Since working at the morgue, Elmer has learned to appreciate the dead. He looks at the clock and sighs. A few more hours until he can call it dawn.
“Okay, your move,” he says to the poker-faced corpse propped on a seat across from him, with a chessboard between them.
“Do you really expect it to reply?” a voice asks from behind, he jumps from his seat, upending the chessboard and the corpse to the ground.
“Fuck, Mary!” He says as he throws his arms in the air. “I just pissed myself!”
She lets out a giggle, “Sorry, but, you did say to drop in on my way out tonight, and, here I am.”
“Yeah, well, you could’ve knocked.”
“You could’ve closed the door,” she says, nodding her head towards the open doorway.
“Just because it’s not closed, doesn’t mean you can just walk in, give me a hand,” he says as he gets on his knees and starts quickly picking up the chess pieces.
“Umm, I don’t want you to wet yourself again, but, where’s your friend?”
“HA! HA! Really mature Mary, what the fuck are you….” He doesn’t need to finish his question as he looks over to where the corpse had tumbled and his eyes grow wide with panic, for it was gone.
Instinctively he leaps up, cracking the back of his head on the table, and crashes back to the floor with a violent thud. For a few moments everything spins around, his eyes pulsate with black and white pockets of light, as if life was throwing him his own fireworks display.
He hears Mary call his name, and then, she screams in terror. He grabs his head, feeling the warm, sticky fluid that’s leaking out of the back of his head and he scrambles to his feet, terrified.
“MARY?” He calls, but he receives no reply, he stands there, petrified, his mind, broken, screaming in agony; the pain, overwhelming.
“Game’s over Mary, it’s not funny anymore, I think I really hurt myself,” he says as he squints his eyes, trying to focus on what’s in front of him. He feels something at his feet, lying on the floor, so he kneels down, feeling with his hands, it takes him only moments to realize he’s groping Mary’s breasts.
“Mary?” he whispers as he feels his way up her chest, her neck is covered in the same sticky, warm liquid that runs from the back of his head, and he stops, frozen, as the urine runs into his pants once more. He mumbles a short prayer to himself before he continues, moving upwards, to where her head should be, but there is nothing. Without his sight, he can only rely on his touch; which tells him all that remains is rough, torn, sticky, soft flesh. He does the only thing he can think of, he screams in terror, leaping to his feet once more. His eyes spring open, but still useless, the throbbing pain in the back of his head tears into his brain like a metal spike. Through the violent haze of nothingness, he somehow sees it — a shadow moving towards him with naked flesh and arms; it’s bloody arms, reaching towards him.
“Get away from me, GET AWAY FROM ME!” He screams as he slips on a growing puddle of Mary’s blood, and crashes to the floor. The pain, is instant, and then, nothing. His body twitches uncontrollably. He attempts to scream, but nothing comes out, for that ability is gone; the queen took that from him, when she pierced the back of his skull.
50 Word Story Collaboration
By Karina Pinella
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