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There’s No Ghoul like An Old Ghoul
John Ragusa
Every time I dig up a coffin, I swear to myself it’ll be the last time.
But I am a ghoul, and I can’t get enough of dead flesh. I keep coming back for more.
My appetite always leads me to the graveyard, where I can enjoy my meals. I have to be cautious not to let the caretaker see me, though, because I don’t want to get caught.
I died many years ago, yet I look quite good. I guess this is because I don’t smoke, drink alcohol, or take drugs. I don’t want to harm myself by indulging in those unhealthy habits.
I hope that no one comes to this cemetery at night to visit a grave. If they see me eating a corpse, I’ll be dead meat.
I try not to make a pig out of myself, so I only eat corpses occasionally. Some cadavers are so fat, they take an entire week to finish. I know it’s an atrocity, but I must satisfy my hunger.
I never belch after I eat. That would be bad manners, wouldn’t it?
I tried to eat dead animals for a while. But for some reason, I prefer human flesh.
On rainy nights, exhuming a body gets very messy. When I finish digging, there’s soil all over me. To get what I want, I have to get dirty. But it’s well worth it.
I eat women instead of men. They are much easier to chew than the muscular male corpses.
I never seem to get fat. This isn’t surprising; have you ever seen an obese ghoul in a horror movie?
I once found a dead man who was killed in a car accident. I almost threw up. He was a gruesome sight.
I wonder if corpses would taste better cooked. I’ll have to try it someday.
I feel bad for the families of the people I eat. It’s revolting for them to see their relatives become a meal for a hungry ghoul. I can’t blame them for feeling revulsion.
I know that God must despise me, too. My horrid deeds must be considered heinous. At least I say grace before I start to eat.
Sometimes I open a casket only to find a skeleton. I sure can’t eat something like that.
I’m not choosy about my cuisine; I consume people of all races, sizes, and ages.
Another advantage of being a ghoul is that I don’t have to pay for my supper. Everything I eat comes free of charge.
The mosquitoes are a problem for me. They eat me alive at night. I hate those suckers so much, I actually holler at them.
When I was alive, I relished gourmet food, so it amazes me that I now enjoy decaying flesh.
I have to spit out roaches and worms that are inside the bodies I eat. I may like flesh, but I simply abhor the taste of insects.
It’s odd that I don’t dislike the flavor of embalming fluid. I can swallow it without getting nauseated.
I don’t need a fork and knife to eat people. I just bite into them and chew.
I don’t brush my teeth after meals, either. If I’m careful, no one will ever see me, so it doesn’t matter if I have a rotten smile.
Thank goodness I never get indigestion. I wouldn’t be able to get my hands on any antacid.
I don’t need condiments like ketchup or mustard to enhance the flavor of flesh. I don’t use salt, either, because it’s bad for my blood pressure.
I suppose being a ghoul is better than being a murderer, a thief, or a rapist. I could be a far worse person than I am.
This morning, a litterbug threw a newspaper on the ground outside the graveyard. I went and picked it up. On the front page, I read that the police would be patrolling the cemetery at night to prevent any future grave robbing and cannibalism from taking place in it.
Aghast, I realized that I could no longer get my meals there. What was I going to do?
* * *
I want to tell you about my new job. I’m an attendant at the city morgue. It doesn’t pay too well, but it does have one fringe benefit I couldn’t live without.
