Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

The morgue was colder than death.

Juno staggered inside, head still ringing from the Siblings' silent scream. Blood crusted under her nose, and her ears throbbed with ghost echoes of that psychic broadcast. Shade locked the door behind them and slid a rusted steel gurney in front of it.

"Won't hold for long," he muttered. "We need to vanish."

"Into where?" Juno groaned, glancing around. "We're in a room full of corpses."

Shade walked to one of the open drawers.

"Exactly."

He pulled the tray out with a screech of metal. The body on it—decomposed, unrecognizable—slid slightly.

Juno recoiled. "You can't be serious."

"It's the only way they won't feel us," he said. "They don't see. They sense. Motion, breath, fear. If we stay still… we become part of the cold."

He opened the adjacent drawer.

Empty.

Juno hesitated. Then climbed in.

The drawer slid shut with a metallic clang.

Darkness swallowed her.

The air was damp. Claustrophobic. Reeking of chemicals and rot. She heard Shade close himself into the one beside her. Then… silence.

Minutes passed.

Then the sound began.

Shuffling.

Soft feet on tile. Then others joined.

More.

Whispers scraped against the walls—not words, just the sound of breath held too long, exhaled all at once.

A voice entered her mind like a syringe sliding through skin.

"We know you're here…"

Something brushed the outer door.

Claws?

No. Fingernails.

The moan that followed wasn't undead—it was worse. Controlled. Contained.

Then the drawers beside her began sliding out.

One by one.

The thuds of stiff bodies hitting the ground followed. Then… her own drawer jerked.

Paused.

Juno held her breath.

The drawer slid out two inches.

Cold air rushed in. The breath she was holding trembled in her throat.

Then… it stopped.

Whispers retreated.

Steps faded.

And then—silence.

She waited five more agonizing minutes before slowly pushing the tray outward.

The morgue was empty.

Bodies gone.

Shade was already crawling out of his drawer, pale and shivering.

"They almost found us," he said. "But they don't like the dead. Not the truly dead."

Juno scanned the room. Something was… off.

The walls were bleeding.

Not blood. Data.

Red binary code trickled down the tile. Strings of ones and zeroes spelling fragments of language:

"They listen."

"The tower lives."

"You are seen."

Shade pointed to an overhead screen flickering above a nearby surgical table.

A live video feed.

Their own faces.

Being watched.

Now.

Juno's radio cracked to life—without power.

The voice was back.

"Thank you for hiding. We wanted to see what you'd do in the dark."

The camera exploded in sparks.

The lights went out again.

And from the hallway beyond the morgue… came the sound of many drawers opening.