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I kick the body lying on the hay-strewn floor. It twitches, as if it’s reacting to what I’m doing, but I don’t trust it’s real. It can’t be. 

My upper lip curls, and I turn toward the man standing next to me. “You called me here for this?” 

The butcher nods. “What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s a man.”

“It’s a doll.”

I roll my eyes. To him, it may technically be a doll, but to me, “doll” makes it sound like it has a pussy and tits. The man—no, the doll on the floor lies in the fetal position, sucking its thumb, its crooked nose like a piece of plastic slapped onto a toy potato, a blank expression on its face. It seems tall, or it would be tall if it was on its own two feet. But no, the thing lies down on the barn floor all helpless and all fucking annoying. 

A vision flashes in my mind: the butcher is my royal adviser, the offering is at my feet, and I’m a goddamn king. 

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “All right. Sure,” I say. “It’s a doll. With a cock.”

The butcher chuckles. “Didn’t know you had a preference.”

“You’re one to talk about ‘preferences,’” I say, my fingers curled in air quotes. His eyes narrow slightly, and I add a laugh, smoothing it over like a joke. I’m not a cannibal like he is, and I like to reiterate that fact when I can. I found him on the dark web selling unusual meats, and when I asked if he had human pieces he could spare for cheap, he hooked me up. I buy the pieces that aren’t as easy to sell, and sometimes, I return the pieces and get some money back. It isn’t a bad situation for either of us. 

I tried some of the butcher’s prepared meatballs once. I swear on my mom’s life, they were so gamey, I threw up every bite. There was something about it that disgusted me. I get it though. Some people kill people, and some people may even eat people. What I do with the meat is my personal business, but at least I don’t eat them. 

“Want to explain what you mean?” the butcher says, bite in his tone. 

I shrug. “Figured since I always pick out the feminine-looking pieces, you’d know how I like them.”

He shakes his head. “You think I know what you like based on the scraps you pick out of the bin? That would be like saying I give a damn about you and your interests.”

He laughs. I try to do the same; instead, a sigh comes out. I hate to admit he has a point. It must be hard to tell what I like based on a solo hand or foot. 

The man doll whimpers to itself, and a sneer ripples across my lips. It’s just a blob of masculine flesh. 

Here I am, picking and choosing with a supposed human doll. Be grateful, Baby, my mom would say. Still, I have a hard time believing this thing is actually human. 

A weight crushes my chest. It’s been a while since my mom texted. I switched off my location before I got here, because she doesn’t need to know about the butcher’s barn, and yet she always seems to find out when that happens. She thinks I’m trying to scare her by going off the grid like this, but it’s for her own good. 

I swallow hard, then check my phone. No messages.

I breathe out. Good. I have some time left then. 

The man doll grunts, its thumb puckering in and out of its mouth. I lean back. There’s no way it’s an actual human doll. There’s a chance it’s just some weird robot with uncannily accurate skin and movements, or the more likely option, the butcher got his friend to play a joke on me. 

I grimace. “Are you messing with me, man?”

“Now why would I tease you?” The butcher throws up his hands. “I ain’t got time for that. Do you want this thing or not?”

Tension runs through me. The butcher has size on me, at least a foot, and he’s a boulder, eating exactly what he wants, each arm muscular and hard. 

He’s not the kind of person you want to piss off, but I don’t let him intimidate me. I’m strong too. He thinks I’m just a customer, but I’ve got more brains than he realizes.

It’s a gift to be overlooked, you know, my mom’s voice chimes in my mind. I shake my head. Damn it. She’s always lurking around, even when I’m off the grid.

I cross my arms over my chest. “And what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Figured you could try slicing and dicing with the next best thing.” The butcher grins, and he’s back to his usual attitude, as if the world is one giant laugh. I loosen my shoulders, and he nods at the man doll. “This ain’t human—not fully, anyway. Probably won’t react like you’d expect. You can experiment though. See how it goes.”

I tilt my head. “You want me to cut it up?”

“However the hell you want. Then you can fuck the pieces. Admire them. Put them on a pedestal. Shit, I don’t know, and I don’t give a damn.” His lips are tight, his words controlled. “Do whatever you want. And if you bring the meat back to me, I’ll give you the same partial refunds as the other pieces. I always appreciate the extra pickled protein to feed my hogs.” He snickers at the pigpen. “And this time, you get the added benefit of the chopping block.”

I crack a smile. “So you want me to butcher it for you, and you’ll sell it?”

The butcher’s laughter cackles through the barn. Some creature—probably a woman—scurries to the side of us. I glance at the pigpen. Thick curtains circle the gates. 

I purse my lips together. That’s odd. He usually has the contents exposed, showing off the meat he’s raising. There’s got to be a reason behind the new decor, and while people like the butcher and my mom always remind me I’m young, I’m still smart enough to know you don’t ask certain questions.

I nudge the edge of my steel-toed boot along the doll’s leg. It cowers, pulling its hands up in front of its face.

“A doll, huh?” I ask. “Where’d you get it anyway?”

“Ever heard of the Pure Companion Company?” the butcher says. I shake my head. He lifts his chin. “They make these human dolls. They started off making hybrid dolls—you know, rubber interiors inside human skin—and now, they’re pushing their fully human line. This thing right here is one of the defective products.” 

A human doll company. That’s… That’s interesting. And it’s even better coming from a cannibal. 

The butcher kicks the doll’s ribs; it spasms. He rubs a hand over his stomach. “Guess they couldn’t find the right buyer. Anyway, they didn’t know what to do with it, something like that. So they gave it to me.”

“A human doll company?” I ask. “What for?”

The butcher lurches forward, his eyes bulging out of his head. “The fuck you mean, what for? You of all fucked-up people know exactly what for.”

Boiling hot bubbles take over my gut, riding up and dispersing between my temples. He’s mocking me for my preferences? I’m not the one who eats human meat like I’m too good for a fucking steak. 

“You’re the fucked-up one who eats pussy like it’s chicken,” I snarl.

“Now I told you, boy,” the butcher says, his tone heavy with warning. “I grew up finishing cattle. I know what a good steak tastes like, but you can’t say you’ve really lived unless you’ve eaten a properly seared woman’s tenderloin.” Drool practically pools on the sides of his mouth. Bile crowds the back of my throat. He straightens his shoulders. “Why would I limit myself to what’s palatable to the masses? Hell, I could just eat you.” He winks. “You watch yourself when you’re around here.”

I scowl. You watch your fucking back, I think, though I crack my neck and hold those words in. I need to collect myself. This is a human doll company we’re talking about, which is insane and obviously illegal, but if the information is coming from a cannibal butcher, it might actually be legitimate information.

The Pure Companion Company, he said. That’s an adult toy company I haven’t heard of before, and as far as I can tell, they don’t simply make human-sized rubber toys; they make human material dolls for people like me to use and abuse. It’s incredible. 

I’ve been a connoisseur of human dolls for a long time. Collecting them. Cutting off my favorite pieces. Discarding the rest. I started out with actual dolls, fashion toys, and action figures, then I graduated to rubber sex doll parts, until finally, I ended up with human pieces from the butcher.

But hybrid and fully human dolls? It’s another situation where I shouldn’t ask questions. I’m so damn curious though. I have to know. 

“You buy from them?” I ask.

The butcher shakes his head. “We’ve got this business partnership. The company needs a way to get rid of the extra materials and all that.” He gestures to the upper ledge on the far end of the barn. “See that one there? Had my pet worm transformed into a hybrid doll. Pet’s skin, stuffed with rubber. I tried fucking it, sure. Don’t see the point though.”

Up on the ledge, a naked human woman is posed on all fours. Tits hanging. The forehead and skull shredded like it got stuck in a garbage disposal. Hair missing in chunks. Its wrists have seams, like the hands were added post skinning. Shiny eyes are stuck in its sockets, too big and wet to be accurate, like petroleum jelly has been rubbed over the surface. 

He must’ve called the meat he was raising his “pet worm,” but now, it’s not even a living thing. It’s a hybrid doll. Part rubber, part human. 

I linger down the form and notice the stumps on the end of its legs. My shaft jolts. I adjust my pants. 

The feet are my favorite part. Sometimes, the butcher gives me a discount on them too. In his mind, it’s better to sell the feet to me at a discount than to make extra sausage with the scraps, and he usually gets the meat back once I move on from a particular foot anyway. He says he feeds the pickled meat to his human farm animals. I don’t know for sure though.

I point to the hybrid doll on the upper ledge. “It’s feet. Did I—”

“No, sir,” the butcher interrupts before I can finish the question. “That was my feast alone.”

I cock my head. The butcher’s shoulders are squared off, like he’s ready to defend himself. I’ve never seen the butcher get territorial about any of the humans he keeps. Whenever there’s one in the pigpen, he always seems to like scaring them with the idea of being slaughtered for my private uses. So what’s different about this one?

I don’t need details on why he likes—or liked—that particular hybrid doll. I know when to push and when to quit. I’ve got a better head on my shoulders than anyone realizes. 

“So what’s the deal with the company then?” I ask. “You didn’t buy the man doll, but you bought the hybrid doll?”

“It’s like you ain’t even listening,” the butcher says, his upper lip curled. I wait for the answer. I know what I’m after, and he knows I’m a good customer. He shrugs. “We made a new deal about sourcing materials. Guess the hybrid doll was my signing bonus. I’m not sure if they’ll offer the same to their new hires.”

“New hires?” 

“Something about needing new designers for the next product line. I told the Founder, what the fuck you want besides goddamn human dolls? If you’re always searchin’ for the next big thing, you’ll never be satisfied.” He tosses a hand in the air. “Then again, the Founder is always looking for fresh meat.” 

He snickers at his own joke, and usually, I’d use the opportunity to ridicule him about his nutritional interests since he’s always belittling me, but I get stuck on his words.

The doll company is hiring.

My lips perk. If the hybrid doll up in the corner was a bonus for working in tandem with a human doll company, then what rewards would a product designer receive? There are so many options. Extra dolls. Body parts. Scraps. Things they’d never sell. Pieces I can collect.

The butcher might have two decades on me, but if he can work with them, why can’t I?

“Now, I see you thinking stupid shit in that little brain of yours.” The butcher shakes his finger at me. “I’m telling you right now, you don’t need to go anywhere near that place. That doll company ain’t safe for a boy like you.”

I scoff. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m a man? I’m almost twenty-two.”

“You want to end up like one of these then?”

The butcher sneers and kicks the man doll again. It grunts. Automatically, I shake my head. Obviously I don’t want to become a human doll, and obviously, he knows the human doll company better than I do.

But he’s babying me, just like my mom, when I’m out here on a regular basis buying human scraps from him. I’m not dumb. I know what I’m doing. He has no right to treat me like a child. I may have had to switch the lock on my bedroom door when I first switched to organic materials from his barn, but I haven’t been caught yet.

Goosebumps crest my arms, clammy sweat coating my skin. My mom can be intrusive, so I’ve got this double cylinder deadbolt on my bedroom door, and the only key stays on me at all times on this chain bracelet. But this is new territory, even for me. With a whole man—no, with a fully human doll in my space, what if it makes a noise? What if it stinks? I’ve got enough rat repellent to mask most of the scent of rotting flesh. What if it pisses and shits on my carpet? That’s a different kind of odor than meat decay. Will my mom smell it?

I stare at the man doll on the floor. Snot dribbles from its nostrils. I lean to the side and catch a brown streak of dried shit on its ass. A bitter tang coats my tongue, repulsion blooming across my taste buds, and at the same time, electric spikes through my limbs. 

There’s a lot I can do with a man doll. 

There’s even more I’ll need to do to keep it a secret.

“I don’t know how I can hide this from my mom,” I mutter.

“Why the fuck are you always talking about your mama?” the butcher asks. He slaps my shoulder. “You should eat her, like I ate mine.”

The butcher’s laughter echoes across the barn, and an eerie sensation ripples across my neck. I don’t doubt for a second he did actually eat his mother, but I’m not like him. My mom is my rock. My shield. My everything. We’ve been by each other’s side for years, and yes, sometimes it seems like I can’t get away from her, but that’s what happens when you’re only fourteen years apart. It’s easier to function as we are. 

“So? You gonna take it?” the butcher asks.

My gut tells me the doll on the floor isn’t real, it has to have a machine inside. Do I mind cutting it up and discovering what’s inside though? I love puzzles, and this project is one of a kind. Who knows? Maybe I can use that robotic information to my advantage somehow, drop an insider detail during my interview for the designer position.

In the end, it’ll be one step closer to what I really want. 

“Definitely,” I say. “How much do I owe you?”

The butcher winks. “Well, considering this is about five times more than what we usually exchange, I’d say about five times the usual.”

I suck in a breath. There’s never a straight answer with the butcher. He always has to make a joke about things, then he gets all pissy when I make fun of him.

I pull the cash out of my wallet. Luckily, the butcher told me ahead of time he had something “real good” for me, so I already had extra cash on hand.

“Pleasure doing business,” he says. He stuffs the cash in his apron pocket. “Need help moving it to your place?”

I straighten my posture and angle my head. “Is that you being friendly or is that an extra charge?”

The butcher gives an empty chuckle, like he’s trying not to get irritated. I stiffen and keep myself squared off. What’s his problem now? 

“Now, I told you this before, and I’m gonna tell you again,” he says slowly. “You don’t make friends with a cannibal.” He says that line like a broken record, as if his culinary preferences make him bigger and badder than ever. I roll my eyes. He lifts his brows. “But what kind of businessman would I be if I nickel and dimed you for every part of our process? Let’s say shipping is included.”

Having the butcher in my apartment would be nice. I don’t want to be friends, but I enjoy the idea of having a person in my space. Maybe we can have a beer, and he can see my collection. The plastic pieces. The rubber cunt. The silicone fuckable foot. The light green human foot in the pickling jar. He could even take the pickled foot back to the barn, and this time, I wouldn’t even ask for my money back. 

But my mom would be there, and shit always goes wrong with her. She sniffs out bad intentions like a fly to a crumb, and before the butcher said a single word, she’d freak until I kicked him out, and then some. And I don’t want the butcher to get any ideas about my mom nutritionally or sexually.

Anyway, I’m a capable man. I’m almost twenty-two. My mom has a limited part-time job, but that’s her spending cash, and a grown man can take care of his mother and himself. He can have a full-time job and a full-time habit. If I saved better, I’d have enough to get my mom her own apartment by now, but things are better this way. Even if we lived in separate places, she’d be up in my face non-stop. She always comes back to me, like a shadow sewn to my skin. It’s not something either of us can push away. 

My phone buzzes. I check the message. 

Baby, where are you? Which store? my mom sends. The location app isn’t working again. Just want to make sure you’re okay.

I bend my neck. I can’t stay here for much longer. If I do, she’ll start searching for me, rallying my boss to help her, and if I ghost her beyond that, she may even report me missing to the police.

I shift my weight. “Nah,” I say quietly. “I can handle this.”

I’m slightly above average height, and with my contractor job, I’m strong, so I throw the man doll over my shoulder and take it to my truck. The butcher follows me out. 

Empty fields surround the barn for miles. Neither of us is worried about witnesses. I roll the man doll into a blue tarp, bind it with bungee cords, then sling it in the truck bed.

“If it gets loud, snap your fingers,” the butcher says. “Always gets it to shut up.”

I scrunch my nose. All I have to do is snap my fingers? That’s unreal. 

But if there’s a human doll company, why wouldn’t they train their human dolls to respond in certain ways? It’s probably a part of the production process.

I need to know more about the business and their hiring process. 

“And you said the Pure Companion Company is hiring?” I ask.

The butcher grits his teeth. “Like I told you, job opening or not, you stay away from those parts, you hear?”

I nod. With that kind of reaction, I know I’ve got the right business. 

I put the truck topper back into place; it covers the doll. Once I’m in the cab, I type the company name on my phone and send it in a text to myself, then I check the time. 

My mom thinks I’m picking up more joint compound for this drywall job at the apartment while she has her full salon day, and it’s a decent drive from the barn to the apartment. If I hurry, I can get back in time to hide the man doll. 

Maybe I’ll have time to cut it up too.