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It was the quietest of Sunday mornings, if it wasnt for the occasional
bird chirp, in fact there would have been no sound at all. It was in fact, such the loveliest of mornings in the
village of Waxbury that even the mere thought of something bizarre happening, would seem very extraordinarily out
of place.
Waxbury was a small, yet prosperous, village hidden discretely in the heart of the Derby Dales. It was the sort
of town that had the feeling that time had simply stopped. There were all the usual businesses to be found in this
picturesque spot. A post office, a butchers and a few other small ordinary little shops, a pub and a 14th century
Church If you looked a little off the main street, tucked away on the outskirts of the village there was also to
be discovered an undertakers. Alas every town needed one.
On this particularly fateful morning Archibald Higgins was humming to himself as he drank his morning coffee and
sized up the body in front of him.
A beauty this time he considered as a wicked grin permutated onto his corpulent lips.
Archibald had amassed a small fortune from his chosen career choice, not from his salary, which was admittedly
in itself fairly adequate, no his little nest egg had been accumulated from something far more sinister. Many years
ago he discovered that the poor departed that came his way were often dressed in their grandest finery. This often
included exceptional watches, jewelry (cufflinks were his favorite!) and even gold teeth. Yes, gold teeth, over
the last thirty years he must have removed and melted down hundreds of them, having mastered his technique to almost
an art.
Anyhow He thinks draining the last few drops of coffee from his cup Business before pleasure It was time for him
to start on the masses of paperwork that the Government required.-copies of death certificate, burial arrangements
and the final release form-this was all his responsibility. After all he was the last person to be looking into
the coffin before the service.
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