Manhunt. Volume 5, Number 5, May 1957

Toward a Grave by Howard B. Shaeffer

I’m in the morgue, Helen thought in terror. Help me! Somebody help me!

Helen Johnson struggled back from the black abyss of nothingness. She had a strange awareness of someone being near. Vaguely, through the pounding in her head and the roaring in her ears, she thought she heard voices. Detached voices — soft, faraway, floating voices. She struggled to hear, not understanding the words.

Where am I, she thought. What’s happened?

Memory eased its way back into her thoughts, slowly, falteringly at first. Then it flooded over her in waves. Mamie had booked her for the night. That man, she thought, the one she hadn’t liked. He had insisted on her or no one. She remembered that he had become angry over something she had said, had demanded his fifty bucks back. She remembered the look on his face when she had laughed at him. Remembered his reaching for the heavy ornament by his bed, raising it, bringing it crashing down. Now this, she thought, puzzled.

Voices invaded her thoughts. She could identify some of the words now. Dead! Someone is dead, she thought. Had she killed him? Helen weighed this thought a moment, sifting it back and forth. No, she thought, he hit me! That’s all I remember. Somebody else must be dead. Shimmering forms began to take shape before her eyes. The thought flashed through her mind that she must have been unconscious with her eyes open. She hadn’t opened them, but the blackness was fast disappearing. Voices again, floating over her, around her. Sudden flashing lights. The shimmering forms slowly took shape. A blurred face stared down at her. The face disappeared and Helen found herself staring fixedly at the ceiling light directly overhead. She tried to avert her eyes. Nothing happened. The face blocked her view again. Its lips moved.

“It’s a shame, lieutenant. Good lookin’ gal like that. So he wanted his fifty bucks back. Didn’t have to kill her for it!”

Blackness sifted slowly down upon her. The voices mingled with the droning in her ears. She fought against the blackness. She couldn’t understand. Some girl is dead, she thought, but that can’t be. Might it be one of Mamie’s girls?

Voices again. The light came back into focus.

“Well, that about wraps it up. You boys through?”

“Just one more shot, lieutenant.” A twinkling flash of light. “That’ll do it. She’s all yours, lieutenant.”

“Here. Cover her with this sheet till the boys from downtown get here.”

“What a body. Bet it was worth fifty bucks a night, huh, lieutenant?”

“You can tell this gal worked indoors; no suntan anywhere.”

“Real blonde, too. Wow!”

Helen’s view was suddenly obstructed by something white and billowy that wafted down upon her. The thought that had been pushing at the edge of her consciousness, finally got over and into it. Helen thrust the thought away, fearfully. As the whiteness closed about her she involuntarily tried to turn her head. Nothing happened. She struggled to grasp the significance. She tried to move her hand, her fingers, anything. But nothing happened. She had no feeling. I’m... I’m paralyzed, she thought, panic rising in her. The pushing thought emerged again; her mind tried to discard it, but it stayed, stubbornly. It’s me. They think I’m dead! her mind screamed. I’m alive! Somebody help me! Please! Somebody help me!

Voices again. Helen listened intently. Maybe they hadn’t sent for a doctor yet. That’s it! The doctor will know.

“There she is, boys. A real doll. Take a look!”

The whiteness whisked away. It must be a sheet, she thought. The light glinted down at her. She heard a long, low whistle.

“Boy, what a dish. Why, hell, if he didn’t want her, I’d of been glad to take her off his hands.”

“At fifty bucks a night? That stuff’s way out of your class, buster.”

“What’d the M.D. say, lieutenant?”

“Blow on the head. Can’t see it though. Not a mark on her!”

The whiteness floated down on her again. My God, thought Helen. They really think I’m dead. Even the doctor who examined me. Of course he made a mistake. I’m not dead! Oh, dear God, dear God, let them see that I’m alive. Please!

Helen knew she was being carried. The light got dimmer. I must tell them somehow, she thought, I must! She fought to move. Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing! She was floating again, floating, the blackness closing in. She fought it. Time stood still. Gradually reason groped its way back. Someone was near. She knew! She heard street sounds. Then voices.

“Les’ll be madder’n hell, bringing a stiff in this time of night. It’s almost three.”

“Hell! He’s gettin’ paid for it. Soft job. All he’s gotta do is tag em’ and put em’ on ice.”

That’s me they’re talking about, thought Helen. Dear God, no! No! She sobbed within. The street sounds faded.

“Tell Les to get the wagon out here on the double. I wanta get back. Damn hospital’s bad enough, but the morgue really gets under my skin.”

“Know what you mean, boy. Know what you mean. Les’s got an easy job, but I wouldn’t take it for all the tea in China.”

“Les sure seems to like it. He’s a queer one. Gives me the creeps sometimes.”

I’m in the morgue, Helen thought in terror. Help me! Somebody help me! She heard movements, squeaking wheels. The whiteness became whiter, then dimmer. She heard echoing footsteps. Knew she was being moved again. Somebody here’ll see that I’m not dead, she thought. Les! This Les! He’ll see I’m alive. God! I’m going crazy. This isn’t real. It’s just a bad dream. I’ll try to forget it and I’ll wake up. She repeated this over and over to herself, comfortingly. Suddenly the whiteness lifted. A thought far back in the recesses of her mind pushed its way to the front, shouldering out all other thoughts. It’s for real! It’s not a dream! You’ll be burried alive — alive — ALIVE!

Blackness again. Then a light shining in her eyes. A new face, soft, blubbery, injected itself between her and the light.

“You boys brought me a real doll this time, didn’t you? My, what pretty yellow hair — and such a pretty face. If her eyes were closed, you’d think she was sleeping, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said the loud voice of one of the hospital attendants. “Sign this so we can get out of here, will yuh?”

The grinning face disappeared. A hand blocked the light from Helen’s face. Darkness! Then the bright light again.

“Hmm,” purred the soft voice. “Eyes don’t want to stay closed, do they, little one?”

“Come on, will yuh?” The hospital attendant’s voice again. “You can do that later.”

Footsteps faded. Helen’s eyes were riveted on the light overhead. Her mind refused to accept the reality of all this. Don’t leave me here alone, she thought. Please don’t leave me. Somebody’s got to know I’m alive! The blackness pressed against her, left her. Footsteps echoed down the corridor, closer, closer. A door clicked shut. A key turned in a lock. Les’s middle-aged, fleshy face appeared above her. Her eyes were glued to his large nose. Les leered at her, and her flesh began to crawl.

“Tomorrow they’ll cut you open to see what made you tick. Or rather,” he corrected himself, “to see what made you stop ticking.” He giggled. “Then you won’t be so pretty, will you, my charming little miss!”

Cut me open? Helen thought: An autopsy! That’s what he must mean. But I’m not dead. That’ll kill me for sure...

She blacked out momentarily. Got to let him know. Got to! She struggled within her prison. All that had been recently happening welled up inside her. I must — I must! She strained. Every fiber fought against the bonds that imprisoned her. Then, ever so slowly, Helen felt the little finger of her left hand begin to rise. It took an eternity to raise it half an inch, then let it drop. Raise it half an inch, let it drop. Les had stopped talking. Helen could hear the click of her fingernail against the metallic table on which she lay. It drummed loudly in her ears. Relief flooded over her. Now Les would know she was alive...

She saw Les grin broadly, stupidly. Had he heard the sound? Had he? Large beads of perspiration gleamed on his forehead. His expression cunning, mad.

“Your kind don’t die easy,” Les said. “I know what you were. We get lots like you.” He smiled lewdly. “Fifty bucks a night, huh! Pretty hot stuff, weren’t you? Huh? Huh?”

Helen knew Les wanted an answer. The man was insane. He knew she was alive and yet he didn’t go for help. Go away! Her thoughts were screaming. Get me out of here!

“Tonight,” Les said, “you’re working for free, baby. For free.”

Helen saw him slowly begin to unbutton his jacket, draw nearer, nearer. This can’t be happening, she thought over and over. Les’s bare chest shadowed her. His face, his slobbering mouth, covered hers. Her mind cried out: No! No!

Les was standing beside her now, dressed again. His gleeful babbling had stopped. And his sudden silence was fear. And she saw the fear of punishment for what he had done in his wet brown eyes, as well as in his silence. But her mind was too spent to cry out. What more could be done to her? Nothing. Nothing...

Les’s face suddenly loomed large. Larger and larger. The ceiling reeled as he lifted her in his arms. There was the motion of walking, which suddenly stopped. The empty expanse of the ceiling; she could see nothing else.

Then, the smooth flowing whiteness of a sheet engulfed her. No! NO! Her mind was screaming in agony now as Les slid her into her own, private, refrigerated compartment.