Flash Contest Entry 6/15

300 words.

”Would you please stop doing that?” The words were faint, weak, but clear all the same.

Deborah froze. Afraid to look, she closed her eyes. A few deep breaths and she opened them again. Slowly.

Mrs Jennings lay silent in the bed.

“Too much coffee, “ Deborah chided herself, “I knew that last cup was one too many.” She recognised the tremor in her voice and laughed. A nervous laugh, but a laugh all the same. She shook her head and returned to her work.

“Please, can you just stop doing that?” The words sounded louder, more forceful.

“What the...” Deborah dropped her tools, and with slow but steady motions, as if to avoid detection, stepped backwards toward the morgue-door. She felt the frigid handle against her wrist and pushed down hard. Her eyes bulged, a refrained whimper escaping her stiff lips. The door didn't open.

On the table, next to Mrs Jennings, the key lay gleaming under the bright lights of the room.

“Shit!”

With no other option, Deborah dragged her sandals across the pristine floor-tiles. She exhaled, long and deep and forced herself to look.

Mrs Jennings lay as motionless and mute, as anyone would expect from a three-day old cadaver.

Deborah pushed forward, her eyes searching for the slightest movement. Her bare knee hit the cold steel table. She jerked her hands to her face, trembling, as her scream filled the room.

“Dezzy one – Debbie nil” A male voice broke into taunting laughter.

Confusion. Realisation. The speaker shimmered at her from its position behind Mrs Jennings' hair.

“You are so dead, Dezzy Watson!” She broke into laughter, through relief more than anything else. Her heart still pounded in her throat. “I swear I will get you!”