Memento Mori

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I immediately contacted Memento Mori to tell her the good news.

"I'm thinking about killing a cemetery historian," she bluntly typed.


"Tombs with recently deceased children have been desecrated. I'm pretty sure he's responsible."


"I followed him to his bungalow. What I found was disgusting. He had life-size doll figures throughout his home. They wore thrift store clothes and faces made of papier-mâché. The faces were decorated with lipstick and rouge. When I moved one of the dolls-"

"Wait. What? You went inside?" I asked.

"I had to make sure my suspicion was correct. I moved one of the dolls and faint music began to play. Underneath it's fluorescent pink sweater was an embalmed body. A music box was wedged inside the body's chest."

I was bewildered.

"I removed the mask. Dried Gardenia and Jasmine was stuffed in the corpse's mouth. There were at least a dozen dolls. Some were sitting on the furniture, positioned to look relaxed. Some were just thrown on the floor, like he wasn't done playing with them."

"How are you going to kill him?" I asked.

"I'm going to drain all of his blood. I'm going to drain him, and then I'm going to stuff his corpse with dirty rags. After that, I'll wrap nylon tights around his face and stuff buttons into his eye sockets."

Memento Mori.
She was my psychopath.

"So, what's new with you?" She asked.

I explained my possible employment opportunity with Fantastical! Family Amusement Center.
"Doing what?" She asked.
I explained the idea of an anthropomorphic piece of candy on a stick.
"Eat the hard candy and forcefully jab the naked stick into Mr. Exterminator's eye. It won't kill him, but it will discompose him for a brief wink, allowing you to sever his vitals with a d-shaped trench knife," she imagined. "It's not a super-duper way to do it, but it's the first thing that came to my mind."
Unbelievable. Two great minds think alike.
My eyeballs widened and my mouth lurked to a bent, sly grin. We're beyond the five common senses now.

As I began to explain our alikeness, I heard a heavy wheezing noise. Trailing the distressing sound, I heard a loud thump. Followed by another. And another. The thumps were continual for only a few seconds. I blinked once. Twice. Three times.

Müttley Crü was dead.

Müttley choked on his food while descending the stairs. The fight for breath and disorientation caused his plunging descent to the basement.
Müttley's head was twisted the way a liquorice rope braids. His tongue dangled from his chops, smeared with slobber and blood.

Stupid dog.
Mom was questioning the rambunctious noise. I assumed she thought it was me having one of my tantrums. She hurried to the staircase and started screeching. She saw Müttley Crü, the actual cause of the racket. She hurried down the stairs. Dad followed right behind her. Both of my parents stared at Müttley. They became unglued. Broken. Crushed. Overwhelmed.

"Are you still there?" Memento Mori asked me.

Memento Mori.
Remember you will die.

Mom and dad's grief and heartbreak made me out of sorts. I couldn't concentrate.

Mom was crying. Dad was hopeful. He looked for a sign of life.
"Are you okay, boy?" Dad asked the breathless, stiffened animal.
"Of course he's not. He's dead! Dead you fucking idiot!" I loudly uttered.
Mom was crying.
Dad sprung up from his kneeled posture.
He stood upright for a moment, with his right hand pressed against his face. His head was swaying from side to side. He cancelled the repetitious motion, and slid his face from beneath his palm. His eyes focused on me, like a helicopter's searchlight locating a criminal. He looked at me with such disgrace.
It's worse to disappoint someone than to make the person angry.
I just accomplished both.
Dad eyeballed me for a meager second, snarled and gnashed his teeth. And out of nowhere, darted my direction.
"YOU SIMPLE-MINDED, SADDENING PIECE OF SHIT!" He shouted. His fist struck my face. It swung back and forth, ear to ear. "YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE FUCK!"

My phone chimed. Memento Mori gave me her phone number, wanting me to call her. Thoughtlessly, dad grabbed my phone and threw it across the room.
"No! You limpdick asshole!" I screamed.

He pummeled me again. My mouth was full of blood. Mom was crying, begging my father to stop. I could feel my eyeballs drill into their sockets.
"IF ONLY YOU KNEW WHAT YOUR MOTHER AND I...," and he stopped. He paused all motion then collapsed to his knees.
Dad was crying.
His whimpering was thunder-like, and much more uproaring than moms'.

I recovered my phone. The touch screen was cracked, but still usable. I told Memento Mori I'll talk to her at midnight.

Dad was crying.
Mom was crying.
Müttley Crü was dead.

I looked to my parents with regret.

I slowly hobbled to my room.
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