Friday Scary Story, March 13, 2015

It's cold.

I can see my breath.

I'm the only one who can claim her body.

I thought morgues were clean.  It's dirty.

She's waiting in the corner of the room.  On a cart.  Mixed in with other dead people.

Their faces are covered.  Her's is not.  It looks like rubber.  There is cotton in her mouth.  I can see it through the stitches trying to hold her lips closed.

I reached under the fabric covering her body, and touched her hand one last time.  I felt long finger nails.

I always told her not to bite her nails.  She bit them bloody.  The hand I touched, had nails like an old dog.  Thick and curled.

I lifted the sheet higher and followed up her arm.

It's not attached.
It's not her arm.
It's different skin.

The man who let me in, still had his back to me.  I lifted the sheet even more.  The legs were different, too.   Shriveled old man legs. Too small for her large body.  They rested inches away from her torso.  I could see the bone.

I need to leave.  I need to get help.

I am sweating.  I feel like I am going to fall.  My ears are echoing.

The man is now watching me.


He is smiling, as only a monster can.