The Doll Collector

Chapter 4: The Doll Collector

The only way to keep a woman faithful, was so to keep her in a safe place. My ladies were always in a safe place, and always waiting for me. When I first bought my house, I decided the spare bedroom would be reserved for a child, should I ever get married. However, as I grew older and more sophisticated, I decided that children were nothing more than leeches that fed off of you for eighteen years and in most cases, didn't leave the house until they were thirty. I certainly couldn't have that. In addition, the lack of female visitors passing through, made me realize that I was not going to get married soon. So, I gave the room to my ladies. They needed a place to sit pretty. They were away from the sun and were dusted every single day. Having them was better than having children or a wife, as they were genuine treasures.

It had been a few days since I'd left my young siren in the freezer. The police had decided that now would be a great time to report all of my ladies as missing persons. I chuckled at Detective DeWitt's appeal to the public. They couldn't help him. I'd been smart in my choices. None of these women would be missed. They were forgotten by society, so easily replaceable. How did he expect them to be identified by their clothes? Did clothing stores only sell one unique piece of clothing to one person? For a detective who had been on the force for quite some time, he really was stupid. I had been meticulous enough to soak the clothes in bleach to remove all DNA. I did not make mistakes. They would not find me, or my ladies.

If anything, it was an inconvenience. Nevertheless, that minor irritation would not keep me from my young lady. When I was sure that the police presence had thinned in the woods, I made a nighttime trek back to my cabin. There in the freezer was my girl. I stroked her cold body, dragging her near the burning fireplace. She would have to thaw so I could skin and salt her.

I waited for two hours until the ice had melted off her body and formed a cool puddle underneath her. In the meantime, I had prepared her mold. It was curved and supple just like her. Her skin would sit on it so smoothly. It made me quiver at the thought. When she was free of moisture, I set her on my table, cutting a seam through her belly, being careful not to accidentally puncture any organs or a cavity. It would ruin her delicate skin. The blade of my knife ran evenly as I loosened the skin and peeled it back. My process always reminded me of removing a jacket and a pair of trousers. The next move required a lot of meticulous precision. I picked up a sharper knife, removing as much flesh and fat as possible without ripping the skin. My favorite part was yet to come. You had to have a strong stomach to pick out the flesh from the hands and feet.

A bucket of iodized salt sat under my workstation. I laid out her skin face down to expose the inner flesh-side to me. With a handful of salt, I rubbed down the hide, leaving behind an inch-thick layer of salt. It had to sit there for a full 24 hours before I could repeat the process. I was terribly impatient and dreaded this step, but the thought of my beautiful creation-to-be kept me calm. I sprinkled borax in her hands and feet to soak up the moisture of the flesh I'd been unable to scrape out. When the second layer was done and dried, I hydrated the skin with water, a capful of Lysol and table salt. That was an overnight process that generally had me sleeping beside the tub the skin was soaking in. I rinsed it off several times until I was sure the salt mixture was removed, then hung up the skin to dry, drying it with a towel once it had stopped dripping.

I heated up a bottle of tanning oil, rubbing it on the skin. The smooth texture sent shivers down my spine. So much so, that it inclined me to sit for several hours watching her skin dry. Then, I rolled her up in a plastic bag, setting it in the refrigerator until I was ready to mount her onto my mold. I ran a piece of sandpaper over my mold one last time, then retrieved my prepared skin. After many years of practicing on animals, moving onto women was just like moving onto a different animal. Her skin fit perfectly on my mold. I stuffed pieces of twine and newspaper to create muscle definition and fix any tiny imperfections that came up. With a skin toned thread, I sewed her together with a seemingly invisible stitch. The final step was to slide in the glass eyes, and once those were in, she was perfect.