ECHO 6 - Incident at the Morgue

[Moonwatcher]

First, I believe there's a guy in Canada who's been taking a particular interest in the Echo 6 stories. I'm glad he's enjoyed them. I've only a couple more 'in the can' and I was wondering whether or not to post them. Knowing now that I've a fanclub of one, my decision is no longer in question. Here is the first of the two remaining stories. It was posted for Halloween. It's scary but true. Best to read it in the dark with just a candle for light.

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ECHO 6 - Incident at the Morgue

It's a tricky and unpleasant business having a body in the back of your ambulance. A corpse is not a corpse until it's dead, and it's not dead until life’s pronounced ‘extinct', and only a doctor can do that. Until then the person’s still legally, if not technically, alive. So, as we make our way to the hospital you sit in the back and keep an eye on the 'patient' – just in case they wake up [seriously]. You cant cover their face either [lack of corpse status again], so you try to avert your gaze away from theirs. You look at your watch, 11:53, just before midnight. Typical! Your first death and it has to be during the night; and on Halloween of all nights; and uncertifiable at home into the bargain!. The nature of the death didn't help either. You'll never forget the guy who pointed the way into the tenement flat from the 'safety' of the stair landing; how he resembled an extra from a Boris Karloff movie. You wondered for a moment if perhaps his name might be Egor! Neither will you forget how you followed Alan and I into the darkness of the hallway, staring ahead into the circlular pool of light provided by the torch - 'Egor' had told us the power was off and to be careful in the dark. He seemed strangely reluctant to tell us what awaited us; just shook his head and turned away. The hallway was strewn with rubbish; newspapers, liquor bottles, cardboard boxes. The carpet was so worn and tacky you could feel the soles of your shoes stick to it as we crept along. The place smelled of cats and dampness. 'Second door on the right,' Egor had whispered as we entered. As the torch beam swept across the said door we saw it was closed over but not on the catch. Tied to the door handle was a rope, a nylon washing line by all appearances. Our torchlight followed it up and over the top, disappearing into the room beyond. It appeared as taught as a bow string. Alan knocked on the door. 'Hello! Ambulance!' No response. He tried again. 'Hello! It's the ambulance here! Can we come in?' Silence. He looked around at us and we shrugged. Like the 'Scooby Gang' we were ready to bolt for the landing. He pushed the door gently... and stopped!
'Did ye hear that? There's somethin behind it!' he whispered.
We shook our heads. 'Nope! Heard nuthin.' I answered. 'Dont want to either,' I added quickly.
As he pushed again, the door gave way slightly - and now we heard it. A soft... bump, bump... as though someone or... some-thing was knocking on the other side of the door!
Alan pushed hard and felt resistance from something behind it. He pushed harder and we heard something scraping across the floor. The door finally gave way and swung into the room, accompanied by the eerie bump! bump! He scanned the area ahead with the torch . An upturned stool lay on the floor in front of us. Old bedroom furniture could be made out in the yellow light. We huddled together as we entered, safety in numbers eh! An unmade bed took up the corner to our right, partly hidden by the now open door. Still huddled, we crept into the room. Apart from what we had already seen, it appeared empty.
'What was that bumping noise?' I asked no one in particular. We turned around and faced the way we came in.
'Came from behind the door.' whispered Alan.
The one bit of the room that we hadn't checked was hidden by the now open door. I gripped the leading edge and swung it closed. The torch beam shone on to a pair of bare feet... bump.. bump.. and then up... to the grotesque, contorted, bloated face of a man hanging by his neck from the rope attached to the door handle on the other side! [Okay we'll pause here so's you can go and put the kettle on].

Hysterical screaming at the sudden sight or sound of something truly horrific, rarely happens; usually only in Hollywood movies. In reality, real fright produces the opposite effect – a sudden intake of breath producing a wheeze followed by momentary cessation of breathing. In the torchlight the three of us stood silent and rooted to the spot for a few seconds, before rushing into the hallway to regain our composure. The thought struck us that it was perhaps some sick Halloween joke. But a quick re-check inside the room discounted this. The guy had hung himself from the door. For reasons known only to himself, he had tied the rope to the handle, slung it over the top to the other side, stood on a stool, put a crude loop around his neck [unfortunately without a proper hangman's knot to provide the sudden death afforded by dislocation of the first and second cervical vertebrae]. He then kicked the stool away and died a slow, painful death; asphyxiated at the end of the rope.

And so we approach the Glasgow Royal Infirmary A&E.

There is little point in offloading our body. We will only have to bring it back out to the ambulance. We explain the procedure to you;

A body will not be admitted to the hospital. After all, hospitals are for live people and their mortuary is reserved for their own patients who die within the hospital walls - a bit like those cafe's where you're not allowed to eat food you've brought in from outside. So, whilst the GRI are prepared to certify life as being extinct [not to be confused with a death certificate], they expect bodies to be taken away to the City Morgue once the examination is carried out and doctor's signatures obtained. I say signatures because, although only one doctor is legally required to carry out this function, the Glasgow Royal Infirmary is unique in requiring TWO doctors to independantly declare the person is no longer of this world. This comes about after an unfortunate case some years previous when a 'body' was found to be alive in the City Police Mortuary (CPM) after being 'mis-diagnosed' by a tired, overworked GRI doctor. This miraculous rising of the dead resulted in a 'mercy dash' back up to the GRI where they wisely decided to make an exception to their rule and admit the body – who went on to live happily ever after, albeit with a lifelong aversion to fridges!

So, pulses are sought, eyes are examined for retinal deterioration and reflexes are tested Both docs nod in agreement – 'life extinct'. The blanket is pulled over the corpse's face, hiding the staring, bulging, unseeing eyes from the world. Signatures are scribbled on the necessary form and the doctors return, stethoscopes swinging from necks, to the living. Meanwhile, the police arrive, having tracked us down. They need a witness statement from us. I agree to stay at the A&E giving the statement while Alan and yourself deliver our body to the City Morgue.

Jumping into the attendant seat up front, you're glad to be away from the corpse and, after glancing at the covered form lying motionless in the back, take satisfaction in closing the sliding door separating the cab from the patient compartment.

The City Police Mortuary (CPM) is located next to the High Court opposite Glasgow Green. As Echo 6 travels the short route through empty 'wee sma hours' Saltmarket, Alan explains the procedure.

At this time of the night, the CPM is locked up and unmanned – except for the bodies that is. To gain access, the front door key has to be collected from the police station in St Andrew's Square about quarter of a mile away. On collection of the key, the duty officer will contact the local beat man and the mortuary attendant on call to attend the CPM, register the body and check off clothing and personal items. You feel a coldness creep over you.

The old Victorian 'cop shop' appears all too soon. The sergeant behind the highly polished wooden bartop (The Bar), seems friendly enough but you cant help feeling he has you sussed – that he knows you're a rookie and that this is your first time in the morgue.
'Glad I'm not down there tonight.' he smirks.
'Why?'
'Aw jist wae it bein Halloween an aw that. Call me superstitious an aht, bit ye widnae catch me in ther eh night ah kin tell ye!'
He reaches over to a panel on the wall, festooned with keys on hooks, all carefully labelled. One, standing out from the rest, would do justice to a game of Dungeons and Dragons. A big brass job, with the initials CPM above it. He removes it from it's hook and hands it to you. It's heavy and cold to the touch.
'You know the procedure?'
You nod, thinking this to be tue.
'I'll contact the officer oan the beat, he should be wae ye in aboot ten tae fifteen minutes.'
You thank him and leave, disconcerted by the smile on his face.

Moonlight reflects off the road surface and windows as the ambulance covers the short distance to the morgue. All is quiet, not a soul to be seen. No traffic, no drunks, not even a stray cat. All the time you're conscious of the corpse in the back and wish you were home. Then, there it is, taking up the corner of Saltmarket and Jocelyn St, tacked on, as if an afterthought, to the impressively pillared High Court building that looms over it. It's a low single storey building, with shiny red brick and windows of thick, opaque glass designed not for observation but only to let light daylight through. Dominating the corner is a short flight of steps leading up to a pair of large wooden doors. Alan brings Echo 6 to a halt at the foot of the steps – and waits.
'Well whit are ye waiting furr?' he asks.
'Eh?'
'Go an open the door!'
'Are you not coming with me?' you ask in surprise.
'Nope. Ah need tae drive roon tae the back an reverse the ambulance up tae the back gate. YOU need tae go in the front door, make yer wae alang the corridor an unbolt the back door. Then ye need tae cross the yerd an unbolt the back gate and guide me in as ah reverse intae the loadin bay so wae kin affload the boady!'
There's a moment's silence while you absorb this information.
'Yirr no skerred urr ye?' he taunts.
'Eh? Not me.' you lie, shaking your head.

Grasping the key, you jump from the ambulance, and stand for a moment looking up the steps to the locked doors. The building's in darkness. You're startled as the ambulance revs it's engine behind you and pulls away. A feeling of isolation overcomes you as you watch it disappear around the back of the building. As you climb the steps you try to reassure yourself. 'Nothing to fear, except fear itself.' Oh how many times you've heard that! 'No atheists in foxholes' – where did you hear that one? And why think of it now? You reach the doors. The key slips easily into the lock and a loud 'clunk!' ensues as it turns; so loud in the dead silence of the night. You find yourself hoping no one, or no thing, heard it – and immediately chastise yourself for being so silly. The door opens with a predictable creaking noise. 'Good grief, you'd think they'd oil the hinges, especially in a mortuary of all places!' You step inside into darkness, immediately feeling it engulf you, and fumble at the wall on either side for a light switch. 'Why didn't I bring a torch? Why didn't Alan remind me? What's that smell?' A strange pungent odour fills your nostrils, it's not just disinfectant, there's something else, probably formaldehyde. That realisation does you no favours as you start thinking about the embalming process and... You take a deep breath. 'Cant afford to think about stuff like that. Just concentrate on the job in hand and get it over with. Where's that damn light switch?' You look around, your eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness relieved only by the presence of faint moonlight filtering through the thick glass windows further into the building. Dim shapes appear – a corridor ahead, a room, doors. 'Musn't let my imagination get the better of me,' you think to yourself as scenes from every creepy horror film you've ever watched compete for space in your mind. You suddenly feel cold. Very cold. Like someone just opened the door of a freezer. You shiver. Giving up on the light switch you move forward, slowly, very slowly, hand following the wall to your left. You're making for the open doorway in the distance where there's dim light. You should find a light switch there. Your hand runs over glass; a reception window most likely. An office door; locked. The smell becomes stronger. The faraway doorway opens into a room, you can make out shapes in the gloom. At last you find a light switch and click it on. A sudden loud buzzing sound makes you jump, before the room is subjected to a bright flickering light as the florescent tubes on the high ceiling burst into life. Through the strobe effect of the flickering you catch glimpses of what lies before you – and realise where you are!

In the centre of the marble floor, the steel autopsy table dominates the white tiled room. Around the far wall of the post-mortem room are arranged various sinks, sluices and glass cabinets, the latter containing neatly arranged instruments and tools. But your eyes are fixed on the table. 'No atheists in foxholes'. The phrase comes back to you and you remember now where you heard it – a Stephen King film where the two heroes are trapped in a similar post-mortem room while a sheet covered zombie comes to life and sits up! For a brief moment you visualise such a body on the table before you; watch it begin to rise...

You turn and run back down the corrider. You know it's your imagination that's betraying you but that doesn't stop the fear. Heart pounding, palms sweating, breath racing, you stop when you reach the entrance door, turn left, and walk smartly along the remaining corridor. Away from the light, you're back in the darkness again. You fight the feeling that someone is behind you, following you out of the post-mortem room. You know they're there, feel their presence, their coldness, their breath on the back of your neck! You see again the face of the corpse hanging from the door. You find another light switch. Light fills the corridor. You look behind you, wide eyed and scared – the corridor's empty. Ahead of you is what appears to be the back entrance. A pair of heavy wooden doors, bolted top and bottom. As you face them you hear a noise. 'Tink! Tink!' It's a metallic sound, like something tapping against steel. You freeze; look around. To your right a couple of doors look as though they may lead into offices or waiting rooms. But to your left, where the sound seems to be coming from, you see another open doorway leading into a dark room. 'Tink! Tink! Tink!' You're rooted to the spot. Your brain tells you to head for the back door, unbolt it and get outside, flee, escape! But you find yourself being drawn to the open room before you, into the darkness. 'Tink! Tink!'. Your hand reaches for the light switch and the room is bathed in harsh light. A metal trolley, slightly rusted and devoid of any cushioning or pillow sits in the centre of the room. The wall to the left has a desk and a chair. On the wall to your right rows, arranged one on top of the other, of steel doors. Small doors; like large filing cabinets; filing cabinet drawers actually; drawers containing the dead.

'Tink! Tink! Tink!

In your panic to draw the bolts on the back door you scrape your hands and bruise your knuckles. It seems to take forever before you can finally turn the handle, push the door open and rush outside. You stand for a few moments, catching your breath, controlling the panic. You look over the small yard and see the large yard gate on the opposite side, hear the steady hum of the ambulance engine on the other side. You jump from the loading bay on which you're standing and run across to the gate. More unbolting, before the big gates swing open to reveal the rear of the ambulance, it's red tail lights illuminating the area in a red glow. You walk backwards as it reverses into the yard. Jumping back up onto the loading bay, you bang the back door just as it lines up with the edge. It stops immediately.

Then, for a brief moment, you think you see movement in the back.

'Couldn't be' you think to yourself, and you feel the fear return.

You turn the door handle, slowly. The door creaks open...




Happy Halloween!

[Guest]

Thank you Moonwatcher.I'm saving this for bedtime.You should set up a mini fan club or something.
Your fan Robin

[Guest]

Just so you know Robin just turn 9.I'll probably have to leave the light on for a week.He tells all his friends about your other story so I expect when school goes back in and all the kids are waiting at the bus talking about what Santa left them Robin will be scaring their boots off.
HK

[StewL]

Will that mean he wont go near your fridge then Heather
Sounds like a boy after my own heart

[Guest]

No fears about Robin and the fridge,he's just like his Dad.Nothing scary in there just some really good friends he likes to take out for a visit.I swear there must be a magnet on the thing.
HK