The Chilling Depths

I stare at the cold, steel door of the morgue, my heart pounding in my chest. The stench of death hangs heavy in the air, suffocating me. Each step I take feels like an eternity, my legs weighed down by the dread that creeps up my spine. The hallway is dimly lit, the flickering fluorescent lights casting eerie shadows on the cracked linoleum floor.

As a forensic pathologist, I’m no stranger to death. But this…this is different. This is something I’ve never encountered before. The bodies that await me in that room are not just victims of accidents or natural causes. No, these are victims of something more sinister, something that chills me to my very core.

I push open the heavy door, the creaking sound echoing through the sterile room. The first thing that strikes me is the chilling silence. It’s as if death itself has settled into the walls, watching me, waiting for me to make a false move. The room is immaculate, each stainless steel table gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights.

I take a deep breath and step inside, my gloved hands trembling ever so slightly. The air is frigid, the cold seeping into my bones. I make my way to the first table, my eyes fixed on the body lying there, covered by a thin white sheet. I reach out and pull it back, revealing the twisted corpse beneath.

Her face is frozen in a mask of terror, her eyes wide open in a perpetual state of fear. The skin on her arms is pale and mottled, veins standing out like blue highways on a map. I take a scalpel and make the first incision, my hands surprisingly steady despite the unease coursing through my veins.

The moment I cut through the skin, a putrid odor fills the room, causing me to gag. I force myself to continue, my eyes focused on the task at hand. As I peel back the layers of flesh, a dark, viscous liquid spills out, pooling around the body. The smell is overpowering, like a mixture of rotting flesh and decayed dreams.

My mind races, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. How did these people die? What could have caused such a grotesque transformation? I’ve seen my fair share of gruesome deaths, but this…this is beyond anything I’ve ever encountered.

I move on to the next body, the same pattern repeating itself. Each victim bears the same signs of a violent demise, their bodies twisted and contorted in unnatural positions. Their internal organs are shriveled and blackened, as if something had sucked the life out of them. But what? What could have caused such devastation?

As I work, a growing sense of unease settles over me. I feel like I’m being watched, like there’s something lurking in the shadows just beyond my field of vision. Every sound, every creak of the floorboards, sends shivers down my spine. I try to shake off the feeling, telling myself it’s just my imagination playing tricks on me.

But then I hear it. A soft whisper, barely audible above the hum of the ventilation system. I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. I strain my ears, trying to make out the words. It’s a voice, distant yet distinct. It beckons me, taunts me.

I drop my scalpel and stumble backward, my eyes darting around the room. The bodies seem to come alive, their lifeless eyes following me. Sweat beads on my forehead as I scramble for the exit, my footsteps echoing through the empty corridor.

I burst out into the blinding daylight, gasping for air as if I had been trapped underwater. The sun feels warm on my face, but I can’t shake the chill that lingers in my bones. I glance back at the morgue, a sense of foreboding hanging in the air.

Something evil resides within those walls, something beyond my understanding. And as a forensic pathologist, it’s my duty to uncover the truth, to find out what happened to those poor souls. But deep down, I fear that I may be walking into something far more terrifying than I could ever imagine.

So I gather my strength, wipe away the sweat from my brow, and steel myself for what lies ahead. The path of a pathologist is filled with darkness and despair, but it’s my calling. And this time, I won’t let fear get the best of me. No matter how deep the horror runs, I will face it head-on, armed with nothing but my scalpel and my unwavering determination.

Because sometimes, the only way to defeat the monsters is to become one yourself.

Author: Opney. Illustrator: Stab. Publisher: Cyber.

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