The Strange Tale of Jezediel Fryhopper

Jezediel Fryhopper lowered the blinds of his shop. His son's body lay unceremoniously in a back room, quite dead. Tomorrow was the memorial service; to the residents of Sunham Place, Mr Fryhopper's son was lost at sea. They had no idea he had been recovered by his father. But to Jezediel Fryhopper it was simply business.

His son had been a fine athlete. With shoulder-length blond hair, hazel eyes and a healthy body, Curtis had excelled at swimming, running, football and rugby. Jezediel could not bring himself to bury him. It would be so cruel. He had been a fine-looking lad; Jezediel could not let him go.

It was cold weather at the moment. Jezediel was glad. The ocean had been wild when Curtis had been swept off the pier and into the torrential sea. Its depths were murky and unforgiving. Jezediel had been walking along the coast the next morning when he'd spotted the body. He had his van parked nearby. It had been difficult but he managed to get the body into the van, sodden and limp. No one had seen him, he was sure. He knew what he would do straightaway. There was no hesitation in his mind.

The church for the memorial service was Victorian. It was dark and forbidding, definitely funereal with lots of dark mahogany wood everywhere. The windows were small and didn't seem to let in much light. There was nothing to uplift the spirits here. A large display of white lilies was placed to one side of the altar steps. What would the vicar say? What could he say about one who had been so full of life, so distant from death? Niceties were observed; people said pleasant things to Jezediel, but did they understand how important Curtis had been to him? He doubted it.

Back at his shop everything was ready. Jezediel worked on through the night. Tomorrow would be a new day.

Jezediel's wife was Verity. Would she understand? He hoped so. She was used to his business, so there should be no problem. By the morning he had finished the first stage of operations. Another week or two and it would be finished. Verity would be impressed, Jezediel was sure of it.

The weather was unrelenting; sometimes he would be working when roof tiles blew off the roof. Tempest and gale raged through the night. The shutters were drawn tight but would rattle, and the wind would whistle through the trees, along guttters, down leafy lanes.

It was two weeks later that Jezediel was ready.

"I have something to show you, Verity."

"Oh, more of your work, Jezediel."

"Well, this is something different, Verity."

Seated in a chair in the back parlour of the shop was Curtis. Sporting a football strip and clutching a football, he sat proud as a peacock. It was as if he was going to speak, so lifelike did he seem.

On the sign outside the shop it said, 'Jezediel Fryhopper, Taxidermist to cater for all your needs'. Jezediel had excelled himself. And Verity, on seeing Curtis, exclaimed,
"Oh, Jezediel, this is wonderful. You have brought your work home."

And so the two grew to be at home with the dummy that was their son. It was as if they had never lost him. They would speak to him, even scold him, but Curtis was such a good boy he would never answer back. After all, if Jezediel could preserve people's pets how much more would he be eager to preserve the life of his one and only son.