I run a niche online shop called Pulled Threads. You may have heard of it if you’re into the Deep Web. It’s a second-hand store that only sells things people have died in.
Some call it sick. Macabre. Unethical. I agree. But I also find it so damn fascinating. It’s a way of remembering someone, of carrying a torch through to the next generation. You get to wear their legacy.
Pants, shirts, jackets. Accessories, too, like watches and ties, belts and shoes. No underwear, socks, or hospital gowns. And definitely no baby clothes, that’s just depressing.
The majority of the items come from people who died of natural causes. You know, old fashioned clothes from old people. Tweed, corduroy. Lots of pajamas. A few work clothes, like coveralls and uniforms (army, fire, police). Sometimes people kill themselves and leave donation instructions in their suicide notes. Car accidents are another source. And, of course, murders.
Each item comes with an envelope. I call it the Proof Pouch. Inside is (ideally) some information about the person whose clothes you’ll be stepping into, like their name, job, passions, beliefs, etc. Enough to get to describe them at a party. And then there is the actual evidence, the proof that this person died in the item as advertised. This is, almost always, a photograph of a corpse.
Without the Proof Pouch, I could just grab anything off the shelf at Goodwill. The Proof Pouch is the hook. It seals the deal. And the fuller the Proof Pouch, the more lucrative the item.
And yes, it is lucrative.
Prices start high and go higher. Suicide is the low bar at around $200 an item, and I get a few of those daily. Accidents do especially well if the clothes are torn up in an interesting way, and while blood gets sterilized for sanitary reasons, it’s like the patina of an antique - it adds value.
Murder, though, murder is where the money is. Shirt with a stab hole? A thousand, easy. Bullet holes? Even more. And the highest ever? An autographed Yankees cap with a bullet hole burned right through the logo. A lifelong Red Sox fan bought it for $28,900, plus S&H.
Who sells me the clothes? Widows and widowers who need money for funeral services. Sometimes the deceased’s friends. And I know a few police officers who are good at losing evidence.
Who buys them? Germans and Japanese, mostly. Affluent hipsters. A Norwegian heavy metal band that only wears Pulled Threads. And it’s also become a goth right of passage - but they only buy from suicides.
I’ve been in business for almost a decade, but that’s it. I’m done. It’s a shame. I really loved doing this, for a lot of different reasons. But today will be my last day on the job. And hopefully I’ll outsell that Yankee cap.
See, I get threats of violence pretty frequently. Sometimes they tell me I’m going to burn in hell. Sometimes they say they’re going to send me there themselves. If I had to guess, I’d pin them on relatives who think what I’m doing is beyond reprehensible, and, honestly, I’d probably agree if I was in their shoes. But I always dismissed them as empty threats. I never took any seriously.
And then this morning I found a package on my door. Hand delivered. On the outside, in thick black Sharpie, it said, “I warned you.”
I opened it. A gold bracelet and an especially thick Proof Pouch fell out. I started crying. Inscribed inside the bracelet: “Jerry + Linda Forever”. I’m Jerry. Linda is my wife. It was her Christmas gift this year.
I didn’t open the Proof Pouch.
An hour later, I finished crying and drove slowly down to my storage unit off the highway. I thumbed through the neatly organized racks and pulled out a black tuxedo in a clear plastic bag. It didn’t fit as well as it did on my wedding day, but I managed. Then I typed out this message. And finally I slung a rope over the beam that crosses my home office, just above my desk chair.
Suggested retail prices?
Tuxedo: $22,000.
Dress shirt: $5,000.
Shoes: $6,500.
Cufflinks: $2,500.
And I’d jack the price of the necktie up to $15,000. It’s only fitting.
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Credits to: photofreecreepypasta
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