When Mayland Thompson dies he wants to be buried with the body of a twelve-year-old girl. "A fresh one," he says. "Huh! Just toss her in there and let her keep me company till Jesus gets here."
As for his wife, Linda, he'd like her to wait for judgment in a mass grave with all her boyfriends. He threatens to write their names in his will: two deputy sheriffs, a detective, a railroad switchman, bartenders, motel owners, pavement repairmen, drunks.
"You'll have some real winners to cuddle up to," he tells her. "They're bad enough alive. Just imagine what they'll be like, full of worms."
She holds up a dead mouse by the tail. "There was three of these in the basement. Reminded me of you. Time I get old enough to die, you won't be able to make me do nothing."
His hair turns a shade grayer in the afternoon light. It's just that he wouldn't want her to be lonely either ...