Chapter 3: A Corpse

   “What’s going on down here?” Mom asked, a suspicious look on her face.

   “Uhm, I just thought I’d check it out,” I lied. I knew that if I told her the truth, she’d think I was crazy.

   She looked behind me. “Oka- what is this?” She wandered towards the tools I had just been inspecting. “Is this a morgue?”

   “I-I think so,” I stammered.

   “Jesus Christ,” she examined the room. “This is why the rent was that cheap.” She paused. “Come on, let’s go back upstairs and just…forget about this.”

   The next day a deadbolt was put on the mortuary’s door. Sure it was creepy and all, but it was also really interesting. I guess it was something about a fifteen year old girl and a more than creepy house, with an eerie past.

   Over the next few days I was busy helping Mom fill out paper work for transferring schools, we only had a few weeks left before school started; It was the second week of August.

   During whatever free time I had, I was outside soaking up the warn sun before crisp winter air overtook the warmth.

   On one of my longer walks, I stumbled across quite a large cemetery. I soon lost tome, concentrating only on the sadness engulfing me. For such a large cemetery, I was surprised to see I was alone; Well, in one sense anyway.

   At twilight I started to head back home, only just realizing how late it was.

   “Where were you?!” demanded my frantic mother, the second I walked in the door. Her slightly graying, light blonde hair was pulled back into a messy bun. She was dressed in striped pajama pants, and had on her favorite fuzzy, green robe.

   “I was down at the cemetery. I lost track of time,” I quietly responded.

   “Why were you down there?” She gave me a stern look. “Oh, never mind. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again, okay?”

   I nodded, noticing it was nearly ten.

   “Well, goodnight,” she said promptly, walking upstairs, to her bedroom.

   “’Night,” I mumbled, sitting down on an armchair in the living room.

   SLAM!

   “What the hell was that?” I whispered to myself, wandering into the kitchen, and to the doorway which led to the source of the noise. The basement.

   I creaked the door open, light pouring onto the stairs that led downward.

   I stood there for what seemed like forever, slightly shaking, deciding whether or not I was brave enough to go down into the pitch-black, cold and lonely underground.

   I took one hesitant step, the wood squeaking loudly in the quietness. At the bottom of the stairs, I felt for the light switch, seeing very little, with only the dim light from the kitchen

   When I found the switch and flicked it up, no light came on. I flicked the switch a couple more times, still no light. I grabbed my cell phone, using the light to find the source of the slamming noise.

   Then something caught my attention. The wooden doors were open, the same ones with the locked deadbolt. Except it wasn’t locked.

   Now I was starting to wonder what really went on with this house. What is going on with this house,

   My better judgment was screaming at me to get out, but I shut it up by telling it to stop being a coward.

   For the second time now, I walked into the morgue, not exactly knowing what to expect.

   I flashed my phone’s light around, not seeing anything at first. But when I did, a loud and shrill scream escaped my lips. On the mortuary table was a pale white corpse, with dark red words embedded in his skin. His dull eyes were wide open and lifeless.

Then everything went black