Crypts & Cannibals: A Collection of Short Horror Stories

The Cannibal in the Morgue {Part 5 of 6}

The chilly night felt even colder with each attack of the howling wind upon the trees, their branches crying out with painful creaks as they bent. Clouds rushed across the sky in a mosaic of racing patterns, revealing and hiding the full moon, creating a dancing, monotone light across the landscape.

Dr. Arilio moved as quietly as he could through the shadows between the houses, stealing his way into the backyard. His mental state was a haggard, surreal haze as if he was watching himself slip through life without control and without conscious thought. He pushed at the thin border of his imprisoned reality, unable to tell if he was dreaming or hallucinating.

Somehow, he knew that the backdoor to the garage would be unlocked. It had broken some time ago, but he knew Jonathan Skyksamenski found other activities more appealing than home repair.

Slipping into the pitch black of the garage, Dr. Arilio set his gym bag down while he waited for his eyes to adjust. The latex gloves felt more comfortable than they usually did, and a smile crept across his face. They were as comfortable as the black ski mask he wore to hide his pale skin in the dark.

Thoughts of what was coming pushed his heart to beat faster, the rhythmic pounding growing louder in his ears, propelling him to action. He placed the ladder under the garage door opener, climbed up, and removed the lightbulbs. After replacing the ladder, he selected an aluminum bat from the bin in the corner containing sports equipment from Jonathan Skyksamenski's teenage years.

The darkness and shadows hid Dr. Arilio perfectly as the garage door began climbing up its rails. The clouds embraced the moon, chasing any ambient light into the heavens.

Skyksamenski opened his car door, "Fucking shitty cheapass light bulbs always burning out," He angrily slammed the door, "I'll buy ones that fucking work rather than the cheap shit she always bought."

The guttural chuckle emanating from the man's lungs polluted the air in the garage, igniting a blaze of anger in Dr. Arilio's chest as he crept through the shadows. The bat rang out like a church bell as it smashed into Skyksamenski's head.

Dr. Arilio clicked on his flashlight and rapidly examined the man's skull, letting out a sigh of relief. No blood. No spatter. He felt for a pulse. The vein pressed back in rhythm against the doctor's fingers.

Working quickly, Dr. Arilio retrieved the body bag from his gym bag, rolled Skyksamenski into the bag, and zipped it to the man's torso. A brief gasp left the man's body as he struggled to find his way back to consciousness.

Dr. Arilio removed the belt from his pants as rapidly as he could, wrapping it around Skyksamenski's neck and cinching it tight. The man's eyes popped open in fright as he realized that he was unable to breathe. His first reaction was to grab for his neck, but his arms flailed uselessly against the constricting body bag. The clouds released the moon from their darkening embrace and a stream of light pulsed into the garage. Terror melted into confusion and panic in Skyksamenski's eyes as life passed into death.

With Jonathan Skyksamenski's body in the trunk of his car, Dr. Arilio backed out of the garage, pressed the remote control, smiled, and drove away.

To be continued...