Suddenly, a sharp clatter shattered the silence. A clipboard crashed to the floor. Nathan’s heart leapt as he froze, eyes darting to the noise. He cautiously approached the counter—nothing out of place. The clipboard simply lay there, as if it had fallen on its own.
Unease settled deep in his chest. He bent down to pick it up, trying to rationalize it. Maybe a draft, maybe he’d nudged it unknowingly. But the air felt wrong, colder than moments before.
As he turned back, movement caught his eye. The shadowy figure appeared again, near the door’s window—darker now, more defined, watching him. Nathan’s breath caught. He blinked—and the figure vanished.
His pulse quickened. It’s just my imagination, he told himself, but the feeling of being watched lingered. The morgue, once sterile and quiet, now felt suffocating. He couldn’t shake the sense that something—or someone—lurked in the shadows.
Nathan’s hands were clammy; he was trembling. The noises, shadows, the sudden cold—it was too much. Panic surged in his chest, thoughts racing to calm himself.
Then, a sudden clatter echoed down the hallway, sharp and jarring. His heart hammered as the sound reverberated through the morgue. Unable to muster the courage to investigate, Nathan quickly texted his supervisor: Feeling sick, going home for the night.
Without another thought, he grabbed his things and left.
That night, Nathan tossed and turned, too spooked to sleep. The rustling sounds, the shadowy figure haunted his mind. Every creak of his bed frame sent his heart racing.