A wet, slapping sound echoed from the hallway. Slap. Drag. Slap. Drag.
Then, she heard it—a voice coming from her own throat, but not her own words. A wet, slapping sound echoed from the hallway
The room plunged into darkness. When the emergency red lights kicked in, the elderly man on the table was sitting up. His jaw hung at an impossible angle, and his eyes had been replaced by swirling, oily voids. He raised a finger, pointing not at her, but at the incinerator. oily voids. He raised a finger
"I am the rot in the floorboards, Rebecca. I am the shadow in your mother's eyes." pointing not at her
She peeled back the sheet on the gurney. Nothing. She checked the woman in cold storage. Nothing.
