Demoniac

Morgue

"One-ninety-two, One-ninety-six, two-hundred," Nightshift read through the plaques on the morgue refrigeration units.  He spotted Brittany's directly in front of him.

"Two-oh-three," He finished. Nightshift misted forward and landed in front of the hatch.  He grabbed the handle, and with a grunt, forced the latch down.  It swung open smoothly.  Inside the unit, a black body bag lay in the shadows, contouring to the shape of the corpse inside.  Nightshift pulled the tray and it rolled noisily to a stop next to him.  The air grew colder with the refrigerated cadaver so close, colder still when he opened the bag. He carefully unzipped it to the shoulders and folded back the cover so he could see the woman's face. 

She was young. Her face was a frigid blue but her eyelids were black, as if marred with ash.  He shook his head; she couldn't have been more than eighteen.

Nightshift continued to unzip the bag.  He reached inside and found her wrist. Pulling her hand out, he turned it over in his own, looking for a mark but finding none.  He rested the hand on the metal tray and walked around the body to the other side.  He reached inside and pulled out her right hand.  He didn't have to look long.

A triangle had been carved into the flesh, pointing up the arm and towards her face.  The wounds were puffy and red though there wasn't any blood. Her heart had stopped pumping weeks ago and the morticians had cleaned the wound, but that only made it more disturbing.  The way the dead skin had swollen and-

The woman grabbed Nightshift's throat.  He hadn't seen her move or felt her hand leave his grip, only the pressure squeezing against his trachea.  Nightshift instinctively raised his arm and brought it down against the woman's but her grip didn't weaken.  He hacked at it again and again as he stole a confused glance at her lifeless face. 

Brittany's eyes now watched him. Her eyelids were peeled back and a fire now danced behind them.  Literally, flames filled the space where her eyes had once been.  The air smelled of burning flesh though her features were relaxed as if she were merely observing.

Nightshift hit her arm again, too desperate too wonder, when a burning sensation began pricking at his skin.  His eyes watered and he tried to vanish into the shadows, but only puffs of black smoke popped around him and disappeared, leaving him trapped in the physical world.  Panicked and suffocating, he grabbed the woman's wrist and twisted away, wrenching his neck free and earning the jagged scratch of her nails as they dug into his skin. 

Nightshift leapt into the air, grabbing the shadows and falling apart to become one of them.  He was elated, the fear receding as he caught hold of his escape until the motion reversed and he was slammed back together. The physical world crashed around and he jerked to a stop midair. His chin slammed onto the glazed cement floor and his teeth rattled in his head. The burning sensation of her grip bit into his ankle but the pain was so much worse than before, the heat so much greater. He pushed himself onto his back and his leg twisted painfully in her hand.

The cadaver of a woman now sat upright in her tray. The fire in her skull licked at her eyelids, darkening the ashen scars that tattooed her face.  The mortician's bag wrinkled and melted to her skin. Holes burned through with discolored flames as the plastic formed to her body.  She lifted her leg off the tray and stepped onto the floor.

Nightshift tried to crawl away but her grip was too tight.  He laid back against the floor, lifted his boot, and slammed his heel against her knuckles. She cocked her head to the side as she watched him, not sparing a glance for her tearing knuckles. Tears pushed to the corners of Nightshift's eyes as her touch became unbearable. His foot collapsed to the floor but the burning deepened to a numb thudding in the back of his mind and a heavy pulse in his veins.