by JG Faherty
The absurdity of my disquiet didn’t escape me, a man who worked with the dead on a daily basis suddenly nervous in their presence. I’d never been uncomfortable around corpses before; the dead were just inanimate lumps of flesh. But now I understood for the first time why cadavers filled so many people with such dread. In the past, my only issue had been the odor of decomposing flesh, especially in the warm months, when the reek of a days-old murder or accident victim would get so ripe that even liberally applied menthol couldn’t block the cloying stench.
Now a different kind of atmosphere enveloped me, one of phantasms and secret whispers, as if each wisp of chilled air was a manifestation of a soul come to bring someone – or something – back to life.
“They’ll be gone tomorrow,” I kept reminding myself, each time I hesitated. The unknown men were scheduled for burial in the local Potter’s Field, and Stemple’s family would be coming around in the morning to claim him for his own interment. After tonight, there’d be no chance to examine the bodies, or the things growing inside them, the alien tissue woven through human muscle. What if it was something new, something contagious?
Something that could spread through the town?
I paused and bit at my lip. I had a fair knowledge of anatomy and basic human diseases. But anything else would be beyond me. If only I could take a sample of the foreign tissue to one of the biologists at Miskatonic, they’d be able to—
Dammit! Why hadn’t I thought of that before? I needed samples. Not only could I bring them to the university, but I’d be able to examine them more thoroughly at my leisure, instead of simply relying on drawings and my own memory.
This time, as I rolled the table through the curtain separating the rooms, I began a list in my head of the additional items I’d need. Sample jars, formaldehyde. A bone saw. Possibly a—
A hint of movement caught my eye. A shape in the receiving room. Tall. Ghostly white.
No!
The figure moved toward me and I stumbled back, a scream already clawing from my throat. My foot caught on something and I fell, the room spinning around me. A heavy weight landed on my chest, knocking the air from my lungs.
The world went dark.
Chapter Nine
“Henry.”
That voice! The creature who’d attacked me, who knew my name!
I lashed out with my fists even as I gasped for air. I had to get away! Had to—
Familiar laughter reached me. Close by. Two voices, a man and a woman.
I opened my eyes.
Ben and Flora stood several feet away. Staring at me with bemused looks, although sadness etched Flora’s face as well.
“What…what the hell are you…?” The rest of the words stuck in my throat. I clutched at my chest with one hand while the other remained balled in a fist. At that moment, I’d have gladly broken Ben’s nose.
“Sorry, sport. Guess we gave you a scare.”
“A scare…you damn near killed me.”
“Apologies.” Ben looked anything but sorry as he leaned on his stylish walking cane, lips angled up in a rakish grin. “We thought you might be working too hard and need a break. Seems we were right.”
“How did you get in?”
“Some foolish fellow left the front door unlocked.” Ben raised a mocking eyebrow at me.
I tried to sit up but the heavy weight remained on my chest and legs, pinning me down. I tugged at it and realized it was simply the curtain that separated the storage area from the receiving room. It must have come down on me when I fell. Ben’s smile grew wider as he watched me struggle to extricate myself.
Go ahead, have a good laugh at my expense. That’s one I owe you, Ben Olmstead.
Then Flora stepped forward to help and my anger dissipated under her sympathetic gaze. As did Ben’s smile.
“You shouldn’t be out,” I said, relishing each gentle touch of her fingers against my arms and chest.
“We really were worried. And I couldn’t stand being cooped up in the house any longer.”
Although she still wore black – and would continue to do so the rest of the year – she’d traded her opaque veil for one of mesh, which allowed me to see the truth in her eyes. Typical of Flora to skirt the edges of propriety. But then, she’d no doubt be going back to work soon, and a barmaid couldn’t very well hide her face. Scott’s solicitor had already informed us her inheritance would barely cover a few months’ rent on the apartment she and Scott had shared. Without a job, she’d be forced to sell everything just to eat. Either that, or move to a place she could afford, which likely meant a less-than-desirable neighborhood.
Unless she marries someone. Someone with a steady job.
And a woman couldn’t very well be courted while locked away in her rooms.
Is that why they’re here? Is Flora already sizing us up, comparing—
“If you’re too busy with your work—” Ben pointed his cane at the shrouded bodies, “—to join us for a bite, we can be off. There’s always tomorrow.” His expression indicated what he hoped I would say.
Fat chance, old friend. Time for a dose of your own medicine.
“No, I’m famished, as luck would have it. Let me just fetch my coat and hat.” I had to bite back a smile of my own as Ben’s cheek twitched. It was only a little after ten, plenty of time to have something to eat and drink and be back by midnight. Surely Flora was in no shape to be out longer than that. Then I’d get my samples and still be home in time to get a good night’s sleep.
“Er, you might want to wash up as well.” Ben waved a gloved hand in front of his nose as I stripped off my white apron.
“Yes, right.” Damn! I rolled up my sleeves and headed for the sink. By now the stench of death would have permeated my clothing, and no amount of scrubbing my hands would change that. And me with no change of clothes. For once, Ben would be the more stylish of us, having obviously splurged on a new frock coat and matching pants. Even his shoes had a fresh shine to them. Under his bowler hat, his hair gleamed with expensive pomade.
Flora might not be looking for a partner yet, but Ben’s certainly begun auditioning for the role.
The thought of it stung me to the quick. As much as I considered Ben my oldest and dearest friend, on more than one occasion he’d given me cause to wonder if he felt the same.
After all, Ben knew of my feelings for Flora. Yet he persisted in his own attempts to court her, despite the fact that he could have any girl in the neighborhood with a tip of his hat and a smile. His rugged good looks, better than decent job, and a casual swagger so many women swooned over ensured he never lacked for companionship when he wanted it.
“It’s the thrill of the chase,” he’d confided to me one night over drinks. “You’re welcome to her after I’m done.”
His attitude bothered me enough that there’d been several times I’d considered asking Callie out and then standing her up. But each time, I quickly dashed the notion. Such an act would only hurt Callie, an innocent bystander in all of this, and probably not even bother Ben, who only cared about his own wants.
Not to mention it would paint me as a cad in Flora’s eyes.
In the end, I did nothing, too afraid of alienating Flora and possibly pushing her and Ben together, the very thing I sought to prevent.
I slipped on my jacket and turned to my friends. “So, where are we—”
A flash of movement stopped me in mid-sentence.
A shroud cloth, sliding to the ground, exposing one of the bodies I’d just examined.
Officer Stemple’s body.
My stomach clenched. No….
Stemple sat up, his mottled throat and gray eyes black in the dim light. Next to him, the other murder victim rose as well, casting its sheet away with a bluish arm. Its head turned in our direction. The lips twitched and the mouth sagged open.
I suc
ked in a sharp breath as an image of peculiar fibers moving within dead flesh came to me.
“Henry, what is it?” Flora turned and then gasped as the two corpses slid off their tables.
“Good God in heaven.” Ben backed away, his face draining of color so that he looked as dead as the two bodies taking wobbling steps toward us.
“Into the viewing room.” I shook Ben’s arm. He gave me a blank stare and then his eyes cleared. We grabbed a wide-eyed Flora and dragged her across the threshold. I slammed the door shut behind us. The thin panel rattled against the latch, reminding me it had no lock. I glanced around for something to block the door. The small room, located between the work area and the front office, held only a few pieces of furniture: four chairs and a viewing table for when people came to observe autopsies or identify the dead.
“Help me.” I wedged one of the chairs under the door handle. We piled the rest behind it. Not enough to keep the monsters out for long, but perhaps enough so we could make it to the front entrance.
“This way.” I led the way through the viewing area and into the front foyer, bolting past the reception desk.
Straight into a dead man at the door.
Flesh rippled and twitched on the corpse’s face, set in motion by unseen things moving beneath the surface. Strong fingers clutched at my jacket. I pulled away and strings of flesh tore from its hands, the dead skin sloughing off in wet strips. I cried out and turned, only to have my feet slip on the vile fluids leaking from its ruined palms. I hit the desk and fell to the floor.
Hands grabbed my arm and I cried out, but it was only Ben. He helped me up just as two more walking corpses came through the door. Flora screamed.
“Back the other way.” I pushed Ben toward Flora and the door we’d just come through. If we could somehow slip past the two in the waiting area—
A heavy blow struck me between the shoulders and knocked me forward into the waiting room. I landed on my knees, dragging Flora down with me. I rolled onto my back and froze as a vision from hell came to life above me.
Greenish tentacles burst from the mouths of the three corpses, turning them into unholy sea demons. The dead men moved toward us in herky-jerky motions. My stomach churned as I imagined more of the green, sinuous lengths snaking through their bodies, controlling their movements.
A slime-coated tendril struck Ben’s forearm with a crack! like a horse whip. He yelped and leaped back, his sleeve torn and a red welt already forming on his skin. I caught sight of tiny, puckered orifices across the bottom of the tentacle and understood the origin of the circular marks on the bodies I’d examined.
Another lashing cilia wrapped around Ben’s legs and pulled him off his feet. He landed hard on his back with a grunt. The tentacle pulled back, revealing new wounds above Ben’s ankles.
Gritting my teeth against the acid burn between my shoulders – had one of those vile appendages gotten me? – I forced myself to my hands and knees. Tears of pain blurred my vision and added to the nightmare quality of the moment.
Think! There had to be something, a weapon of some kind….
Then I saw it. A box stacked in the corner. No label on it, but I knew what it contained. Lamp oil. A half dozen bottles. I’d placed it there myself, with the intention of moving it into the storage area in the morning.
Now I just had to reach it.
Pain exploded in my calf and I screamed. A slimy cord gripped my leg and pulled me back, sending me to my stomach. I kicked it with my other foot. The blasphemous thing let go and I dragged myself forward another few inches.
Another fat tendril fell across my legs and this time I felt the tiny mouths chewing through my clothing and into my flesh. Visions of deadly injections came to me, poisons – or worse! – entering my bloodstream. I shook my legs and rolled to the side, my terror a palpable thing, my own alien beast controlling my body.
Five more feet. That’s all I needed.
More fire, this time around my ankle.
I wrenched my leg away and pushed forward. Lunged for the box.
A tendril slapped down from right next to me and clutched at my wrist.
Stemple!
In my fixation on reaching the box, I’d forgotten the two monsters from the storage room. I tried to yank my arm loose but the coil tightened. I punched at the slick, muscular appendage and in return a second one flogged my neck and shoulder. Warm fluids on my skin told me it had drawn blood.
Only a matter of seconds before their combined strength pulled me back too far. I put all my efforts into reaching out with my free hand. I grabbed for the crate, my fingers touching the edge and then sliding off the rough wood. Splinters pierced my skin but I ignored them, lunging again at the box just as Stemple’s hands clutched the hem of my coat.
This time I got a better grip and the box fell over. A bottle of oil rolled toward me and I fumbled the cork out with one hand. Agonizing pain raced across my back and down my arm, tearing another scream from my throat. Sweat and blood made the bottle slippery but I kept hold as I turned over and threw it at the thing next to me. The heavy odor of lamp oil filled the air and the Stemple-creature let go. I stretched forward and grabbed another bottle. A tentacle squeezed my wrist and my hand opened. The bottle fell and the cork popped out. Oil splashed the box and the floor, soaking my sleeves.
A numb sensation spread through my captured hand, dulling the pain. Sudden fear spurred me to move faster. If I’d been injected with whatever the demons used to kill their prey, I didn’t have much time. I dug into my pocket for my matchbox. It came free but with only one hand I couldn’t open it.
“Ben.” I couldn’t see past the dead thing looming over me. Grotesque cilia hung from Stemple’s mouth, wriggling in anticipation of capturing prey. Dead eyes stared down at me, cold and lifeless as those of fish in the market. I dropped the matches and tried to push myself away but my hand slid uselessly in lamp oil, unable to gain traction. A second dead man joined Stemple, and I knew there’d be no escaping them.
Until a new figure darted past and grabbed the matchbox.
Flora!
She kept moving, a dark shadow gliding across my field of vision before disappearing. In her wake, bluish-yellow flames sprang to life, following the spread of oil on the floor. Flames attacked the monster’s legs and it backed away, releasing me in the process. I rolled to the side and a wave of heat enveloped me. Everywhere I looked, fire jumped and danced, greedily climbing the walls and racing across the floor.
The heat ate at my arms and back, worse than the pain inflicted by the monsters’ attacks. Arms ablaze, I stripped off my jacket and beat at the floor, which only scattered the flaming droplets farther.
“Henry!” A man’s voice. All I saw was yellow and orange.
A hand appeared in front of me. I clutched at it, used its strength to pull myself up. I opened my mouth to say something but superheated air scorched my lungs. The room spun. Which room? I couldn’t remember. We had to leave. I turned again, my sense of direction gone. Heavy smoke made it hard to see. Figures moved in the mist. My confusion grew. Was I inside or outside? I tried to run but something held me. A sunrise glowed in the fog. Morning already? So hot. Too hot.
Something pushed me hard in the back.
Fog. Monsters. Fire. Going to die here—
A ball of glowing white exploded all around me. Thunder filled the world.
And with it came pain.
Chapter Ten
“Gilman. Glad you made it. Come along, I’ve something to show you.” Flannery waved to me. Behind his mustache, his face lacked its usual ruddy appearance and his ever-present frown was grimmer than normal. Soot and water marred his suit, the first time I’d ever seen him not looking as if he’d just emerged from a haberdashery.
Shards of glass filled my lungs so that the very act of breathing made me groan, which in turn added to my agony. My body ac
hed from head to toe and my skin felt tight and hot, as if I’d spent too much time in the summer sun.
I followed him. Moving hurt but I didn’t care. I was alive. Despite the searing flames and blinding smoke, somehow I’d found the exit – I couldn’t even remember doing it – and made it out, Ben and Flora right behind me. We’d stumbled into the street and collapsed. We’d still been lying there when the police and firemen showed up. At some point I must have lost consciousness, because when I opened my soot- and blood-crusted eyes, Ben was holding a cup of water for me and the fire was mostly out. Flannery was there too, and he ordered us to stand off to the side until he was ready to speak with us.
Now that time had come, at least for me.
“What is it?” It came out as a hoarse croak, but I savored each word. They only hurt a little and they no longer tasted like I’d chewed on a lamp wick. I wobbled for the first few steps but the cold night air helped clear both head and lungs and by the time we reached what was left of the morgue’s front entrance, I felt lucid enough to think.
The acrid stink of burned wood and chemicals assaulted my nose and brought on another coughing fit. Flannery waited until it ended before speaking again.
“This way.” Without waiting, he strode into the building, turning his bulky form sideways to ease past the door, which hung broken and twisted from one hinge.
Inside, the destruction was worse. Furniture overturned, glass everywhere. Water splashed underfoot and the miasma of oily fumes lay over everything. My eyes watered and the ache in my lungs returned, but I kept silent.
Until we reached the viewing room.
“Good…” another coughing fit took me, “…Lord,” I finished, holding my arm over my face.
Thick soot, turned to mud by the firefighters who’d apparently been and gone while I lay unconscious, painted wide swaths across the floor and walls. In several places, I was able to see through gaping holes into the next room – and in one wall, to the warehouse next door. The autopsy table and viewing chairs were nothing but blackened debris.
