Tim’s Macabre Mission

In an odd sort of way, it felt really good to be back in the saddle again, and Tim hummed as he went about his work, alternating his methods only slightly. As strange as it might seem to most of the population, the former mortician had always enjoyed his work. The dead were far more amiable than the living, as it turned out.

He used a hairdryer to dry out the lips so that they could be glued. The eyes were a bit trickier, jelly-filled things that they were. He had no dome caps to set on them, rounding out the contours to perfection, so he had to settle for an overall profile that was less than ideal, but made it work nonetheless. He thought about actually stitching the insides of the fingers together, rather than simply gluing them, but it was far messier and much more time consuming, so he elected to sacrifice the stitching in favor of a more expedient solution, and uncapped his glue once more.

Brushing the hair to a sheen, he applied hairspray to keep it perfectly in place, then set about putting on makeup. Usually for a gentleman, he’d apply a natural-looking overall tint, sculpt some planes and shadows after the fact, and top it off with the slightest tinge of rouge, for an ironically healthful glow. Tim loved irony, particularly when the carriers of it were the somnolent faces of the dead. This one, however was special, and got the full treatment, complete with bright blue eyeshadow and lipstick, a mockery of his unwarranted machismo. He had to chuckle to himself when he surveyed the final masterpiece.

“Who’s the beauty now?” he practically giggled with glee.

Shouldering the heavy mound of flesh, taking particular care not to disturb his aesthetic work, he dumped the unfortunate sap into the back seat of his non-descript economy car and headed for the docks. The night was warm, but a lovely breeze wafted through the car, and Tim was content. Arriving at his destination, he found two large, tough-looking young men who seemed to be of dubious character, and had a conversation with them, entirely unaware that his every move was being watched. A large sum of money transferred from the former mortician to the meaty palms of the misguided youths, and they came over to claim his prize from the backseat. Taking care to vacuum the backseat with a mini-vac, which he then emptied into the water, he completed his goal, and turned toward home, whistling a happy tune.

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