The notes that you read are ones that may shock you. My tale is true and yet I myself find it hard to believe. It all happened during my first graveyard shift. I had been failing at every opportunity given to me, the only one I could seem to do well was ding graves by candle light. A job that I utterly despised but it helped me get through the weeks of hunger pains. To clarify the job gave me money to buy food, I didn’t eat the dead bodies. I was warned of the temptation, apparently the grave digger before me had a taste of young girls who were freshly decomposing. The idea of human cannibalism at that time was something I could conceive of nothing greater. How I was mistaken.
During the darkness around midnight, I saw a figure. The bastard was digging where I had just finished filling in hours before. Instead of running over and decapitating him with my shovel I watched him. He was searching for something. A grave robber I thought at first and how I laughed the son of a whoremonger would never find anything valuable unless he searched my pockets. To my dismay he was not looking for any type of valuable item from the carcasses, instead he had a hatchet. Another fucking cannibal I thought, oh how that would have been a dream. He was not there for eating he was there for parts.
Parts for what are probably your thoughts, as so were mine. The man was looking to create. At that moment I could not figure out what, but I knew that it was for something ungodly. He lifted his hatchet and drove it into the armpit of soldier that had caught a bullet between the eyes. The first hit only entered the flesh. The muscles were dead and cold but still strong and the coagulated blood made the blade stick and hard to pull out.
I watched in horror as he put the parts into a sack, talking to himself along the way saying things like I will show God that he is not the only one who can create life, and He cannot choose who I will love. To me these ramblings were nothing more than a madman lost to the hand of Satan. What I saw next drove me into a world of horror and disbelief. He pulled a head out of his sack of human parts and looked at it. He had his hand up inside of the neck. The man moved his fingers through the decapitated’s hair, tilted the face and kissed it on the lips.
The haunting realization hit my stomach like a bullet to the gut. This man was creating a creature to be his beloved. How one could think that such and act would not open the gates to hell was sadly mistaken. I became disgusted but I had to keep watching. It was like a public execution that I could not move my eyes from. The man whispered into the ear of rotted head, things that I could only imagine to be sweet nothings and started to leave the grave yard.
I followed the man that night and wished I had not. His travels took me behind the homes of those who were a little more well off than I. What came next really wasn’t something that I was expecting. His home was not broken down. His windows did not have broken glass and the paint was not peeling off the sides of the very high walls. Why? I asked myself. Why would a man of such a high stature go around digging up corpses? These questions were answered of the nights of following him after long shifts at the grave yard.
Each night he would bring his sack and his hatchet, taking parts for his creation. At first I thought that maybe he was only collecting parts that would complete one human being but no rather I believe he was searching. Yes searching for specific parts. His process was like that of a cook looking for the best produce at the grocery store. If something was to bruised or over ripened he would go to the next. This man was a little different in terms of what he would take. If he thought the part looked like something he could use he took it. If the part was not to his liking he would return it the next night.
This trend continued for weeks, why I couldn’t bring myself to let some authority know about it I’ll never understand. Had I done this I may have saved myself the endless nightmares that I had suffered since the day I first saw the man kiss the decapitated head. By some unrealized force of nature I watched this mad man work at his craft. It was strange how easily I let the idea of grave digging and necrolove become a daily desensitized cinema. It had become something that I looked forward to watching. Fuck if it wasn’t for the strange actions of the man I would have probably lost my mind working with dead bodies. Something about having another live body around made me feel safe. How unbelievably naïve that thought was.
My curiosity began to grow, I wasn’t satisfied enough to just watch him dig up the bodies and bring them to his home anymore. No rather I wanted so see what he was doing with the human remains. My speculations were correct. I found a tree that over looked his work quarters. In the room he had a steel slab attached to wires and coils. The room was something out of science fiction. I watched him work all night. He took large stitches and worked them together to connect body parts. Every now and then he would come to place where the parts would not connect in a correct manor. In these cases he would try to cut the materials into fitting parts. It was like making a puzzle piece fit into when it didn’t belong. These trials would lead to endless mess and frustration. At points the man would get so irritated that he would rip the freshly sewn corpse part from the stump he had forced it to connect to. Who was this man, a scientist, a doctor, voodoo god? I had to know.
I spent all night in that tree and waited for him to leave for the day. He never left. He would spend all day curled up in the arms of his creation. They were cold and decaying but he found a sense of solitude form them. Nothing about the day I spent in that tree could tell me anything about the man that I had come to see as a distant friend. That was until a knock came from the other side of his creation quarters door. It was a woman who knocked on the man’s door. She called him Victor. The woman was like nothing to him. He told her to leave and when she insisted on seeing him she would become angry and violent. Though she could not see him I could see the anger and hatred he felt for her. He would cut his own body to release it, the blood from his cuts he put on the lips of his creation and let it flow into his mouth. As I watched this his eyes caught a hold of me. Where his eyes met were not my eyes but rather my lively hood.
I was disgusted in myself, how could I let something so ungodly make my sexual fantasies run wild. I jumped from the tree and began to run. I ran all the way to the squalor of my home. I decided the best actions would be to hide my notes and wait until the morning to show them to the town constable. If I had been able to these last notes would not have been written. I’m slowly starting to black out from pain.
A horrible thing happened when I found my way home. Victor found me and he brought some things with him, a sack in one hand and a tool for castration. I write these last words bleeding out in a closet in Victors working quarters. He told me as he ripped my genitals from me that he only needed on last piece and that mine should do just nicely. Along with that he cut of my eye lids and forced me to watch as he tested out the last part of his creature. In a sick way the idea of being dismembered and raped sent shivers down my spine…. The pen slips in to scribbles after the last line.