Good For Gone

Reception

"911 what's your emergency?"

"Hello, I think I've found a dead body."

"You think?" The woman on the end of the line asked.

"Well I mean he's healing."

"Healing? Then he's not dead dear."

I sighed, trying to think of how to explain it without sounded too crazy, "I mean he's like really decomposed, but he's healing."

She paused for a moment before reslonding, "So you're trying to tell me that you've found a body that's decomposing, but for some reason you think it's healing?"

"It is!"

"Okay here's what we're going to do," she said slowly, "You're going to lay off the zombie movies and get a life before I send the police out there to arrest you for prank calling 911."

"No its not that, it's real I swear."

But she cut me off with a firm, "Have a good day." And hung up the phone.

I began doubting myself, which was silly because I was staring at it right in front of my face. So I decided to do my own research.

I'd lived out in the country my whole life, I loved it, but it did have its faults. For example, when you think you're witnessing a biological impossibility and the faulty Internet signal won't help you confirm it.

I paced back and forth in the little shack, keeping a safe distance from the body but never turning my back to it.

The phone refused to connect to the data long enough for me to Google human decomposition. But honestly, logic and a high school education can tell you that it's impossible for dead tissue to heal itself, it just can't happen.

The body should be worse having sat in the hot summer weather for days. But after further examination the maggots who had infested the deep wounds, laid shriveled and dead on the floor, like they had been pushed out.

I threw my phone to the ground and huffed. What could I even do of no one would believe me.

The only issue is that there is the possibility that I was just losing my mind and nothing was actually happening.

So I concluded that I would give it one more try to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

I picked my phone back up and approached the body. The bicep I was closest to was still distorted by rot, so that would be my tester.

I took a picture of it, and then pulled a Bobby pin from my hair and sunk it into the marred flesh.

The texture caused my stomach to heave but I fought it and kissed the idea of sleep goodbye.

This image wouldn't be leaving me any time soon. Luckily I had yet to see the face. It was awkwardly cocked away from me and I was very content with that.

I took another picture for good measure and left, leaving the door loosely open like I'd found it.

When I got home the humidity that clung to my skin fit well with my story. My dad asked how my run went and I told him it was fine. Nothing to worry about.

Except for the fact that I was worrying about everything. I was worried that I was crazy. Or that maybe there was a crazy killer in the woods. And there's also the unshakable idea that if I'm right that means that one day that body will wake up.