Her living-dolls, as she calls them.
One day, she’ll call them living-hides like the rest of us do.
“Damn Texas heat.” While I’ve been reflecting, a drop of sweat has trickled down my forehead, and now it’s about to land in my eye.
The weather is better this time of year, sure, but I’ve been grinding for the past few hours.
I wipe my forehead, then move on to another task, heading over to the buckets waiting under the hooks for inspection.
Squatting down, I see what I always do.
More blood. More flesh runoff. More stench.
Same. Same. Same.
After twenty-five years of living here, I’m fucking bored. That’s why I’m leaving this place.
The bleachy tang, the bark rot, the killing—I don’t hate any of it, but…
“There has to be more to life than this,” I grumble.
There will be.
Three weeks, I remind myself.
Then, I’ll have the sleeping pills I’ve ordered to sedate my family. Just enough to knock them out. Enough that they won’t hear the rumble of our old truck when I drive away.
The last time I tried to get out of here, even though it was late, Jett woke up and grabbed his motorcycle.
With Papa pressed against him from behind, they drove me off the road.
Because they knew I didn’t have it in me to kill them, the beating that followed had me spitting blood and wheezing for air.
That was last year. I’ve wised up since. Over the past twelve months, I’ve pocketed some money that’s technically mine. Then, during my last grocery trip to the nearby town, I slipped a few bills to the clerk, our contact for all things fucked up.
He, in exchange, promised to get me what I need and keep my secret.
Three weeks.
Once I’m out of here, I’ll finally soak up the real world. I’ll find myself a wife of my choosing. Kids she’ll want, not forced to have. Ma’s been pushing marriage on me for years, saying it’s my duty to breed a woman. That Papa would fetch one from a nearby town for me, and I’d make her mine, like it or not.
Every time she tries to shove it down my throat, I give her the same answer.
No.
The first woman I’m with will be mine. All mine.
A static noise pulls me from my thoughts.
“Hey, Hide-boy. I came over to the farmhouse to give Papa the good news,” my brother hollers at me from the walkie-talkie I have on my worktable. He’s too fucking happy. As always. “I got the tenth tour order online.”
It’s been a busy summer for sure. Nine tour groups have already passed through, and I’m still not done with the last batch.
Meaning…yeah, so much for spacing out our visitors’ murders. What can you do. Sometimes it goes that way. We haven’t been caught yet, though, and I don’t see it happening. Ever.
“Three people this time, comin’ in hot next week. You ready?” he asks.
As if there’s anything else to do out here. I ignore him, glancing up at the hanging hide and assessing how much longer I’ll have to leave it there.
