The banging sound made my skin crawl. Each heavy thump echoed through the morgue like a hammer striking hollow metal, the vibrations traveling up through the floor and into my bones.
It had been too long now-far too long- since Dr. Scott disappeared to fix whatever was causing that awful noise. 'Actually, I just assumed he went to fix it, since he just left. So don't judge me :)'
I waited, counting seconds that stretched into minutes, my fingers tapping nervously against the cold steel autopsy table. The dead woman still lay there, her chest cavity open and empty, but I barely noticed her now. All my attention was fixed on the hallway where the old man had vanished.
My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat. Something was wrong. I didn't believe in ghosts or hauntings-not really—but I did believe in my own terrible luck. My first thought, the one that kept circling my mind like a vulture, was simple-What if he's dead?.....
Yeah yeah, I know how that sounds. I mean, Who thinks like that, right? But when death follows you as relentlessly as it's followed me, it becomes your first assumption, not your last. The goosebumps spreading across my arms weren't just from fear—they were anticipation. The awful, gnawing anticipation of yet another tragedy.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably only ten minutes, I couldn't take it anymore, I had to know if he's truly dead, so I took my first step toward the hallway—
The lights flickered.
I froze. The fluorescent bulbs above me buzzed and dimmed, casting long, wavering shadows across the autopsy room. Before I could even process what was happening, I found myself grabbing the heavy flashlight from the table, my fingers closing around it instinctively.
Then—total darkness.
The entire morgue plunged into blackness so complete it felt like being buried alive. At the exact same moment, the flashlight in my hand flared to life, the beam cutting through the dark like a knife. I didn't remember turning it on. It was as if my body had moved on its own, reacting to some primal warning my conscious mind hadn't yet processed.
I didn't have time to question it. Swallowing hard, I began moving toward the backrooms, my footsteps unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence. The flashlight beam shook in my grip, revealing glimpses of the hallway ahead-peeling paint, rusted pipes, dark doorways leading to who-knew—where.
A strange thought occurred to me then, cutting through my fear-Please don't let him be dead- Not because I cared about the old man-I barely knew him-but because this job was my last chance. If Dr. Scott died tonight, I'd be back on the streets by morning. No one would hire the "death kid" twice.
Moving carefully, I checked the engine room first. It made sense-that's where he'd presumably gone to fix the pipes. But the small, cluttered space was empty, the machinery silent except for the occasional drip of condensation.
Next was the bathroom. The door stood slightly ajar, and when I called out, "Dr. Scott?" my voice sounded small and weak in the darkness. No response. I pushed the door open fully, the beam of my flashlight revealing cracked tiles and a dripping faucet.
Empty...
Oh Wait... did you actually think he'd be in the bathroom? Come on, seriously? You thought an old man who went to fix some higher level banging pipes would just stop to take a leak first? What kind of horror story do you think this is? one where the monster waits politely while you finish your business?
Though... now that I say it out loud... wouldn't that be scarier? The idea that even bathroom breaks aren't sacred anymore? That death doesn't even respect toilet time?
...
...
...
Yeah, no. He's definitely not in there.
But i checked anyway, didn't i? Admit it. Because that's exactly what you'd do too if you were alone in a dark morgue with something banging in the walls. We're all just scared humans making bad decisions together.
Now let's get back to the actual horror before something else decides to join us in this conversation.
I was about to turn away when the banging started again-louder now, closer, coming from deeper in the morgue. Each impact shook the walls, the sound reverberating through my chest. My hands were slick with sweat, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Every instinct screamed at me to run.
But I didn't.
Because despite the terror clawing at my throat, despite the voice in my head shrieking that this was how horror movies started, my body kept moving forward-one slow, reluctant step at a time-toward the source of that awful, relentless sound.
The banging grew louder with each step I took, the sound now so close it vibrated through my teeth. I followed it to a locked door near the engine room-one I hadn't noticed before. The moment I got close, the smell hit me like a punch to the gut.
Smells like Rotting meat, or Old blood or perhaps Something worse.
My bladder gave out before my brain could stop it. Warm wetness spread down my legs, but I couldn't even smell it over the stench oozing from under the door. My mouth flooded with spit-thick, sour spit that I had to swallow because I was too scared to move my hands from the flashlight.
Disgusting? Yeah. But you'd do the same if you were here.
My body wasn't listening to me anymore. From the outside, I might've looked brave—feet moving forward, flashlight steady. Inside? I was screaming.
One shaky step. Then another.
I pushed the door open.
The smell rolled out like a wave, so thick I could almost see it. I spun away, gagging, pressing my face into my shoulder to block the stench. Then-
BANG.
Right in front of me.
I whipped around, flashlight slicing through the dark. Nothing.
BANG.
Behind me now.
I turned again, heart hammering. Still nothing. But I knew something was there. I swear I heard it...or...i saw it...i can't even tell the difference anymore.
Then...
BANG.
The flashlight beam landed on the pipes in the corner.
And that's when I saw it.
A snake.
At least, that's what my brain called it at first.
Long. Black. Thick as my thigh. Its body coiled around the pipes, slamming its tail against the metal-BANG. BANG. BANG.
But snakes don't have scales that big.
Snakes don't make sounds like wet meat hitting concrete.
And snakes sure as hell don't have tails that thick while the rest of them stays hidden in the shadows.
I was drenched in sweat now, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
Why am I so scared? It's just a snake.
Then it moved again.
The thing reared up and slammed into the pipes with enough force to shake the room.
And that's when it hit me.
What if this isn't the snake?
What if this is just its tail?
The flashlight trembled in my grip as I slowly, slowly tilted the beam upward—
—toward the darkness where its head should be.