Neighbors horrified, jealous

GOOP, KS - Local antique dealer Leslie Ragg has raised a few eyebrows this fall with an unconventional Halloween lawn ornament—the corpse of a late client and ping pong buddy, Kipper Bernard.

“I suppose it is a bit unconventional,” Ragg says, with a nod at the stately oak in his front yard where his friend’s remains dangle on a lynchrope. “Two points to consider, though. One, we all have our own ways of maintaining the memory of those we love. Two, Bernie owed me money.”

While the late Bernard did leave Ragg a sizable amount, the money was explicitly intended for his funeral.

“Bernie was a bachelor, and suddenly asked me to take care of his last necessities. So I did. That’s a quality rope. And there’s no odor; I lacquered him up good and proper. It’s a win-win. I recoup part of my loans, and Bernie helps the neighbors and I keep the season bright.”

But some of those neighbors seem less than enthused.

Daryn Bawn, a self-described “lawn ornament connoisseur,” assumed at first that the corpse was the usual rubber or plastic novelty item. And he didn’t take this lightly. While other neighbors may content themselves with the usual inflatable ghouls, witches, or insurance salesmen, Bawn has a commitment to pushing the envelope in seasonal displays.

“What envelope?” says Bawn.

Not surprisingly, Bawn is three-time winner of the coveted Neighborhood Nadir of Taste Award. His most recent victory two years ago hinged on a life-size waxwork so revolting that, were we to inform you that it featured a man eating his own ear, with relish, this article likely could not be printed.

This year, aside from his usual array of distended skeletons, half-buried victims, and impaled vampires, Bawn is especially proud of his Maggot Maggie, an authentic piece from Dollar Bazaar. He has high hopes for another win—or did until he saw Ragg’s lawn.

When Bawn confronted Ragg and demanded to know his supplier, Ragg disclosed the true nature of his ornament. Bawn was horrified.

“I just spent fifteen bucks on a peripheral plastic skeleton,” Bawn says. “Ragg didn’t drop a dime.”

While some neighbors share Bawn’s professional envy, others express disgust. “Disgust!” says Ellis Mifford. “What’s going to happen Halloween night? Kids are going to have to walk past this monstrosity.” Mifford, a video game writer for GoreSplat, Inc., plans to give trick-or-treaters a not quite nonfunctional demo of his company’s latest game, Teenage Cannibal(s).

Other neighbors, particularly those who did not know Bernard, maintain that the corpse is a lawn ornament. The fierce controversy has reached even the halls of academia.

“I would say unequivocally, with no equivocals whatsoever, that the item in question cannot be a genuine lawn ornament,” declared Pietro Marinara, who holds a doctorate in Lawn Ornamentation, as well as his breath when he swims. “The reason is obvious. Nowhere on the item could I discern the phrase, ‘Made in China.’”

Speaking of China, several industry leaders have seen Ragg’s procedure as a financial inspiration.

“In serving the American consumer, we inevitably lose prisoners to ‘overwork’,” said Albert Chong, manager of a state prison that doubles as a factory. “Hitherto, the expenses of corpse disposal have been a burden to all our Republic. How fortunate that we can now transform these losses into marketable products! What an aid to our mission: to help Americans support our regime with their hard-earned dollars.”

Sell lacquered corpses to Americans as lawn ornaments?

“Would they be cheaper?” asks Bawn.

Meanwhile, Ragg, like any innovator, has had trials. When he liquidated Bernard’s reserved cemetery plot, police paid him a visit. Fortunately, they apparently thought the corpse was not only an ornament, but “unrealistic.” In fact, they seemed preoccupied with and frightened by Bawn’s yard, especially Maggot Maggie.

And one neighbor, Mrs. Creese, is particularly critical. “Gross,” she comments, as she adjusts the lynchrope for the lifelike dummy dangling from her stately oak. “Some people have no respect for death.”

But Ragg only chuckles. “People generally change their tune after a movie on my new plasma TV.”