Mrs. Beasley's guests have been disappearing. It has come to the day that I am the last of guests. I have my suspicions. Her helper around the house, a large burly man, has been carrying a trunk down to the basement and in the house again.
I was curious. I headed back down the basement. I saw the wall to the hidden room was open. Mrs. Beasley's helper was with her Father's masterful sculptures. He had the trunk open and was extracting various body parts from that moldy velvety box. I knew his intention right then. He was the one carrying on the legacy of Mrs. Beasley's Father.
I saw my chance when a hacksaw and a hammer appeared beside the man.
When I was done with Mrs. Beasley's helper, I headed to my room to clean the blood from my hands and clothes. Mrs. Beasley stopped at my room. She saw the blood and smiled at me. She took hold of my shirt, pushed me against the wall, kissed me hard. I moved my hand to her left breast, squeezed. I moved my hand over to her right breast, gave it a squeeze.
It felt strange.
Nothing was there. No soft pillow to lay my head upon. Her night dress fell to her feet revealing her naked body to God and me. At first I was horrified. Then aroused.
It seems her Father not only experimented with the dead for his sculptures, but also the living. The right side of her was man's chest. And in the between her her legs was not only her womb, but a dried up dead penis.
“Take me as I am,” Mrs. Beasley said.
I did. And another chapter in my life has begun.