Necrophilia: Obsession with and usually erotic interest in or stimulation by corpses.

We would dig the corpses up, rinse them down in the bed of Cletus’s Ford, then set about removing the boring fat bodied worms.

We would brush their hair and spray them down with disinfectant, making sure to replace any rotting cavities among the flesh with silly putty; it had a shiny quality but worked well enough to distort the lines between the dead and the living.

We would replace the eyes with glass ones and then we’d prop them up in our establishment. Each girl got their own room with its own theme. They were like beautiful dolls by the time we were done with them.

We would take the pay from the strange men that would show up at our counter and everything was filmed in case one of these guys had the idea that they should report us to the authorities. If they stepped foot into our establishment without doing the dirty, we’d roll their corpses into the girls’ old dirt homes and dismantle their vehicles, selling the parts to the unscrupulous junkyard down the way.

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We would clean the girls after each visit. That was normally Cletus’s job, but I caught him using one of the dolls on the video feed. I had to start watching him on the cameras to make sure he wouldn’t fuck with our business. You don’t dip into your supply Cletus, goddammit!

We received all sorts of callers for the girls: businessmen, pastors, widowers. All sorts. One time, a patron tried to take one of the girl’s fingers as a keepsake. We took one of his and he behaved from there on.

We devised a pully system in the attic so that we could treat the dolls more like marionettes. This way we could not only charge for the entry fee, but if they wanted an erratic disjointed dance before the sexy time, they could pay extra for that too. Business was booming, but I still had to keep an eye on Cletus. That stupid bastard would fondle them when I wasn’t looking or worse yet, he’d try to plug them. Ugh.

I watched the video feed one night when he was supposed to be cleaning the room with the theme, “One Night in Paris”. Can you guess what that doll’s name was? He began dancing with the fucking girl, pulling her in close around the waist. He didn’t even notice when the door opened, and the other girls entered. Paris shoved him onto the chair and the girls held him down as she ran his pocketknife across his throat. I almost lost my lunch watching the decaying bodies kill him like that. In the end, I think he got what he deserved.

I put him in the ground and forgot it.

I dig the bodies up, rinse them down in the bed of my Chevy and set about removing the boring fat bodied worms.