I had hoped to finish this tonight but it's not been flowing so well for me and now I'm getting tired so I'm going to leave it here now and will try to not only get it finished tomorrow but do some work on the other stories too. :-)

Pt 9

“We carried out various experiments with cadavers,” the woman explained, “dead bodies. Mostly bodies of refugee children and people like that who’s bodies were never claimed so became government property. It really didn’t go too well until eventually we found a journal containing the notes from the team who created the original exhibit. Once we understood their secret, we were able to have a successful test run so you’ll be our second live subject. We wanted to make sure we got it right, after all! Everyone is looking forward to seeing you on display so we would hate to mess things up!” Dinah grinned, feeling important.

“So who was the first?” she asked.

“Someone you know, actually!” the woman grinned. “You might remember on the public Open Day when you were chosen, there was a man afterwards offering to buy the runners-up for a private collector?” Dinah did remember. The man had given her the creeps and she had not been surprised that Nina’s parents seemed to want nothing to do with him. “Well, the private collector he was working for was actually the public-spirited businessman providing funding for our project, paying us to preserve you, basically.”

“Ah!” Dinah had wondered at the time who, other than the museum, might have wanted a stuffed young girl for their collection but if it was for part of a research project, it made a lot more sense. “So he managed to buy someone in the end?”

“Yes.” The woman confirmed. “Rebecca. We tested our technique on her and it went perfectly. She’s now on display in our office and we’ll be able to take her to show as a sample to any other clients who may be interested in our services!” Dinah imagined her pretty, freckle-faced tomboy friend stood naked in the lobby of some office building. Part of her was a little disappointed that she was not actually the first girl to receive the treatment she was about to get but, on the other hand, she was very pleased to be considered important enough not to risk experimenting on. “Right,” they arrived at the frame and the Indian lady brought over a small step-ladder and set it out across the bottom bar.

“Why are we in the kitchen, by the way?” Dinah asked as the woman guided her up the steps, holding her hands for stability. “I thought we’d be doing this in the room upstairs where we met last week?”

“Well however careful we are,” the woman explained, “removing your skin is going to get messy. We decided it was better to work in an area that was designed to be easy to clean.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” Dinah smiled, “So, um, when are you going to kill me? And how are you going to do it?”

“Let’s get you secured.” replied the woman, with a slightly nervous edge to her voice, “Then I’ll explain what happens next.” Dinah agreed and held up her arms obligingly, ready for the restraints to be fitted. “You’ll notice the inside of the cuffs is coated with the same gel we used to make Millie, it ensures a snug fit without leaving any marks on your skin.” Dinah looked with interest as the cuffs were secured around her wrists. The inside felt warm and actually rather cosy. Next the woman guided her left foot out to the side and cuffed it like her wrists. Finally, Dinah’s right ankle was similarly secured and she was left suspended in the middle of the frame. The steps, no longer required, were taken away.

Dinah hung there suspended in the middle of the frame for a few minutes while the team put on what look like hazmat suits with hoods and goggles to protect their eyes. Once their clothes and hair were suitably protected, the team covered near-by surfaces in plastic sheeting then two trolleys were wheeled forward. One was a typical kitchen serving trolley with some protective plastic sheeting on the top, while the other was smaller. On the top was a tray of tools like scalpels and small steel tongs and on the bottom was some sort of tank with a hose attached. There was also a large green plastic container, like a barrel people used in their gardens for collecting rain water, which seemed to be empty.

“Right, I think we’re ready to start.” The woman smiled up at Dinah. “So, just to explain what’s going to happen, we’re going to give you a couple of injections, then we will cut the skin from the top of your head, along your hair-line, so we can remove that part like a wig. We’ll then make a cut down the back of your next and a few inches down between your shoulders which should make it possible to peel the rest of your skin off in one piece. The chemicals we will be using to preserve it work very fast and strip the skin of any blood, fat or other flesh that clings to it. It should only take a few minutes to prepare your hide then we’ll fit it onto the mannequin and disguise the stitches on the back with way. The good thing is your hair will cover that seam anyway. So,” she smiled again, “ready to go?”

“Yup!” Dinah grinned, excited, but then a thought occurred to her. “What are the injections you’re going to give me?” she asked, seeing that the black man was already filling a pair of syringes from some vials of pale-coloured liquid. “One of them sends me to sleep and the other one kills me, right?” She thought of explanations she had heard about when a sick animal needed to be put to sleep to end their suffering and assumed that a similar method was about to be used on her.

“Well not exactly.” The woman replied tentatively. “See, this is one of the things that makes stuffing people far harder than stuffing furry animals. When you die, the blood-vessels contract and kind of suck your skin tighter onto your muscles, making it very difficult to remove neatly. The same thing happens if your body goes into shock, drawing your blood into your core. This is what we worked out from the Victorian notes and why our experiments with cadavers were never very successful.” Dinah’s mind raced – the woman had described her as their second live specimen but she had assumed that just meant someone who was alive when they started rather than someone who had already been dead for a few days. Did they really mean to skin her alive? The little girl’s heart began to beat faster as she started to panic. “David, perhaps you would like to explain?” the woman called past Dinah to the black man who stood behind her now, syringe in hand, “It’s your area of expertise after all.”

“Certainly!” The man’s voice was warm, friendly and reassuring – a fact which somehow made the information he was delivering all the more chilling. “The first is a muscle relaxant which will essentially render you unable to move beyond basic motor functions. Breathing, blinking, that sort of thing. It will also provide some degree of pain relief although it is inevitable you will experience some discomfort. The second prevents your body from going into shock and will keep you alive for up to half an hour once your skin has been removed.”

“I’ve changed my mind!” Dinah cried out in panic. “I don’t want to do this any more! Let me down!” But already the first needle was being pushing in behind her ear. She tried to protest some more but already it was difficult to control her muscles and her words came out like a strange groan.

“I’m sorry,” the brown-haired woman reached up and stroked the girls’ cheek with her latex-gloved hand, “but it’s too late. You’ve agreed to this and signed all the forms. Now just relax and we’ll get this over with as quickly as possible. We have no desire to hurt you and will do our best to keep you from experiencing any more pain than you absolutely have to.” Dinah managed to nod a little. She was starting to feel woozy, like she was only half awake. She remembered she had volunteered for this and agreed that they could do whatever they needed no. No promises had been made that she would be killed before her skin was removed and, if she had made any assumptions about that then it really was her own fault. She felt tingly all the way through, a bit like the pins and needles she got from sitting on the floor for too long. After around half a minute, the second chemical was administered. It made her feel warm and a little feverish. Satisfied that the subject was ready, the man gave a nod and the two women set to work.

It was the Indian lady who made the first cut, lifting up Dinah’s black fringe and slicing across her forehead just below the hair-line. She then carefully cut down behind her left ear. There was pain but it was not as intense as Dinah knew it should have been, more of a stinging really. Rather than continuing the cut, she moved around to the other side and cut down behind Dinah’s right ear. Only then did she join the two cuts together. Then the brown-haired woman stepped forward, took a firm hold of Dinah’s hair and pulled.

This time there was definitely pain and Dinah felt the skin of her scalp torn away from her skull. She could feel the blood trickling down her neck and back and the hot tears running down her cheeks. It was so strange, seeing her hair held like a wig in someone else’s hands. The woman took the hose from the container on the bottom of the trolley and, with the attachment on the end, sprayed the inside of the scalp. As horrified and upset as she was, Dinah could not help but be interested in the way any blood and redness was quickly washed away leaving the inside of her skin the same colour as the outside. Her hair really did now look like a wig lined with a bald-cap. The hair was set aside and Dinah was aware of the woman with the scalpel walking around behind her. She knew that this was the main event and tried to brace herself. The exposed nerve-endings on the top of her head felt on fire and it was almost enough to distract from the blade which was now slicing down the back of her neck and between her shoulder-blades. Almost, but not completely.