By Sarah Holified
He walked up the stone path and through the glass doors to
see the daytime Mortician just leaving. The man never said
anything, just nodded at Grieves nervously and dragged his
heavy briefcase out. Grieves preferred it better that way
actually. He slid through the metal doors and into the cold
space of dead bodies he called ‘The Autopsy Room’. He
repeated his tired routine of re-organizing the tools and
pushing the shelves of the corpses back in their tight, coffin-
like atmospheres. For years, Grieves had suspected the
daytime Mortician of strange behavior with the corpses but
had no proof or substantial evidence. Grieves sat in the midst
of the Gateway of the Dead between their lives and the
ground and moaned at the heavy supply of fluorescent light
that melted his brain into liquid acid. He lay back onto the
gurney and felt the metal pounding, send the nails further,
twisting his brain tighter into screaming agitation. He lifted
the sign-in sheet of the deceased and blocked the light from
his eyes, squinting at the newest entry.
Lauren Willis, #112, 29, car accident, ready by ½
see the daytime Mortician just leaving. The man never said
anything, just nodded at Grieves nervously and dragged his
heavy briefcase out. Grieves preferred it better that way
actually. He slid through the metal doors and into the cold
space of dead bodies he called ‘The Autopsy Room’. He
repeated his tired routine of re-organizing the tools and
pushing the shelves of the corpses back in their tight, coffin-
like atmospheres. For years, Grieves had suspected the
daytime Mortician of strange behavior with the corpses but
had no proof or substantial evidence. Grieves sat in the midst
of the Gateway of the Dead between their lives and the
ground and moaned at the heavy supply of fluorescent light
that melted his brain into liquid acid. He lay back onto the
gurney and felt the metal pounding, send the nails further,
twisting his brain tighter into screaming agitation. He lifted
the sign-in sheet of the deceased and blocked the light from
his eyes, squinting at the newest entry.
Lauren Willis, #112, 29, car accident, ready by ½
Grieves walked the line of the dead and matched the
number on the chart. He inhaled a short, sharp breath and
pulled out the tray systematically. He rolled the gurney
forward and eased the corpse onto the cart, letting the
stiffness overcome the cart which proceeded to slice like a
knife into the back. But as he rolled back the sheet and
looked onto the face of the beloved dead, he felt a stagger
of uneasiness hit him like never before. He had seen this
girl before. He had wanted this girl before. When she was
alive, fresh, healthy and beautiful. She was the type of girl
all the guys wanted and all the girls wanted to be. Her thin
blonde hair created a halo around her golden face which
seemed to dim with each second she slipped farther into
the darkness of rotting and decomposing.
A twitch of memory over-ran his entranced state and
re-wrote the pages of his own misery. Christine had told
him in whispers and screams of the death he created
around himself. As he carved the memories out of the
woodworks of his head, he could not help but wonder
why this girl and Christine had the same fate. Why they
number on the chart. He inhaled a short, sharp breath and
pulled out the tray systematically. He rolled the gurney
forward and eased the corpse onto the cart, letting the
stiffness overcome the cart which proceeded to slice like a
knife into the back. But as he rolled back the sheet and
looked onto the face of the beloved dead, he felt a stagger
of uneasiness hit him like never before. He had seen this
girl before. He had wanted this girl before. When she was
alive, fresh, healthy and beautiful. She was the type of girl
all the guys wanted and all the girls wanted to be. Her thin
blonde hair created a halo around her golden face which
seemed to dim with each second she slipped farther into
the darkness of rotting and decomposing.
A twitch of memory over-ran his entranced state and
re-wrote the pages of his own misery. Christine had told
him in whispers and screams of the death he created
around himself. As he carved the memories out of the
woodworks of his head, he could not help but wonder
why this girl and Christine had the same fate. Why they