The Dead Body Man

Authors note: you can probably tell from the title but this is a short story heavily inspired by the Insane Clown Posse song Dead Body Man, if you've never heard the song but you're into that kind of music I recommend giving it a listen! If you've already heard the song or are a fan of Insane Clown Posse I hope you enjoy this story.

Quick disclaimer/trigger warning: frequent references to/mentions of death throughout and some brief descriptions of violence or gore throughout.
And with that, enjoy.

They call me the dead body man. My actual name is Tommy Rogers, I'm a 29 year old man and I live and work in a small town in the suburbs. Around here, I'm known as the dead body man, everybody knows who I am. The little kids love me and the parents have a morbid curiosity about me.

Sometimes the kids stand outside and smile and wave at me when I'm driving through, their parents often lock their doors or peak out from behind their curtains when I'm passing by. People love to try and get a look at the foretold dead body man, I'm like a local celebrity in a way. It's common to see newcomers who won't believe it until they see it. The twisted grimace of shock and horror on their faces as they see me for the first time is...honestly, pretty amusing to me.

I'm a fairly average guy, average name, average life, average house, I even look pretty average if you can believe it. Everything about me is just about what you'd expect, nothing too special about me. Well, apart from my job.

So, we all know about morticians and funeral directors and grave diggers, etc. The underdogs of our society. We all have our own ideas and beliefs about what happens when we die and we all have our own ways of giving our deceased loved ones a final send off, the most common being in the form of funerals. But what happens to those who's families can't afford to give them a funeral, those without families, or just those who's families don't want to give them a funeral? Well, that's where I come in.

When families have a deceased loved one they need 'taking care of' they call me. They usually just leave the body outside and I'll come collect it as they watch me, silently judging, from their windows. Everything about me absolutely reeks. My clothes, my hair, skin, my house and especially my van. It all absolutely hums with the smell of death. People don't often approach me anyway, but I seriously can't deny that the smell makes it so so much worse. They cough and gag and scream and sometimes their eyes water, even those brave enough to stand the stench don't stay long. It's impossible to ignore, it hangs and lingers in the air like a thick cloud of smoke. And even then, I find comfort in it. This is normal to me, I'm used to it.

Nobody really knows what I do with the dead bodies after I collect them, I'm sure they have some pretty sick and twisted thoughts and ideas. But the truth is, nothing. I don't do anything with the bodies, I just find comfort in their company. I'm not a pervert, I'm not sick, it's not a fetish, I'm just a dead body man.

If you've never tried hanging out with dead bodies I'd recommend it honestly, especially if you like your peace. As long as you can handle the putrid smell, the grim sight of them gradually decaying and the reputation that comes with such an occupation it's all good. I'd even go as far as to say they're better than the alive ones! Dead bodies don't talk back, they won't fight or argue with you, they're always available when you wanna hang out and they'll never leave or betray you. The only real con is that conversations can get pretty stale and they can never really think of anything to do. But then again, they're dead, so...maybe lower your expectations a few?

As long as I can remember I've had a fascination with death, even as a kid I'd look for roadkill at the side of the road and take it home with me. It was comforting in a way, I was always the 'weird kid' and never really had any friends, so, I decided if I couldn't make friends with the living, I'd turn to the dead. I mean, it's not like they can object or leave. Obviously though, bodies do rot and and so once the skin has melted off of their faded, frail figures and the maggots and bugs have picked the bones clean, I collect those too. I have boxes upon boxes full of human bones in my house, I'm not sure if I'll ever do anything with them but I like to collect them.

Even though I'm constantly collecting different bodies there is a select few I constantly keep with me while I'm doing my rounds. There's Daniel, a 42 year old trucker who died suddenly in his sleep of a suspected heart attack about 3 weeks ago, he was recently divorced and had no other family. His ex-wife made the call for me to come get him. Then there's Rosa, a 30 year old police officer shot on the job, her family loved her dearly but couldn't afford a funeral for her, it broke their hearts watching me load her into the back of my van and drive away.

And then...there's Emily. My dearest, dearest Emily. I'm so sorry.

My own flesh and blood, she was only 12 years old when the break in happened. Her face was now yellow and deathly pale, her once bright blue glossy eyes filled with joy and laughter were now cloudy and lifeless. They were watery and bloodshot and seemed like they'd burst out of the sockets any day now. Her beautiful, shiny, golden blonde hair was now thin and greasy and dull, large chunks regularly fell out as the maggots crawled and writhed on her exposed brain at the back of her head, gradually eating away at my beautiful little girl. The kitchen knife they'd killed her with was still sticking out of her chest. Her body was so delicate and small, I was foolish to think she'd ever survive.

Those sick bastards. They took everything from me. It's okay Emily, baby, daddy's gonna avenge you okay? That's a promise. One day. One day I will find the people responsible for this and I will take from them what they have taken from me. Until that day comes though life carries on as normal, well, as normal as life can be with a job like mine.

After all, at the end of the day. I am the dead body man.