Table for two please
It’s not like I'm a fan of eating the dead. It's just a job—not the best paying compared to being a dock worker or a surgeon, but the hours are better. I can work as much or as little as I want. And it's not like there's a shortage of lost souls turning evil these days. Have you seen society lately? Hauntings and possessions have skyrocketed in the past fifteen years alone. We're talking about 8,000 cases a day. Three years ago, it was only about 1,000 to 1,200 daily. Those guys back in the '60s and '70s had it made. Paul VI was the man—the Vatican paid for everything. Granted, there weren't many of us then, but now it's all subcontracted to Illuminati corpo-top-hat types. Not that I'm complaining, of course. Just last week, I sous vide a phantasm that made Asmodeus look like a Girl Scout selling Thin Mints. Seriously, things have gone to shit pancakes.
Alright, let's cut to the chase. I want to clear up any assumptions or misunderstandings you might have. I don't literally eat dead people—take a breath—that’s just gross. I actually consume their corrupted souls. Well, I suppose that doesn't sound much better. Let me put it this way: it's like a cross between an exorcist and a psychopomp. But instead of using a Bible or a crystal convergence amulet, our tools are cursed coins. And let me tell you, cursed coins are the worst! A 135-year-old piece of metal is hardly the most sanitary thing to put in your mouth, let alone swallow. No amount of scrubbing or disinfecting can erase that psychological scarring. Do you realize how many people don't wash their hands after using the bathroom today? Trust me, it’s horrifying—imagine how bad it was before the 1800s. Gives me indigestion just thinking about it. Toilet paper was a genuine blessing. At least the coins are portable.
Anyway, when I say "eat," that part is literal. Evil, corrupted souls pass through the teeth, glide over the tongue, hit the uvula, and then waterslide down the throat into the stomach. Weird, right? That’s where the magic happens, so to speak. You know how food gives the body nutrients? Well, corrupted souls are the ultimate superfood. They get sucked into that cursed coin, and immediately, the soul ascends to its next stage—heaven, hell, Valhalla, the underworld, wherever. Pick your poison, belief, or religion—they all exist, except that one about hitching rides on passing comets. That one is loony-toons bogus. What the cleansed soul leaves behind in the coin is what keeps the body moving.
Now, it’s not like the movies. There’s no corn syrup ectoplasm, black slime, virgin blood leaks, or demonic sulfur fumes. Think of the coin as an interdimensional portal filled with life-force energy. This is all speculation, by the way—none of us really know how it works. But imagine it like a fizzy Alka-Seltzer tablet, filling the stomach with everything the body needs to function properly. And therein lies the catch—you can't store these things for later use. It's a one-shot deal—no cash-and-carry scheme here. Ever tried regurgitating a fizzy silver dollar? Not fun. If it hits open air, invest in a good hearing aid. And don’t even get me started on Roman and Ceylon coins—those things are literal murder. Stick with dimes; they're your bread and butter. Quarter-francs are even better, if you can find them. Small coin, no bruising, easy reuse, though they wear out faster. And before you ask—no gold coins. Cursed gold coins would leave us a bloody mess on the floor. Leave those to the spiritualists.
Sorry, I tend to ramble. Let me clarify: if I trapped a corrupted soul in a cursed coin without swallowing it, that would only make the soul more powerful. It would void my contract, I'd die, and it would likely end up literally eating me afterward. Hello, hornet clowns. See, forcing a corrupt soul into an already cursed object creates what we call a leviathan. These monsters can take solid physical forms and usually enjoy eating people. Ever read H.P. Lovecraft? Those things—leviathans. Bad news. End-of-the-world stuff. Plus, it gives our line of work a bad rap.
To answer your next question, eating normal food is out. We're not entirely alive. While we can drink liquids and pee—though we don't have to—it just comes out the same way it went in, less carbonated and smellier. Personally, I avoid alcohol—imagine how that feels—but there are a few freaks who enjoy it. If we eat actual food, theoretically, it exits unchanged, but we'd die in the process. It's one of our many rules.
Explaining how I got into this line of work is embarrassing, but let's just say I died in a unique way. Not that it hasn't happened before, but most of us don't like talking about it. Basically, there are two choices: take this job or become a tortured slave to that horde of hornet clowns. Yeah, the universe has a sick, twisted sense of humor.
Remember when I said the hours are good? They are, but how long we last before needing to eat again depends on how nutritious our last meal was. My longest stretch without eating was five days, which is rare. Corrupted souls are everywhere, but there's a spectrum. Low-end souls—white lies, porn fixations—are like graham crackers. Mid-range—kleptomania, heavy blasphemy, betrayal—like a sandwich. High-tier sins—murder, torment, chaos—are feast-worthy, like corn dogs or a turkey with leftovers. Then there's the holy grail: "Grim jobs," rare gigs that pop up every fifty years or so. Those are temporary retirement plans. On average, after death, we last about twenty years doing this job. Stomach acid takes its toll on coins, and longevity depends on finding replacements. There's a guy who’s been around since 182 BC, our version of Elvis. Apparently, he found King Solomon's treasure looking for his first cursed coin. Imagine what those coins taste like.
You're probably wondering how one finds a cursed coin, right? Don’t worry, this is new for both of us—you've never eaten a soul, and I've never been a mentor. Relax, I've got your back. How about you tag along on my next job? Think of it as a crash course in observation. Hey, don't stress—the hornet clown things aren't after you. We'll find you a coin, and you'll be fine. Afterward, I'll show you the ropes: coin hunting, accessing our network, and locating safe houses. It'll be fun. Better this than, you know, buzz-buzz, honk-honk.
Just between you and me, did the demon just slap you around a little, or did things get… saucy?
