Crypts & Cannibals: A Collection of Short Horror Stories

The Cannibal in the Morgue {Part 4 of 6}

As Detective Famalo escorted Jonathan Skyksamenski to his wife's covered corpse, Dr. Arilio could feel his pulse accelerating. Deep in his soul, a knot formed and began pulling at the edges of his reality. The chilled air sucked into his lungs returned to the room heated from the inferno boiling inside. The doctor knew this man, intimately, despite never laying eyes on him before.

Dr. Arilio watched Detective Famalo's lips move, but a fog of betrayal seeped into the pores of his consciousness, fanning the flames of growing anger. He knew that she was explaining the brutality of the accident and giving the husband a graceful exit, should he choose. The husband shook his head definitively, without emotion or expression.

The moment the woman's face was uncovered, Dr. Arilio's gaze drilled into Skykamenski's eyes. The medical examiner found himself trying to read behind the man's pupils, to measure the malice in his soul, and assess the value of his life. The doctor began to lean forward, moving closer and closer to the victim's husband as he stared compassionately at his dead spouse.

The doctor was no plastic surgeon, but he'd made her look less distorted than when she arrived in his basement laboratory. The crushed cheekbone, broken jaw, and the numerous lacerations were impossible to completely disguise, but he'd done his best.

Skykamenski began to speak, but Dr. Arilio couldn't hear the words. The rage tightened in his guts, pulling entrails and muscles violently together, and Dr. Arilio could feel his hands knotting into tight fists. He knew that the detective continued to speak, but couldn't see her through the murky blur that had covered everything in his sight, save Skykamenski. Not a single word of their conversation pierced the veil of fury boiling inside the doctor. Nothing but a driving, intensifying rage passed through the doctor's thoughts.

Dr. Arilio drew in a huge breath, preparing to strike down this monster standing before him.

"Doctor!" the detective's words broke the trance in which he found himself consumed, "Please, cover her back up."

He glared at the pair as they left the morgue, angry and confused. Skykamenski was a terrible human and didn't deserve to live. He knew this as one knows the color of his own eyes.

But why?

He stumbled into the tiny morgue restroom, closing his eyes and bending over to splash cold water onto his face. The paper towel felt cheap and flimsy as stood back up. One look in the mirror caused him to crash backward horrified, flopping against the wall and floundering to the floor.

The person who looked back at him in the mirror wasn't him. It was the victim's reflection with open, angry eyes, glaring into his.

The tiles on the floor felt cold. He traced his fingers along the grout, trying to find his sanity in a mantra of tracing the perfectly spaced shapes.

Lack of sleep. That was it. The previous night's rough nightmares and horrifying visions of hell caused all this. He needed a nap. The anger and hatred felt toward Jonathan Skyksamenski stemmed from the twisted neurons in his mind that failed to receive the daily reprieve they required.

On his hands and knees, Dr. Arilio crawled from the restroom, half expecting to see Marta Skyksamenski standing next to the cooler, looking down on him as groveled along the floor. He stood up, his legs still unsteady and his breath firing in staccato gasps. The accident victim remained covered on the table.

Dr. Arilio began walking to the door when he heard his own name. The sounds came from behind him, from a distant, quiet place, but he heard it. He spun again, expecting to see her standing. The room remained unchanged.

The silence in the room began penetrating into him as he scanned the shadows, still half expecting a ghost to materialize. His body shook with a chill and goosebumps sprang forth from every inch of skin when he heard it again, "Marcus Arilio." The sound that hung in the air was a woman's voice, soft yet harsh, cold yet demanding. His shiver transformed into shaking as he felt his feet betray him and begin walking deeper back into the room.

"Marcus Arilio," it hissed again as he stepped back into the restroom. He clamped his eyes shut terrified as his hand planted themselves on each side of the mirror.

"Marcus Arilio."

"Marcus Arilio."

He felt air move across his face as if someone was speaking too close. "Run!" he screamed inside at himself. Flee with all your might. But he remained frozen in place as the voice chanted his name.

"See me, Marcus Arilio," the voice demanded, "See me."

Using all of his strength, he clamped his eyes shut. Nothing in this world could force him to face the horror accosting his ears and thoughts.

A crack of light slipped into his vision. He fought the sensation, but something was prying his eyes open without touching him. "NO! NO! NO!" he screamed as the pressure continued to push his eyelids upward. He fought with all of the will he could muster, with his body shaking harder with each passing moment.

She stared directly into his eyes from the mirror. Fire and fury burned deep behind her piercing gaze. Her broken jawbone clinched in a crooked rage. His eyes felt a searing heat as she roughly inhaled and exhaled. A mist slithered through his hair with each breath breaking forth from her cracked and broken teeth.

Everything went dark as he fell unconscious to the floor.

To be continued...