Morbid Nameless. That's my name, and I hate it, and I don't know you, but I know I hate you, too. After my dad disappeared, I didn't have anything left but the name he gave me, Morbid Nameless. It
suited me well.
I took up the family business of digging graves for the Undertaker, and changed it to suit my needs. Instead of Nameless Gravediggers, its now Morbid & Beg. Beg is my mutt. Long story.
I took up drawing, started school, and was finally free to my morbid hobby. I like to cut up dead things, see what makes them tick. Animals, to be exact; I've never been brave enough to try it on
humans. I keep journals about it, but I digress.
The people who live here in Disembembered always brought dead pets and such to the morgue. But what if they didn't want the hassle of a funeral? That's where I come in. For a small fee, I take
anything dead and make it disappear. I don't know how it died and I don't ask. It's shady buisness, but it's buisness still. Either way, I ended up digging a grave for it.
This is where Beg comes in. She had been left on my doorstep one foggy Halloween morning, not quite dead, but not quite alive.
She was interesting, big green eyes, ragged blue-black fur, overlong sharp teeth. My first instinct was to snap her neck. But she watched me in a pleading sort of way. Don't kill me, she said. I'm
just a puppy. I'm a good girl. Please don't kill me.
Did I kill her?
Of course not, or else there'd be no point to this story. I caved and carefully nursed her back to health. Roughly cat-sized, she got her name from the way she looked at me that day. I hired her to
sniff out and bring back dead animals on slow days, and in return, she got to eat the carcasses when I was done. Gruesome, but, hey, so's everything else in this town.
She did not disappoint. We became close friends, and I found myself talking to her quite often. She'd listen, and offer advice with her emerald eyes and lion-like doggie body. "Cold today, isn't
it?" I'd ask. She would look at me and snort, shaking her head. It's always cold here.
It was actually through Beg that I met Emily. Beg started coming back looking especially fat and pleased with herself. But she wouldn't tell me why, even when I threatened to skin her alive and eat
her for dinner.
So the next morning, I followed. She came over the low fence, through the graveyard, past the morgue, the old church, the dead willow, all the way to the park. From there, Beg went directly to a
specific bench and sat obediently at a girl's feet. The girl was slight, with brown hair braided back. Nothing special-
Except for the cat leg she removed from her backpack and tossed to an eager Beg!
I strode toward her, whistling shrilly for Beg to return.
"Do not feed my dog!" I growled fiercely, pulling my thin body to its full height. Glowering into her hazel eyes, I tossed my un-brushed angel-blonde hair from my blue eyes indignantly. Sensing my
tension, Beg growled at me. No, friend!
"Shut up," I snapped, whirling on her to display my cold dominance to this girl. "You should've known better. She could've been poisoning you, you ugly mutt!"
Friend, Beg insisted.
The girl stood up. To my irritance, she was almost as tall as me.
"Sorry. I didn't think she belonged to anyone. Hi, I'm Esmerelda Wycca. And you are?"
This surprised me. No one ever paid enough attention to talk to me, let alone ask my name. But I quickly learned that she wasn't like everyone else.
Turning away, unwilling to be won over by her cute smile, I curtly answered "Morbid Nameless."
"Cool name. What's your dogs name?"
I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. "Beg."
The girl's eyes widened. "As in Morbid and Beg? The Gravediggers?"
Suddenly, my brain clicked. "Emily the Witch?" Emily the Witch was a well-known halfling who was trying to be a witch.
"Yeah," she flushed. "So you read the newspaper, huh?"
"Yeah," I replied cooly, remembering that I was supposed to be mad at her. "Just don't feed my dog, okay? She has to work for her supper."
"What does it matter to you?" I snapped
"Nothing. Just thought I'd ask."
"Dead bodies," I blurted, wondering why I was even talking to this girl. "She finds them for me and brings them back. I, uh, cut them."
"No way!" she gasped. "You cut up dead bodies,too?"
I blinked, stunned. "You do?"
"Yeah. Weird, huh?"
After that, we went back to my place. Emily though it was awesome, the way I lived alone and stuff in a big old mansion on cemetery grounds. We dissected a squirrel, and I showed her some of my
drawings; mostly dead, often mutilated bodies. She laughed at a joke, but then frowned.
"It's my stupid laugh. I'm gonna be a witch some day, so I have to learn how to cackle like one."
I thought she had a nice, warm, bubbly laugh, but didn't say so.
It wasn't until three years later that I actually started to trust her. She came over every day, trying vainly to avoid her drunken parents. She cooked for me, helped me clean, watched me draw,
dissected with me. She filled the old music room with beautiful harp, piano, violin, and cello music. We went to different schools, and she always was here when I returned. She would stay until
sunset before grudgingly heading home. Emily coddled Beg, but I got over it.
Dazed, I looked up from my drawing of her, with her pretty purple and black witches hat, her left arm missing and gushing blood as she tried with her other hand to pull the wicked-looking torture
instrument from her back even as a pendulum threatened to chop her head off.
The room was empty. School was over.
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