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“Oh, somewhere deep inside these bones, an emptiness began to grow.” Jack Skellington
My being with women whose souls have left this earth is not only a large part of who I am, but it’s also my only source of affection.
“You are many things to me. A daughter, a lover—but you’re also a symbol and a reminder. My pumpkin’s name was Sarah, and she loved dolls… Rag dolls specifically.”
“Will you bring me down here? When I die, I mean?”
Breaking our kiss, I whisper through heavy breathing, “I don’t want you cold.” She blinks a few times, stuttered puffs of air coming from her lips. I’d never noticed the pretty, light freckles sprinkled across her nose before. Panic constricts my chest as I finish my confession. “I want you just like this.”
“I’ve wanted you for years, John. Not Skeleton King, not who everyone thinks you are. You.”
“You’re perfect to me. You always have been.”
I am Skeleton King. Gravedigger, taxidermist, and necrophiliac. The industry of decay is my kingdom, cemeteries my solace. I’m a nightmare merchant that thrives in the darkness. I belong in the cold, not with her light and warmth. Her beauty would only deteriorate in my presence.
“I’ve loved you since I was nine years old. All I’ve ever wanted was to hear you say that.”
