Quiet as a Morgue

A Story by Sami Khalil

According to the Hobo Times...

Quiet as a Morgue by Sami Khalil

He felt the morose gazes upon clouds of sadness. These faces were not happy campers. Bodies at the morgue were stacked like slush piles, bloated. As he pondered their fate, he grinned like a serial killer. His dates were posterior to every obituary posted in the “Hobo Times.”

It was in that small town that death was goose-stepping like Nazi soldiers with creeping emptiness.

This codger, dressed up as a priest and, upon letting him in, claimed to give the victims post mortem religious rites to soothe their souls. But there was no predictable bueller at all from the dead. He proceeded to quote some kind of scripture in context-oriented fashion. Touching his scraggly beard, adjusting his glasses, he felt sedated by the experience.

Some people in his place of worship noticed that his calm voice became edgy sometimes, bold and even apoplectic. It is like he was housing a bomb shelter of emotions. Another thing they noticed was that he placed milk bottles in the coffins to be buried along with the dead.

To him, these poor souls were towering edifices that shifted under death’s Sahara Desert. But still, they were infants and novices to life. They deserved not to die violently this way. One must distill down the meaning of death even if horrific. It is a short excursion not doubt to any.

Other than being a priest, he employed his skills in building cheap caskets, adorned with scriptural verses. Why not, for bodies are mere shells housing a spirit that outlives these tangible remnants.

At his vast Bowery, he made them, supplying the needs of the mortuary in record numbers. One day, a family member of a renowned victim sought the help of a psychic. The psychic handed her an address confirming the place of the killer. Asking her to be safe, she recommended carrying a gun, a pound of sugar and most importantly, a bottle of baby milk.

With her heart pounding in waves of endless echoes, she stood frozen as the nearby lake, upon casting her eyes on him. As the trees swayed outside with a non-descriptive wind, the eerie silence clenched her stomach.

He knew the game was up for when she pulled the bottle of milk, he squirmed like a worm, but still showed his ivory veneer.

He said: “Welcome to my workshop! You have a date with death. As you know, some swim to live, others are the helpless drowned. If you resist not, I will respect the sanctity of the willing. Otherwise you are dead meat.”

Laughter pealed loudly as shots were heard across the wheat fields. The sun was setting, the black void extended far enough for her to utter the words: “You, the dreg of society. You, the sour milk…Let this place be your quiet morgue for eternity.”

© 2019 Sami Khalil

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Reviews

Sean M. Addams

Love the story and creepy imagery in this. Overall great job on this one.

Posted 5 Years Ago

5 Years Ago

Whoa! Thank you so much Sean M. for this gracious visit and review. I hope you enjoy the holidays.

emmajoy

' To him, these poor souls were towering edifices that shifted under death’s Sahara Desert. But still, they were infants and novices to life.'

Such a finely written story with some great phrasing, Sami, You've created something so very different from the usual Hallowe'en tale: an unusual time and venue. Thank you so much for sharing. Now off to hide!

Posted 5 Years Ago

5 Years Ago

Hahaha. You have a great sense of humor among other things. I tried something different and you noti.. read more

Chris Shaw

Plenty of horror here Sami. A captivating read from start to finish, and most timely with Halloween on our doorsteps. You write so well. All good wishes.

Chris