Visit to the Morgue

Posted on Thu Apr 27th, 2023 @ 12:35am by Hale Stratton

540 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: Bangor or Bust
Location: Millinocket Regional Hospital, Millinocket, Maine
Timeline: 25 AUG 10 - 3:00 p.m.

The road between the crematorium and the hospital morgue was one he knew by heart. This was his 'means-to-an-end' job, the one that kept a roof over his head till he and his band got their lucky break. Like that gig this weekend at the bar where the drummer's uncle did bartending.

A chance, he thought, that's all we need is a chance.

He was listening to the recording he'd made last Saturday, the one where he could hear his kid brother screaming in the background and his Mom calling up the stairs that dinner was ready.

Some day, he thought. Some day, it will be recording studios and luxury hotel suites where we can be the ones tossing things over the balcony into the pool.

Butt that wasn't today and he'd gotten good at mentally filtering out the background noise. He listened to the music and waited for the inspiration to come. His job was the words. Find the story he wanted to tell that best fit the music and this one, mournful and a touch angry, spoke to him about loss and longing.

A girl, maybe. Or a dream that got taken away. Yeah, he thought. I like that better. And the loss of it has taken this guy to a dark place where he's screaming into the wind on the top of a bridge.

The idea stuck with him and he started playing with the lyrics as he backed into the loading dock. He kept the earbuds in as he turned off the engine and hopped out.

He paused the music when he reached the entrance. The attendant should be Max and he was a decent enough guy. No taste in music but he wanted to learn which was something.

"Hey, Max," he called out as he entered. "Sorry I'm late ... but I come bearing gifts. Snagged a set of ..." His voice trailed off as he heard a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a hiss. He stepped back instinctively, his heartbeat picking up a bit, before his brain caught up and he started moving again.

There were soft, wet sounds that he couldn't quite place intermixed with the quiet shuffling of people working. He shrugged off the creepy vibe that plagued him occasionally because horror movies when you worked with the dead was not a good idea.

Probably just busy he told himself. And when you think about it, that's why I'm here after all. The hospital morgue was full-up and complaining about needing the room. Course, as far as he was concerned, that many deaths meant that this might not be the place to go when you needed an ER.

He pulled up the subreddit on dark humor and familiarized himself with a joke. Which was why, as he passed through the plastic strips that hung across the wide opening, he wasn't looking for the bodies that went with the sounds.

Grinning, he entered and saw Max heading into the cold room. As he followed, he launched into his joke. "Hey Max, do zombies eat brains with their fingers?"

Max turned and he felt hands grabbing him, pulling at him, and he went down, screaming, under the weight of the bodies around him.

 

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