Indeed yee does

Your curiosity gets the best of you. You reach out with a trembling hand and grab the handle. It’s as cold as ****. You pull it open and with an ominous creek it swings open. A blast of cold air washes over your face and a cloud of mist floats out.

All you see in the dark recess is the white sheet covering him, much to your relief.  You pull the table out from its dark recesses.  It slides out smoothly and soundlessly, like a phantom.  The cloth rustles a little before settling back down.  Here we are, the point of no return.  You could just as easily put him back and walk out.  There’s no need to put yourself through this.  But something deep down tells you to go on.  You need to see what seems so important about this guy.  You grip the sheet and steel your resolve.  With a deep breath you pull it down.

He looks to be twice your age, but being dead tends to add on a few years.  His hair is thinned out and grey like cobwebs in a dark corner.  His eyes are closed and eyebrows raised, like a firecracker went off in his face.  His lips are paper thin and firmly pressed together.  He looks like he’s been mummified.  His skin is stretched over his bones and he’s ghostly pale, even for a corpse.  His baby blue eyes. . .

Are staring right at you. . . 

Something misfires in your brain and your thoughts stumble to a halt.  All you do for a second is stare at John Doe as he looks right back at you.  Finally, you manage to get a thought together: “something’s not right here.”  It’s not very helpful, but it jump starts your train of thought.  You go from suspicious to curious to confused to OHMIGOD.  You try to scream but get cut off by the man’s skeletal hand shooting towards you, clamping over your throat.  You try to pull free but his grip is iron strong.  His lips curl back in a snarl as he sits up so you’re eye level with him.  The sheet slides off his chest, exposing the stitched up y incision where the coroner cut him open, removing any doubt that this guy could be anything but dead.  The flaps of skin flutter and begin spreading apart, ripping through the stitches.  He opens his mouth to speak, but the voice that comes out is unlike anything you’ve ever heard.  “YoU CAnNot REsiST Our CAlL!” It’s like there’s a hellish chorus croaking out in unison and his words echo endlessly in your skull.  It folds over on itself and builds up until you feel like your head is going to split.  “YOu SHalL BE AmONgsT oUR raNks!  tHiS CAnNOT bE SToPPED!  tHE UnmAKIng of ThE WorLd Is AT HanD!  ReSIgN YOurSELf to YoUR FaTE!”  Your windpipe is being crushed and your vision darkens.  Your struggling becomes feebler as your strength leaves you.  Before everything goes black, you see the skin on his chest fly completely open revealing his innards.  Where his heart should be, you see. . . you have no idea what you see.  It’s black and pulsing with its own heartbeat.  You see a miniature mask surface from it, much like the ones you saw on those creatures you fought.  Unlike the other ones which were static, this one’s mouth opens into a wide O.  An ear splitting shriek comes forth and your eyes roll into the back of your head in agony.  You’re too weak to do anything else.  It’s drawing you in and its cries get louder.  That’s when everything goes black.

“John san, are you alright?”  Instantly, your vision returns.  Imari is standing at the doorway, looking at you oddly.  It’s probably because you’re standing over a corpse with your own hands are wrapped around your throat.  You look down at John Doe #387 and see that he’s lying back down with the sheet covering him again, as if nothing had happened.  “John san?”  Imari looks worried now.  You drop your hands to your sides and give her your best ‘everything’s fine’ smile, “yeah I’m okay.”

“What were you doing?” she asks looking at the slab you pulled out.  You’re not sure how you could explain yourself without getting arrested.  You stumble over your words, “I. . . uh. . . I called my mom, she didn’t pick up,” you try to joke as you slide him back into the wall.  She doesn’t seem convinced, but decides to not probe further, “anyway, I sent the nurse away.  Her shift was over, I took over for her.  Come on,” she beckons to you to follow.  You follow her out of the morgue, taking one last glance over where John Doe’s body was stored.  You can still feel his bony fingers around your neck and his words still ring in your head.