Before starting my journey as a horror writer, I did work for several video game and comic book companies as a character and concept artist. Currently, I'm an aspiring horror writer hoping to break into the industry through what opportunity I may find. My writing credits are mostly that of published work in the music and comics industry as well as two self-published books so far, "Hellverse: Shadows of the Abyss" and "Hellverse: Bloodlines of Kaos." Whereas most authors these days cater more to modern audiences, my goal is to rekindle the poetic violence and debauchery of classic literature. I prefer a story to build to something instead of giving everything right from the start.
You can read more by Sean right HERE.
LAST BREAK
by
Sean Walusko
It's easy to imagine what horrors come with delivering the dead to their next destination, to that pit stop before reaching a final resting place. When all hell's breaking loose across the floors, ER and trauma bay, things that require a more delicate touch can take some extra time.
The night, like most nights, wasn't going as planned. I thought I could hurry up, deliver my last discreet to the morgue and be off before the morning rush. It was 0330, just a half past the witching hour, when I made a call to the county coroner. He told me it'd be about another half before he could come for a pickup. I decided to take my last break in the morgue while waiting.
People have this pre-conceived notion that morgues are cold, chilled to the touch. On the contrary, they're pretty hot. That's when it hit me; the smell. Sure, blood, guts and other bodily fluids can be a grizzly sight, but the smell is worse than anything. Unless you've dealt with death firsthand, it's hard to describe. There's this sweet rot, like a musty aroma of sulphur and old milk. It's disgusting yet alluring at the same time.
Finally, a knock came from the outside. It was the sheriff.
“Hey, what's up Jeff?” I asked with a relieved grin after opening the south side door.
“Not much. Waiting to get off shift,” he answered.
“Same here. Come on in,” I said as he followed me inside.
As I shut the door behind me, I noticed that sweet rotten aroma of death had gone. I figured I was catching a cold.
“So which one is it?” Jeff asked.
“The guy is still on the gurney. I hadn't transferred him yet. He's all yours.”
“What guy?”
My heart skipped a beat. There was no way I loaded up a corpse and forgot. No way at all. Sure as shit, there it was. The gurney I brought down from the second floor was empty as if no one was ever on it. All that remained was a stain of blood, piss and smears of black oiled shit.
“What the fuck?” I asked myself.
Down the end of the hall, we saw the door leading to the morgue entrance creak and shift on its own weight. Behind it came a scratching shriek like a banshee wail. We wasted no time rushing across and through the door. That smell came back and hit like a ton of bricks.
“Jesus Christ, he's not dead,” Jeff growled out.
Hunched in front of us, vomiting up a geyser of thick yellow mucus, was the corpse I had just earlier called for a pickup. He was a relatively large man, about six foot two, covered in gang tattoos and riddled with 9mm bullet holes in his abdomen. After he was done spewing his guts out, he stood up as if nothing happened. Step by step, the dead man shambled toward us, blood gushing out of each hole in his stomach.
“Freeze,” Jeff yelled out.
The dead man responded by screeching and lunging forward. The sheriff put two holes between the dead man's eyes and four more in his chest. Like a ton of bricks, he dropped to the floor. I could hear his jaw snapping in multiple pieces when he hit the concrete.
“What the fuck just happened?” I asked aloud.
“I...I don't know. I need to call this in. Shots fired at Mercy Medical Center. South lot holding. We have a...”
While Jeff got on his radio, I made the very stupid decision to lean down and examine the body. Before he could finish, I was grabbed around the throat by the dead man. The bones in his arm twisted and broke to become sort of a living crane of flesh as it wrapped around my neck. Its torso and legs were still but its head twisted around like it was independent of its body. The thing’s spinal cord contorted like a serpent beneath its rotten translucent skin before bursting out like a snake being charmed under a spell. I tried screaming but only gasps of air came out.
Jeff dropped his radio and fired his last few rounds into its skull to no avail. The dead man's head severed itself and its tongue came out crawling away from its face. Its own tongue crawled over and across its exposed dancing spinal cord and sat in wait. Jeff tried grabbing the arm that held me but was thrown off with a thunderous force, knocking him against a wall. I was helpless to watch as the dislocated tongue made its way to the sheriff and forced itself down his throat. Jeff began coughing up a black liquid that eventually put him into shock.
Finally, the dead man slammed me to the floor. It crawled on top of me as I felt a series of smooth, hair-like tendrils enter my ears, nose and mouth. The pain was excruciating at first, with visions of blood, bile and living organs wrapping its slimy feelers around my brain. Entire memories of civilizations gone in an instant came and went like clockwork. Then, it was gone.
About twenty minutes went by before the backup sent by dispatch showed up. We had the body back on the gurney and ready to go. Jeff and I let the other sheriff and her assistant in and helped them load up the body into the back of their van.
“We heard there were shots fired,” she said.
“Oh, no, false alarm. Just some kids outside,” I said.
Jeff stepped in and put his mouth next to her ear and in an instant, her demeanor changed.
“You have yourself a great rest of your shift,” she said back.
As I watched her, and Jeff, take off against the rising sun I took in a warmth I hadn't felt in over a thousand worlds. I think I'm gonna like it here.