The Unhallowed

     

Mercifully, my worst fears were not realized. Two other attendants joined them, and the men continued to stand over the white-shrouded forms on the tables, murmuring among themselves. One of the men, a large-bellied fellow with thinning reddish hair, drew back the sheet which covered one of the bodies and grinned. 

    
“This one’s a looker, I’ll say,” he sneered, licking his lips evilly. “I’d take her myself, if there was time, God knows.”

    “Whoa, Sims,” said one of the others, a younger man, with a shudder, “she’s dead! You’re blasphemin’!” The one addressed as Sims laughed and ran a beefy palm over the dead woman’s body.

             
    “I’d have a wench like this ever’ day of my life, if I could,” he replied. “But it’s not meant to be for men like us. Only the rich can enjoy these spoils when they’re alive. We’ve got to get ours when we can.” I wondered at his meaning, as the other two men shook their heads in disgust.  

            
     “There’s a name for that,” said the young one, his eyes widening with horror. “Necro—necro-something. Defiling the dead! It’s unholy!”

            
     “Stop your bawling,” said the first. “I’m just lookin’ to have some fun. Haven’t seen the wifey in a month.”

            
      “Dr. Joseph’ll have your head,” cried the other. Sims touched the bosom of the dead woman. 

      Just then, a tall white man of late middle age entered the room carrying a leather-bound book. Wearing an open white doctor’s coat over a dark suit and tie, his air was that of a superior irritated at having to deal with unsophisticated underlings. He had a singularly cruel aspect, with a full beard and cold pale blue eyes that looked disapprovingly upon all around him. From his distinguished carriage as well as the deference paid him, I assumed that he was the “Dr. Joseph” referred to.

         
     “What are you doing, Sims?” he asked. Sims immediately removed his hand and covered the body.
     
     “I was just makin’ sure she was dead, sir.”   

            
     “I see.” The other two lowered their eyes as Dr. Joseph gazed at Sims disdainfully.

            
     “Prepare this one for the autopsy,” he said. “I need to know why she miscarried.” The men set to work on the body. What happened next was something that to this day I cannot repeat. After they completed their profane operation on the woman, they left the room through a door opposite the one I had entered through.         
     
     I waited in the shadows until their footsteps faded away, and crept over to the table. My heart was heavy as I whispered a silent prayer for these poor women, taking comfort in knowing that they were now beyond pain. I knew that I had to escape. 

[TO BE CONTINUED.]