefe’.
Devin lowered the head and walked back over to Trinity. He didn’t get
to his knees this time, but lowered Randall down between her legs, about a
foot away from her vagina.
 “No, no, homes. I have to be much closer than that,” said Randall.
Devin licked his lips and took a deep breath. He held the head nearer to
her, about six inches.
“Closer…” Randall said. Devin hesitantly oblidged.
“Choo want thees to happen, or not, Homes? I need to be close. Like…
close close.”
Devin placed the head very close to her, with Randall’s nose almost
touching her. He felt a bead of sweat run down his face. He wiped it away
with his free hand, and looked over at Garratt and Vickie, who both sat
waiting in seeming anticipation.
“De nomine, inno, ah…” Randall began. “Abracadabra!” He screeched,
and licked Trinity hard between her labia with his large, flat tongue which
dripped with saliva. There was an eruption of laughter from Garratt and
Vicky. “Mmm! Tastes like cheekin!
“Mother FUCKER!” Devin screamed as he threw the head on the
ground. It bounced a couple times, and Randall began shrieking. Devin
marched over to the head and raised his knee as high as he could.
“No, jefe! No!” Randall shouted as Devin’s foot came down. No sooner
was the end of Randall’s plea did Devin’s foot make contact with the side of
his head, caving in his skull and causing an eye to shoot out of his head, still
connected by vessels and the optic nerve. Devin lifted his foot and brought it
down again. The other eye popped out. He continued to do this multiple
times, and brain matter started leaking out of Randall’s ears, nose and eye
sockets. As the stomping continued, two of them aimed directly for Randall’s
jaw, which easily dislocated, and the skin around it began to rip away, Devin
began screaming in nonsensical tongues. He stomped on Randall’s eyes,
ripped his nose completely off, and his scalp began to peel off his mangled,
broken skull. Soon, all that was left was mush; uncooked bacon and ham in a
pile of strawberry jelly, milk spilled into it, with discarded barber- shop hair
sticking out of it.
At last, Devin’s last stomp came down, and he slipped and fell to his
knees. There, on his hands and knees, breathing heavily and sweating
profusely, Devin began to sob. Slobber poured from his mouth. Sweat
dripped from his face, and he slammed a fist on the floor.
“Oh shit! He’s losing it! Garratt! Kill him, or we’re next!” he heard
Vickie shout.
Devin tried to get to his feet, but slipped again on the blood and matter
that used to be Randall’s head. Suddenly, he felt a hard kick land at his ribs,
and he fell completely flat. He could feel the gore stick to his face and seep
through his shirt and pants. He was aware of it touching his penis, and the
corner of his mouth. Again, he tried to get up. This time, he felt a punch to
the face that sent him backwards, landing on his ass.
“I’ve had just about enough of you. Just about… but I’ve one more use
for you. I’m gonna finish what I started,” Devin heard Garratt’s voice say.
When he opened his eyes, Garratt was walking towards him, masturbating his
massive, mangled cock.
“No, Garratt! I’ll leave you and Vickie be! I’ll take you anywhere you
want to go! Anywhere!” Devin pleaded.
“Ooh. Your cries are making me so hot. I think I’m… I think I’m
already about to…”
Garratt let go of his penis and reached down, ripping Devin’s shirt so
that his chest and stomach were exposed. No sooner did he re- establish his
stroking rhythm, did a burst of his ejaculate gush out of him, hitting Devin in
the mouth, neck and chest. Devin looked down at his chest, scrunching his
chin into his neck so that he could see the catastrophe. There, he found that
Garratt had a maggot- infestation. It looked like someone spilled a bowl of
rice- cereal on him.
Another gush hit him in the head like a water- balloon. It dripped down
his face, and once again, over his mouth. He started spitting frantically, and
looked up at Garratt, opening his mouth to plea for him to stop. As soon as he
opened his mouth, one more strong rope of chunky cum landed squarely onto
his tongue. Devin’s first instinct was to bring his teeth down. He did so, and
the maggots fell apart, while others writhed on his tongue.
Devin leaned over to the side, his stomach convulsing. He spat, and
immediately upon doing so, vomited. He took in a deep breath, and vomited
again, this time a much stronger explosion. More, still, came up, and he
started to have trouble breathing. His stomach spasmed and began to burn,
and he vomited until he began to dry- heave.
Finally, he was able to suck in a desperate breath, his head spinning as
he spat out what was left of the vomit in his mouth. He began to weep
uncontrollably, his hands to his face, as he rocked back and forth on his ass.
A sudden realization flashed in his mind. Garratt wasn’t done. He meant to
kill him soon.
When Devin opened his eyes, he saw Garratt sitting there on the floor,
squeezing more ejaculate out of his penis like toothpaste. Not only did it
come out of the tip of his masse cock like cottage cheese- the maggots still
present- but from the scalpel wounds on the shaft. It was a drippy, slimy
chunky mess, and Devin felt like he might vomit yet again.
“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Garratt said, smiling at him.
Devin looked at the kitchen counter, and his eyes locked on his knife-
block. Garratt’s smile dropped, and he followed Devin’s line of vision. He
whipped his head back around and looked at Devin with wide eyes. They
stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity.
Devin posted his hand on the ground, and in a flash he was up and
running across the living room floor. Garratt scrambled to get to his feet,
grabbing hold of Devin’s tattered shirt in the process. He slipped on the mess
that used to be Randall’s head and fell back to the floor. Devin pulled his
arms free from the sleeves of his shirt, and Garratt was left with a handful of
a discarded, ruined garment.
Once Devin reached the kitchen counter, he picked up the whole knife
block, pulled out the brand new butcher knife, and threw the block down.
But, as Garrett got to his feet, something else caught Devin’s eye. There,
hanging above where the block had been, was his meat cleaver. And he
certainly wanted to cleave some meat.
Garrett sprinted at him as Devin unhooked the cleaver and turned
around. Just as Garrett was upon him, Devin chopped the cleaver into his
face, diagonally. When he yanked it free, gobs of coagulated blood ran down
his face from the wound. Garrett screamed, Devin guessed, not from pain, but
from sheer rage.
Garrett reached for Devin, and Devin swung the blade downward,
cleaving half- way through the top of Garrett’s wrist. Garrett’s hand folded
and almost touched his inner forearm. When he lifted his arm to inspect it,
Devin swung the cleaver again, this time slicing through what was left of
Garrett’s wrist. His hand fell to the floor. Garrett lowered his arm. Stands of
blood slowly dripped from his stump, clinging to him as they stretched
towards the floor.
“You motherfucker,” Garrett said, and reached to grasp Devin’s throat.
He succeeded, and began to squeeze.
Devin couldn’t breathe, and frantically swiped the blade across Garrett’s
upper and lower abdomen. It seemed to have no effect. Garrett donned a
sinister smile and squeezed harder, the veins in his arm becoming prominent.
 Devin looked down only with his eyes, and saw that Garrett was semi-
hard. There was a deep cut at the base of the monster- penis from where he’d
cut him with the scalpel. He raised the cleaver, eyeballing it. Garrett’s smile
dropped, and he looked down. He let go of Devin’s throat and tried to back
away. But it was too little, too late. The blade swung down and was a more or
less direct hit on the wound, completely severing the penis. Garratt screamed
and grabbed at the stump that was left. He bent down and picked up his penis,
clearly in shock.
Devin seized the opportunity.
He rushed Garratt, again raising the cleaver. With one fell swoop, he
chopped deeply into the side of Garratt’s neck. Garratt took a swing at Devin,
but missed, exposing the other side of his neck, which Devin promptly
hacked at. Garrett’s head bobbled around unnaturally when he stood upright
once again, with only a narrow bit of his neck still intact.
Garrett lifted the large, severed penis, now covered with red slime.
Seeing this large piece of meat covered in red reminded Devin of the large
sausages they sold at the mall during the holiday season. Only this sausage
flopped around like a cheap rubber dildo, perhaps more- so.
“I don’t need this,” Garrett said, raising the mangled, floppy piece of
meat up in the air and swinging his arm down, sending it to the ground. It
bounced once, and then it lay there, completely useless. Just a dead piece of
meat. “I’ll use my fucking fist on you,“ Garratt continued to shout, holding
up his fist.
Devin looked at the cleaver, then at Garrett’s head, which flopped
around ridiculously. He screamed, and half- way through the scream, he
rushed at Garrett and grabbed his head with both hands.
Letting out a series of screams through clenched teeth, he pulled the
head back and forth with all his might, until squishy, tearing sounds could be
heard. He stopped pulling for a second as Garrett punched his ribs with his
only fist, and prepared himself. In his head, he counted one… two… THREE!
And he yanked up Garrett’s head with everything he had left. The head came
free, along with a length of his spine.
Devin let the head drop, sending it down to smack against Garrett’s
stomach. Garratt screamed nonsensical protests as Devin began to yard out
the spine. The task proved difficult, but Devin’s rage was at such a level that
he managed to finally pulled the spine free, and let go, sending the head and
spine to the ground.
 Garrett’s body went weak at the knees, and dropped to the ground,
gelatinous goo spilling out of a short stump of a neck.
Garrett was still shrieking his nonsense, and Devin walked over to his
head. He grabbed the tail end of the spine and lifted it into the air. He swung
it down, and Garrett’s head bounced off of the ground. Devin lifted and
swung again. Again, the head bounced off the ground. Devin continued to do
this over, and over, until his breath became labored, and on the last swing, he
let go, sending the head and spine flying across the kitchen, back into the
living room and smacking against the wall. The head fell to the floor, leaving
a splattered, bloody head- print on the wall.
Devin collapsed to the floor, trying to catch his breath. Garrett still tried
to shout, his mouth full of blood, making bubbling sounds as he did. Devin
had had enough. He stood back up, wearily, and slowly walked over to the
head.
He peered down at it, expressionless. His expression remained as such
when Garrett spit a large clump of blood at him, hitting him in the face.
Devin didn’t even blink.
He knelt down next to the head, and suddenly he felt the rage return
once again. He seized the head with his hands, grabbing the roof of Garrett’s
mouth with one hand, and his lower jaw with the other. At first, he was losing
the battle, as Garrett tried to bite him. But Devin’s anger was too strong. He
showed strength he never knew he had, and began to separate the rows of
teeth, popping the jaw out of place with loud snaps until it was free. The
corners of Garrett’s mouth began to rip apart, then his cheeks, all the way up
to his earlobes.
With one final pull, the jaw came free, and Devin dropped the top part
of Garrett’s head. He looked at the jaw he was still holding, the hanging
tongue dancing about. Breathing heavily, but only through his nose, still
expressionless, he grabbed it firmly and yanked it out with one hard tug. He
threw it to the floor without looking at it, then tossed the jaw over his
shoulder.
He peered at the top half of Garrett’s head with eyes half- open. It did
nothing, except for the eyes. They were moving. They looked at the discarded
tongue, then back up to Devin.
“Jesus Christ, Devin,” Vickie said. Up until this point, she’d remained
silent. “What the fuck’s come over you.”
“Just shut up, you stupid bitch,” Devin said quietly. He looked down at
himself. His entire torso was covered in semen, blood and maggots, which
squirmed around. He hadn’t noticed the pinching sensation of several of them
biting him up until this point. He slowly began to brush them off, flicking his
hand free of the bodily fluids as he did so, until none of them remained.
Then, he casually walked back into the kitchen.
“Devin… I’m sorry. I thought you were going to dispose of us. I mean,
you could just pick me up and put me anywhere, and because I can’t move, I
might be there forever. I don’t know what happens to us from here. Do we
eventually die all over again? No one knows. Please… forgive me. I can still
be your lover.”
Devin picked up the cutlery block and retrieved a steak knife from it,
before dropping the block back to the floor. He slowly walked back to the top
half of Garrett’s head and squatted down beside it. He ever so slowly began
to point the knife at one of Garrett’s eyes, bringing it closer. Garrett’s eyes
moved around frantically. He looked at his useless body, then at his jaw and
tongue, then the knife, then Devin, and this series of glances continued until
the knife was mere centimeters away from his eye. He began to roll his eyes
in the back of his head, then looked at the knife, then back, over and over.
Finally, Devin thrust the knife into Garrett’s eye, and twisted it around,
scrambling it. Clear liquid with a whitish hue ran down Garrett’s face like
tears, his other eye still moving back and forth in a panic. Devin pulled the
knife out.
He held the half of a head by the hair so that it was facing straight up,
and raised the knife. He brought it down, stabbing Garrett’s other eye. He
pulled it free, and brought it down again. And again. And again. Then he
discarded the knife and stood up with the half of a head in his hands. He
raised it in the air, still expressionless, and dropped it, raising his foot to punt
it across the living room.
“Nice, Devin, real nice,” Vickie said in a mocking tone.
Devin looked at her blankly, then turned around and went back to the
kitchen yet again. This time, he returned with a curved paring knife and the
butcher knife he’d went for earlier. He held one in each hand, preparing
himself for what he was about to do, gleefully. He couldn’t resist cracking a
smile.
“Devin… whatever you’re thinking about doing… please don’t,” Vickie
said, naked and helpless.
“I told you to shut the fuck up. But you didn’t. So if I ask you to do
something and you don’t do it, why should I do what you say?” he said, in a
menacingly quiet voice.
She flinched when he dropped to his knees beside her. It excited him to
feel so powerful. So in control. Tonight, he’d shown himself some things. He
was capable of defending himself. He was capable of domination of
adversaries. He felt on top of the world.
He looked down at her legs, which were still parted from Garrett’s little
show earlier.
“You like to watch? Watch this,” he said, climbing over the leg nearest
to him. He pushed her legs wider apart, and positioned himself between them.
He looked down at the dried blood surrounding her vagina.
“Devin, please, please… I’m already dead. Why would you do this to
someone who’s already dead? I don’t want to be mutilated,” she sobbed.
“Please… have some respect for the dead.”
“You tried to get that shit head to kill me. You laughed at me while he…
came all over me. You didn’t say shit when he was going to rape me. So
pardon me when I say fuck you.”
He held up the paring knife so that she could see it. Then, he slowly
lowered it between her legs. He held it so that its curve was facing up. The
curve was where the sharp edge was, and it would come in handy for what he
was about to do. He angled it so that the tip entered her anus, and as he
pushed it further in, he pushed the handle at a downward angle, feeling it
slide past the inside of her perineum.
Finally, he saw the tip of the knife exit her vagina. He began rocking the
incredibly sharp blade up and down, back and forth. Up and down, back and
forth. As he did this, the blade sliced closer and closer to her outer perineum,
until he could see the flesh of it stretching, and he worked the knife harder
and harder, until finally, most of the blade was out, and held only by a strip of
the perineum, which he yanked the knife completely through. What was left
was an incredibly large hole, the vagina and anus sharing it. They had
become one.
This was a preparation for what he was going to do next.
He set down the paring knife and picked up the butcher knife. He began
to slide it into the gaping mess.
“Devin! Devin, STOP!” Vickie said.
“Just let it happen. There’s nothing you can do. Watch. Just watch.”
Even as he said it, he knew it sounded like the babbling of a crazy
person. And maybe he was. But he didn’t care now. All he cared about was
Trinity, and spending one night of passion with her. One night that was owed
to him. But he wouldn’t be able to do it if she didn’t come back. And she
hadn’t. So all of this nonsense with these… things… had been for nothing.
He slid the knife all the way inside of her, and began sawing it in and
out. Vickie laid her head down and slightly shook it, looking up at the ceiling.
“Oh, God,” she said. “I just want to be dead now. I want all of this to
end. I didn’t ask for this.”
Devin just smiled at her, and the knife came all the way up through her
pelvis and lower abdomen. Then, he separated her cavity as best he could, in
order to continue up her body. Sawing. In and out. In and out, until the knife
came through her upper abdomen, with pieces of her intestines coming up
with it. He separated this too, and could see her internal organs.
He wasn’t about to try to saw through her sternum, especially not
vertically. So, he slid the knife between her flesh and the bone. This proved
to be a relatively easy cut, and he ran the blade all the way up to her neck.
He separated the two halves of her body further apart, and could view
her like the ‘visible man’ that he used to have as a child. He could see
everything. It was glorious.
“Look at it,” he said.
She slowly shook her head, tears flowing from her eyes.
“I said, look at it!” he insisted again, and grabbed her by the hair. She
squealed when he picked her head up off the ground. She closed her eyes
tightly.
But finally, she opened them, and saw what he’d done to her.
Satisfaction coursed through Devin’s veins. He was happy with what he’d
done. But he wasn’t done yet.
“Let’s see how long a reanimated dead person can last,” he chuckled.
She dropped her head back to the floor.
*
Frankie hadn’t been able to bring himself to even get out of his car. He’d
thought he heard screaming and shouting, and he felt pretty sure that it was
coming from Mr. Tusow’s residence. The problem was that even though the
plan up until this point had been to find out what Mr. Tusow was up to,
Frankie found himself frozen with fear. If it was indeed screaming coming
from the home, he found himself questioning if he really wanted to know
what was going on.
He’d been rubbing his hands all over each other, and nervously
bouncing up and down in his seat. It was very child- like; almost like a youth
finding out during a car ride that they were going to Disneyland.
He put his hand on the car door’s lever, and slowly started to pull.
Oh my God. Oh my God. I’m about to open the door, he thought. And
finally, with all of his effort, he opened the car door, immediately stepping
one foot out and planting it on the ground. With his mind trying to hold him
back, he swung his other leg out to meet the first. Then, he forced himself out
of the car and stood upright, before closing the door. Slowly, step- by- step he
began to walk. Baby steps. Baby steps.
 CHAPTER 9
Devin sat at the dining room table, sipping liquor straight from the bottle
and smiling as he listened to the sweet sound of Vickie crying and blubbering
a nonsensical medley of dismay and horror. The drill lay spent on the table,
after having drilled her wrists to the ceiling. There, more helpless than she’d
ever been in both life and death, hung Vickie, her arms spread, hanging from
her wrists.
She was looking down at herself: her naked body opened up. She’d been
eviscerated. Her shins were open, where her veins had been pulled out and
now hung freely. The same was true for her entire torso, from vagina, all the
way up to her neck. Her ovaries and bladder hung out, surrounded by a jungle
of intestines, her lungs pulled out from beneath her ribcage, her heart pulled
up and over her sternum. Formaldehyde and thick blood clung to her, and
stretched all the way to the floor, where bits of it broke away to form a thick
puddle beneath her.
A sweet song of madness escaped her mouth, from her skinless, scalp-
less head. Wide eyes with no lids looked down at what had become of her,
and the only coherent words amidst her rhythmic cries, were please, and the
occasional help, but there was no urgency behind it; only defeat.
“I’ll keep you like that, until you rot away,” Devin said casually, and put
the bottle to his lips for another chug of the liquor. “We’ll see how much
crying and bullshit escapes you after this.”
He pushed the chair away from the table and went back into the kitchen.
He returned with another knife, this one, a short blade with a serrated edge.
He reached up, and placed the tip against her throat. Vickie cried, and could
not close her eyes without lids as he stabbed it into her and begin sawing. Her
vocal chords were severed, and he reached into the gash to grab hold of them,
her voice box squeezed within his grip. He pulled out what he had hold of
through the slit, the insides of her throat clinging to it, and a tug- of- war
ensued. He placed his hand on one side of her chest and yanked them
completely free, discarding them onto the floor.
He took a step back and observed her.
“No, those won’t do. Those won’t do at all.”
He placed the knife beneath one of her breast and penetrated the flesh.
He worked the blade all the way around the circumference of the breast, and
began sawing beneath the tissue as he squeezed her areola hard. When the
breast came free, he held it in front of her.
“No more sexiness for you, huh?” he said coldly. He repeated the same
act on her other breast.
“Don’t go anywhere, love. I’m taking a shower to wash this filth off of
me. Then, I presume, it’s bedtime. You just hang around, and think about
what you’ve done. Think about how you would prefer a cremation, and how
hesitant I am to oblige. Think about the words you might whisper to me
without your voice, and those words better be sincere, or our little game will
continue. Trust me, I have so many more ideas in my head of what to do to
you.”
He took another drink, and walked away from her.
*
Frankie’s breathing was labored as he stood leaning against the outside
wall of the house. He had heard Devin’s mumbling. He’d heard every word.
Was he talking to someone held captive? Had he gone insane, and was
talking to a corpse? What if he turned around to peer into the house, between
the curtains and saw Devin standing there, staring back at him? Would he,
then, be next? Should he call the cops now?
He took out his cell phone and looked at it. The arguing inside the
house. The sound of furniture breaking. The threats that Devin had made. He
lowered his phone and turned around, positioning himself in front of the
window. There, to his bewildered horror, hung an unrecognizable body in the
kitchen. The victim had no flesh on its entire head and face. Its chest had
been sliced, and there was a cut all the way down its torso, with its insides
hanging out, and blood all over the floor.
He could partially see another body laying on the floor in the living
room.
The walls were covered in blood and other unidentifiable fluids, and
there were large, dark stains in various parts of the living room carpet.
Frankie turned back around and leaned against the house, trying to catch
his breath, squeezing his eyes shut. He tried to throw up, but nothing came
out. He hadn’t eaten since his cereal that morning, and so the dry heaving
commenced. A shockwave of fear and panic came over him, and he thought
about what might happen if Mr. Tusow heard him out there, and came out to
abduct him and subject him to the same fate.
He ran across the street, clinging to consciousness. He was dizzy and a
million thoughts raced through his head. His boss was either a murderer or a
corpse defiler. With his phone in his hand, he began trying to dial 911, but his
hands were shaking violently, and he kept hitting the wrong numbers.
Finally, he took a deep breath, and pointed his finger, deliberately pressing
the three correct numbers. The phone began to ring.
 CHAPTER 10
Devin took intermittent drinks from the liquor bottle as he dried himself
off, diluted blood draining in the bathtub. He grasped both hands on the sides
of the sink and peered at himself in the mirror. This whole situation was not
only a failure, but a traumatic experience, and he didn’t know how he would
recover from it. Could he even return to the career he’d worked all of his
adult life thus far to build, especially with this so- called gift that he
possessed?
The shower seemed to not only wash the maggot- infested semen and
blood from Devin’s body, but some of the shame as well. He was satisfied
with Vickie’s punishment so far, and felt even more satisfaction in knowing
that it would continue tomorrow. No one would hear her screams without a
voice by which to do so. Maybe some would suspect she was in his home.
She was all over the news, and maybe he was a prime suspect by now. But no
matter. By the time a warrant was retrieved, she’d be dismembered, and he
suspected that he, too, would be dead by his own hand. Would he then be
reanimated like the rest? That would be such a surprise to the authorities.
He’d be a scientific breakthrough, and maybe even famous. Surely, he’d live
a life after death in fame and glory. He still had no idea how long it would
take for a corpse to completely decompose into nothingness in such a state,
but he didn’t care.
All he wanted was Trinity, and she hadn’t woken from her slumber. And
there was nothing he knew to do to make that happen. Maybe it only
happened to some. After all, it was only recently that he’d seen it happen, and
he’d worked on hundreds of bodies. He’d at first thought that he was simply
going mad. But, no. This was too real. He’d felt pain. He’d felt the splash of
fluids, the pain inflicted upon him, and the satisfaction of revenge against a
conscious soul.
There could be no way that it wasn’t real.
He walked across the hall into his room without a towel wrapped around
him, and felt no shame in his nakedness. There was no one to see him, not
even Trinity.
It was time to sleep it off. Tomorrow, he would be able to look at it all
with fresh eyes. Tomorrow he would ponder these things as he cleaned up his
apartment. He would have to rip up the carpet. He preferred hardwood floors
anyway. He’d have a lot of sawing to do, and figured he’d have to do most of
it in the tub. He wouldn’t be cremating Vickie, he decided, and he didn’t
know how long her consciousness would last after she was in pieces, but he
didn’t care. She’d played a big role in this ordeal, and the more she suffered
for it, the better.
He grabbed the bottle and stumbled across the hall into the bedroom and
lay down, not bothering with underwear or pajamas, and placed the liquor
bottle on the nightstand beside his bed.
*

Frankie ended his call. The operator had sounded less than thrilled, and
although he could understand why she hadn’t, he wished that she’d sounded
more serious and invested in what he had to say to her. At the very least, he
wished she’d stayed on the phone with him. But he’d been vague. He hadn’t
quite known how to tell her what the call was about, but she did say they
were sending a car, and so there was the briefest feeling of relief.
What if the person who hung there in Mr. Tusow’s apartment was still
alive? What about the man on the floor? Would he even know what to do if
he risked going inside? Would there be anything he could do? What if they
were already dead? Then he’d be risking his life for nothing. Given the
operator’s seeming indifference, he wondered how long it would take for a
police officer to arrive.
*

The moon was full tonight, and its light rested across Devin’s naked
body as he looked down upon it and took another chug of whisky. Fitting, he
thought. Fitting and cheesy, like some gothic, tragic romance. The only
woman he ever loved was waiting in the other room, sitting on the couch
amidst the carnage that had ensued since bringing her home, deceased and
unmoving. Unfeeling. Just a cold, dead shell of what she once was.
He set the near- empty bottle on his nightstand and closed his eyes,
wishing for sleep, hoping that it would take him soon. Perhaps even death.
Would she then be there to greet him? Either here, or perhaps in some kind of
afterlife?
He could hear her voice, calling his name. He squeezed his eyes, and
began to produce tears, which streaked down the sides of his face. He brought
his hands up to cover it. Yes, he could hear her as if she were there, and it
was proving more than he could handle. He began sobbing.
“I love you, Trinity. Goddammit, I love you.”
“I know,” said Trinity’s voice. “And I love you too. I always have, I was
simply too young and naïve to know how to express it.”
These tricks of the brain made him sob even harder, but he tried to
pretend. He struggled to pretend it was really her.
“Devin. Open your eyes. Look at me.”
He opened his eyes. If madness had taken him, he embraced it. There, in
all her naked glory, stood Trinity at the foot of his bed. Her breasts were
weighted, but still slightly raised upward at the nipples, her flat stomach, her
slightly flared hips, neatly trimmed pubic hair on a small mound of pubis.
Her legs were just thick enough to suggest muscularity in them, but not so
much that they seemed masculine. They were slightly parted. She was pale
and grey, skin split at various points in her neck, ribcage, stomach and
portions of her legs, but it didn’t matter to him. She was beautiful, and she
used her fingers to brush her hair to one side.
“I’ve gone mad. That, or I’m dreaming,” Devin said aloud.
“No, love,” came Trinity’s beautifully soothing voice. “I’m here. I’m
late, but I’m here. And I need you, Devin. I’ve always needed you.
She crawled onto the bed, on her knees. “Always.”
She straddled his legs and took his penis in her hand, slowly stroking it.
It took mere seconds for him to become fully aroused. Her face neared it, and
she didn’t take him into her mouth, but merely kissed it. Devin was satisfied
with this. She was too good to perform oral sex on him. Too beautiful a
creature. But given the opportunity, he would perform oral copulation on her.
It wasn’t in her plans, though, as she crawled up to straddle him, his member
pressed firmly against her pelvis as she ran her fingers up and down the top-
side of his shaft, pressing him hard against her.
His breathing was heavy, and he began to worry about ruining this
moment. He was terrified that he would ejaculate too quickly.
“Trinity, I…” he began, but she gently hushed him, placing a finger
against his lips. She reached down between her legs and gently rubbed
herself, before bringing the same finger back to his lips and placing it in his
mouth. He closed his lips around it, tasting her, gently sucking as she slowly
withdrew it.
 She raised her hips, moving directly above his penis, and slowly lowered
herself onto him. As he became buried within her, he couldn’t close his eyes,
as he expected he would. He couldn’t take his eyes off her beauty. Their eyes
locked, and he could see her love for him. He could feel it.
He cupped her breasts in his hands, and she placed her hands onto his,
squeezing, urging him to gently squeeze her. Then, she leaned forward and
began to kiss him as her hips began to sway, her vagina slowly rising and
falling over his manhood. Her breath was musty, almost like dust. It was
death, but he didn’t find it sickly or offensive. It was somehow beautiful.
But his fears were becoming realized. He felt his testicles straining, and
he knew his orgasm was imminent.
“Trinity… I don’t want this to end… I’m about to… I’m gonna…”
She must’ve known what he was getting at, and she took him out of her,
to once again let him rest on her pelvis.
“It’s ok, my love,” she said tenderly.
She reached into her ribcage through the split flesh that was there and
grabbed hold of one of her ribs. There was a snapping sound as a piece of her
rib broke free. She took it in both hands and the rib snapped again as she
twisted it, and a piece of it became splintered away. She discarded the larger
piece and held up the piece that remained. It was a bit larger at the top, and
tapered down to a sharp, fine point, which she rubbed against his urethra.
Devin swallowed hard, knowing what she was about to do.
She inserted the tip of the sliver of bone into his penis, and he groaned
as she pushed it further into his urethra, until only the larger end of the bone
was ever so slightly protruding. A tingling pain shot through him, but it
wasn’t enough to make him become flaccid. He breathed heavily for several
seconds with his eyes squeezed shut, grunting through clenched teeth.
“It’s ok, Devin. Just focus on me. Look at me,” her breathy voice
implored.
He opened his eyes, and again fixed them on hers. Then, she lowered
herself back onto him and resumed her rhythmic rocking, up and down, back
and forth. He slid his hands down from her breasts, against her stomach, over
her wounds, and found their place upon her hips.
They shared their efforts. He moved her with her hip bones as leverage,
and she took over with her own rhythm, and they took turns like this, kissing
and caressing each other.
 *
It took thirty minutes for a squad car to arrive, the officer hiking up his
gun- belt as he got out. He took out his notebook and casually walked over to
where Frankie stood beside the house.
“Good evening, sir. Officer Timmons. What can I do for you?”
Timmons said, as though this was an everyday occurrence.
“The operator didn’t tell you?”
Timmons lowered his notebook, looking insulted. “No. The operator…
dispatch… didn’t tell me. So… do you want to tell me?
Frankie didn’t appreciate his tone.
“Well, yeah! There are two dead bodies and a lot of blood in there,”
Frankie said, pointing a thumb at Devin’s house.
Timmons looked at him for a moment, dumbfounded, and then looked at
the house. Frankie watched as Timmons slowly walked toward the window
and peered between the separation in the curtains. Then, he slowly took
several steps back and keyed up his hand mike.
“Unit 242 to station one, requesting immediate assistance. This is a code
3 situation. I have at least two parties, possible 10-7. Repeat, two possible 10-
7’s. I need additional units out here now.”
Then, he looked at Frankie. “Hole- lee … sheeit! Son, how long have
you been standing here?”
“I’ve been waiting for like half an hour for you, dipshit,” Frankie said,
in rare form.
Timmons stared at him for several seconds and licked his lips.
“Alright. Listen, do you know who the perpetrator is? Did you see him
performing these acts?”
“I didn’t see him do anything, sir, but Mr. Tusow lives here. Devin
Tusow. He runs In God’s Arms Funeral Home. He’s been acting really
strange lately, and-“
“Well, I gotta wait for backup, son!” Timmons interrupted. “I don’t
know if he’s still armed in there, if there are more bodies, hostages… hold
fuck,” he continued, and wiped his growing perspiration off his forehead with
the back of his hand. He put his notebook in his back pocket and withdrew
his gun, holding it pointed downward with both hands.
“I think he abducted that Vickie girl on the news. She was in the funeral
home recently, and then she went missing. I think that might be her all strung
up like that,” Frankie said, calmer than the officer.
“Yeah. Yeah,” was all that Timmons managed.
Frankie regarded him as he stared at the house.
“You’re not going in?”
“Son, like I said, I need backup.”
“But what if he comes back? What if he comes back, and she’s still alive
and he kills her? Or comes out and kills us?”
“He won’t be killing me, son. Or you. I’ll unload this entire clip into him
if I have to. And if he comes back and so much as look like he’s going to
touch that… that… person, corpse, whatever the hell it is, I’ll do the same.
But for right now, we stay put. Listen, no matter what happens, you stay out
here. Do not follow us in, got it?”
Frankie nodded, although he knew that he wouldn’t be following the
directions. He had to know. He had to see.
*
Devin turned his head from side to side, squeezing Trinity’s hips with a
strong grip. Several times, he’d felt his orgasm reaching its boiling point, and
several times he’d felt it dissipate. It was becoming painful, and he couldn’t
help but to notice Trinity’s smile. It wasn’t sinister, but it was as though she
was happy for what she was about to do.
She threw her head back as she grinded hard against him, rocking back
and forth, making slight whimpering sounds. Devin reached behind her and
grabbed her buttocks. They clenched hard. Finally, the rocking slowed, her
legs squeezed him tightly, and she exhaled, her body falling limply against
his as she gasped for breath.
After several moments of heavy breathing, she put her hands on his
chest and once again sat upright.
“Are you ready, my sweet lover?”
Devin looked at her with labored breathing. “I don’t want it to end.”
“It doesn’t have to. We can be together forever. But for now, you
deserve a reward. You’ve been such a good lover.”
She raised herself so that just the tip of him was inside of her, then came
crashing down. His hands were still on her ass, and he felt it ripple. She did it
again. And again. He could feel his orgasm rising. She started grinding,
pushing so that he penetrated her as deeply as his length would allow.
“Come on, baby,” she whispered. “Come for me.”
 Devin grunted and began to moan. She pulled him out of her so that his
penis rested in the crevice between her buttocks, and grabbed hold of the top
of the bone. As she withdrew it, the painful tingling sensation returned, and
unexpectedly added to the stimulation he was desperately feeling. As soon as
the bone was completely free, a strong jet of crimson- laced semen shot from
his penis, splashing her back and dripping down it. She quickly slid him back
inside of her and resumed her stride. Devin felt himself ejaculate several
more times, and even when he didn’t feel it anymore, he continued to push
her hard against him by her ass, moaning and grunting, until his whole body
relaxed in an instant as she once against fell forward onto him. There, he
wrapped his arms around her, as she kissed his mouth, cheek, neck and chest,
and gently rubbed his side with one hand.
She rested her head on his chest as he felt his deflating penis slide out of
her. He sensed that she was about to speak.
“Trinity? What is it?” He said.
He felt a tear drop from her eye onto his chest. He grabbed her shoulders
and gently raised her up, just enough to look into her eyes. “What is it?” he
whispered.
“Devin… I don’t want this to end.”
“Neither do I, sweetie. I love you. I don’t want this to end either.” Now
he too felt tears begin to well up. Even before they had a chance to fall, she
rubbed his eyes with her thumbs.
“It doesn’t have to, but what you’ll have to do… it’s just… it’s awful.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, although he secretly had an idea of what
she was getting at.
“Devin, there is an afterlife. The atheists are wrong. It may not be what
Christians and holy men believe, but it exists. People like me… we’re only
visiting. We’re only escapees who hadn’t had enough of life yet. We left this
life too early. So we were granted a limited return, but there was still free
will. Some used it unwisely. Others, like me, we had a more important
purpose. You came back to me, my dear. And so, I came back for you. But
the only way we can remain together is… is…” she began to weep.
“Is for me to follow you back to the afterlife,” he finished for her.
She gave the slightest of nods, biting her lower lip. He ran his fingers
through her hair.
“Trinity… I’d follow you to the edge of the galaxy and beyond. I let you
slip away from me once. I won’t let that ever happen again. I’m unhappy
without you. You make me happy. Only you. I’m not meant to be here.
He looked around the room until his eyes met the whisky bottle. He
grabbed it without hesitation and drained the remaining contents. Then, he
smashed it against his nightstand, showering him with broken glass. He
observed the half of the bottle that remained, its edges jagged. He looked at
Trinity and smiled. She smiled back with tears of joy running down her face.
*
Frankie stared at the house when he heard the glass break. Then, looked
at Timmons and saw that his mouth was agape just like his own as they heard
the screaming, obviously through clenched teeth, followed by gurgling.
“Aw, fuck,” said Timmons, and he ran to the door and broke it open
with one stomp of his foot. As he ran inside, he slipped on blood and fell to
the ground, causing his gun to go off. Frankie immediately put his hands to
his ears. They were ringing so badly that he couldn’t hear anything else.
Timmons got to his feet and shouted something at him, pointing outside, but
Frankie was already in the doorway, and couldn’t hear what he was saying.
He supposed he was being ordered away from the house, but as Timmons got
to his feet and proceeded into the house, Frankie knew he couldn’t obey the
order. He couldn’t just leave. Not now.
He followed Timmons as he maneuvered through the house, pointing his
gun this way and that.
And was horrified at what he saw.
The victim he’d seen through the window was far worse off than what
he’d initially observed. She was obviously female, her anus and groin
combined into one. The breasts were missing, as were her face, scalp and
eyelids. She’d been entirely eviscerated, body cavity, arms and legs splayed
open… and he could observe no more.
He followed Timmons further into the house and saw splattered blood
and streaks on a wall leading down to a mangled half of a head, the spinal
cord still attached. Half way across the room there was a jaw, and a few feet
from that, a lump of mush, presumably the human remains of a head, reduced
to nothing more than skull fragments, pieces of what one could only guess
were brains, and hair.
There was blood strewn all over the house, soaked in the carpets and
smeared on the walls. Knives were thrown about here and there, covered in
blood. Frankie covered his ears and wept, partially because of the trauma of
what he was seeing, partially because all he could hear was the painful
ringing in his ears.
He looked up and saw Timmons rushing down the hallway. He followed
him to find him aiming his gun into the bathroom, and then turn to face the
bedroom. He holstered his gun and rushed into the room. Frankie followed.
There, laying in his bed, was Mr. Tusow, the jagged end of a broken
bottle being thrust into his own neck over and over again by his own free
will. A corpse was laying lifeless on top of him. His penis was flaccid below
the corpse’s crotch, covered in blood, semen, and god only knew what other
fluids leaking out of the corpse’s vagina. Timmons was at Mr. Tusow’s side
without gloves on. He yanked the broken bottle from Mr. Tusow’s grasp, and
threw it on the ground beside the bed, and began squeezing Mr. Tusow’s
bloody neck, blood gushing from underneath Timmons’ hand and between
his fingers. With his other hand, he appeared to be screaming into his hand-
mic, although the ringing in Frankie’s ears persisted. He ran to the other side
of Mr. Tusow and held his hand.
Mr. Tusow looked at Frankie with a smile on his face. He was mouthing
words to him that he could not hear. Then, Mr. Tusow looked upward, his
face turning pale, veins in his neck bulging, emitting more blood. Mr. Tusow
convulsed a couple of times before resting his head back on the pillow, his
eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling.
Timmons motioned for Frankie to perform CPR while he kept pressure
on his neck. Frankie obliged, but with each pump of his chest, more blood
gushed from his neck. Timmons couldn’t seem to prevent the flow. Frankie
saw red and blue lights from outside, and soon, more police and paramedics
rushed into the room and moved him out of the way.
Frankie caught a glimpse of the corpse’s face. It had a grayish- blue hue
to it, but there was no doubt: it was Trinity.
He slowly backed away in disbelief, shaking his head. He would never be
able to get over this, he knew. He was scarred forever. He no longer felt like
a young man. He felt cold and hardened. This was the end of a friendship.
The end of a respect he held dear. This was the end of everything he’d come
to know. This was the end.
 CHAPTER 11
Frankie was being more delicate than normal as he applied makeup to
the cadaver. He’d already glued the eyes shut. He never liked the dead
looking at him, but these were especially important circumstances. He
wondered if Mr. Tusow had ever felt the same way, or if he didn’t mind, or
perhaps even thrived on it.
It had been two years since Mr. Tusow’s demise, and it still hit hard. He
felt fortunate and honored that Mr. Tusow had left the funeral home to
Frankie in his will. He supposed it meant that Mr. Tusow trusted him, and
that meant the world to him. Mr. Tusow had led a bizarre, secret life, but
Frankie took comfort in knowing that he cared enough for him to leave his
prized possession- his funeral home- to him, and since the will had been
written weeks before he’d died, it seemed he always had.
Frankie’s mother had trusted him too. She’d specifically requested that
he be the one to take care of her remains. It was both cruel and loving at the
same time. Now, as he prepared her for her final viewing by her loved ones,
he felt strange and crushed that he’d seen her before being ‘done up’ by him,
and he tried to make everything as perfect as possible. But the stitching of her
mouth, the gluing of her eyes, the plugging of her rectum and vagina, and the
transference from blood to formaldehyde… it was taking a large toll on him.
His father offered to help, despite having no mortuary experience, but
no. This was a very personal process. It was his last chance to spend time
alone with his mother, deceased or not, and he was doing his best to
accommodate her wishes, and to do it well.
He turned around to retrieve more blush, and heard a moan. He closed
his eyes. The dead sometimes did that, as air escaped their bodies. But he
wondered if that was the last he’d ever hear of her voice.
But it wasn’t.
“Cover me up, honey. This isn’t right,” his mother said. Frankie dropped
the blush, causing its plastic case to break into two parts as it hit the ground.
He slowly turned around. There lay his mother, her head turned to face
him, clear crust around her eyelids as she’d forced her eyes open despite the
glue.
“Come here, baby,” she said lovingly.
 Frankie slowly, apprehensively began to walk over to her.
“It’s ok, Frankie. Mommy loves you. I had to hold my baby one last
time. Come to me, my son.”
Frankie began to weep. “Mom?”
“Yes, dear. I’m here. Come.”
Frankie’s pace quickened, and he rushed to be in her arms. He leaned
over the table and covered her naked body with a sheet. Then, he leaned over
and hugged her tightly. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him
back.
“Just this one last time, and then I have to go, sweetie. Mommy loves
you, and always will.”
“I love you too, mama,” Frankie said between sobs. “I don’t know what
I’m going to do without you.”
“You’re going to live your life, my son. You’re going to live your life as
a good person; the loving, tender person you are. I’ll always be in your heart,
and you’ll always be in my soul. Once I’m in the ground, you’ll never see me
again, except in your dreams, and when you look to the stars and in your
proud moments. I’ll always be here. I’ll always love you.”

THE END
 Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11