Dead wrong! You can say that again!
History will record us as body-snatchers or resurrection men. We know exactly what we are. We are businessmen. Just because our business involves a shovel a moonless night and a dark graveyard, it does not mean that we are not entrepreneurs.
We sell fresh corpses to the anatomists who are always a little short of stock and willing to pay. It is 1745 and the King has declared that cutting up bodies is illegal, so our services are in demand.
We keep a few handy persons on the pay list. Times is hard so we have plenty of gravediggers and coffin makers ready to tip us the wink when a nice fresh one comes in. Nothing too manky or squashed, the doctors don't like that. Young and plump or interestingly disfigured is what they want.
Well, one night we are about our business after a rather juicy tip-off. A carriage turned over, lots of broken necks but nobody too damaged. There were four of them planted in a row like daisies so we set to work with lantern and spade.
By midnight we had all four boxes up out of the earth and we had the lid off number 1. When he sits up! We was all just about to run for the hills, it was way too late for the privy I can tell you!
He grabs me by the leg as the others scatter. Then he did a funny thing, he smiled. Such beautiful long white teeth as you ever did see. Then I knew what we had caught ourselves, he was one of the undead the preacher warned us about on Sundays.
We don't always go to church on account of working nights. But occasionally it doesn't hurt, just to hear the gossip. Who has a bad cough, who fell off the roof and is breathing his last, that sort of thing-networking I call it!
Anyway, he gets up and holds my arm, his grip is like steel and his eyes are red because he is mightily pissed off with me. Nightmare of all nightmares the other lids start shifting too. Three men and a girl, a very nice looking girl in a white nightie.
He looks at the others then he says 'EXPLAIN' in a deep dark voice that shook the nails out of my boots. So that is what I do. He looks at me, then he laughs long and loud! Finally he says 'I think there could be something in this for all of us'.
So that was how we set up our little recycling operation. The Vamps know lots of other Vamps. So once a week we dig one or two of them up and sell them on with the others. We split the cash and then they leg it off the slab before someone puts their tripes in a bucket.
Not that it would matter because they all regenerate anyway, unless you cut their head off, but that works on everyone. The undead have to live too, so the cash is always handy for them. As long as we don't send the same one too often, it saves a lot on the digging and the heavy lifting.
Sometimes dead wrong can be dead right. I guess you just have to know where to dig!
A man in my hometown had himself buried in the rafters of his own house to avoid the body snatchers. 300 years later he is still there but his house is now a bank! No one has ever stolen him-as far as I know!