Postmortem: Two Thousand Years Later

[vovan]

Sorry, I missed this post of yours at first, scratch.

Unfortunately, yes, I am having a fit of writing impotency right now. As for having written this story already, you see, I had written the beginning and what is meant to follow after Dmitri c... Wait a minnit, I'm not telling you what happens :P

So, any way I am missing about two three installments in the middle, and then the final development. These middle chapters are due now, but I just can't come up with anything

I think I'll have more time later this week, so I might get my inspiration back. Of course, it depends on how I do on the final exam today

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Just a bump for this excellent tale, Vovan I know youre busy over the holiday with your family and all but when you get back we expect to see you continue this.

Well what I really mean to say is please continue this.

[Ksim3000]

This story is good! Can't wait for the next part!

[vovan]

OK, I am really sorry this had to take so long. In fact, I was pretty tired of the story. But as I myself hate to see stories die unfinished, I gathered my last pieces of imagination and wrote the next part. Next to last. I hope you, folks have not forgotten the plot of the story up to now, and enjoy the rest of it at least half as much as I did writing this story.

[vovan]

Postmortem: Two Thousand Years Later

... I could see the two large round eyes, with big pupils, looking at me from the dark. The cold stare seemed to get right down to my soul. It seemed the creature was looking right through me, calculating how to attack most efficiently. The cold, unblinking stare of the killer seemed to get to the depths of my mind, finding out what I was going to do and instantly coming up with plans to counter my any action.

And what was I going to do? The dizziness came over my head once again, and the voices returned. They were screaming, whispering, whining, and barking the plans of escape into my ear. Each of them was contradicting all the others, and none of them gave up pulling my mind in their own direction. It felt like it was about to fall apart. The world about me seemed to become surreal, and nothing was natural any more. The time seemed to slow down, as I saw the silhouette of the killer set back a little bit, like a cat before its leap of death. I think I screamed. The monster jumped out at me from the darkness.

It was a dog! Not a huge one at that. Just an average-sized homeless dog. Yet, as its front paws hit my chest, I fell down into the snow. The dog stood upon me and growled menacingly in my face, the vapor from its mouth brushing against my face, its saliva dripping off the tip of a fang. I tried to fight it off me, but it wouldn’t get off, trying to reach my neck, and thrust the fangs right into it. As its teeth were already touching the skin, as if out of nowhere, a cudgel swung and hit the dog right in the head. The animal squealed and rolled off of me into the snow bank.

I took the hand that was given me, and got up. “Thanks…” I said in a slightly trembling voice. I heard a faint laughter in response. “If I went to the restroom before comin’ here, as I was going to, I would of found another dead body, eh Mr. Pleshkov?” I raised my eyes and couldn’t believe who I saw. “What are you looking at? The snow bank right there did just fine.” It was Claw. “Now listen, freezer-man,” Claw continued, “I told you, did I not, ‘bout them dogs. What are you doing here in the middle of the night after you have been warned?” It felt like he was interrogating me. What right had he to talk like that to me? I became angry.
- Look, Claw, you helped me get rid of that dog. I thank you for that. But what I was doing here in the middle of the night is really none of your business.
- Yes, it is, - replied the boy, - the dog you say. You heard its skull crack. – I nodded. – Well, where is it now?
I looked at the snow bank. There was a puddle of freezing blood in a hole in the snow, but nothing more. I couldn’t make myself say a word, and only managed to open my mouth and move the lips inarticulately. I did, in fact, see the dog’s head take significant damage. Surely, it couldn’t just walk away. I could only manage to stare at Claw in silence.
- Well, now, - he said, - what were you doing here?
I pointed in the general direction where I saw the body earlier. He looked over his shoulder and turned back to me with a grin. “What, the morgue folks now have to fetch the dead bodies on their own nowadays?” – he asked, and, satisfied with the sarcastic remark, off he went into the darkness.

I kept standing there, motionless, staring at the body, lying, mutilated, in the snow. As I finally gathered my courage to approach it, I realized that as I rushed out of the morgue earlier that evening, I had forgotten the sleighs, and in the course of my little adventure I had also lost the gloves. The thought of having to carry the body with my bare hands, made me a little anxious. As I approached the dead person, both a little relief, and more anxiety entered my mind. Although I couldn’t make out the details in the darkness, according to the smell, it seemed that it had been dead for quite a while. It made me sick to carry the body that had started to disintegrate with my bare hands, but I figured I had no other choice. So, I grabbed its leg, and started back to the morgue.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

[TheGuitarist]

Excellent, albeit slightly disgusting. Keep it up, the suspense eats me up from inside.

[vovan]

Postmortem: Two Thousand Years Later

Warning: The last two paragraphs are kind of bloody, so if you are easily impressed, you might want to consider skipping them, and going straight to the end-notes.

The leg of the corpse seemed all wet and sticky. My hand seemed to freeze right to it, and yet, the limb itself did not freeze. Every time I switched hands, I had to wipe the free hand on the side of my fur-coat. That happened almost reflexively - otherwise, the feeling of some nastiness did not leave me. Also, my consciousness was revolting against dragging the body. Really, what if somebody was to see me? They would think that I myself try to improve the situation of the morgue! As if they pay us by the number of bodies processed. And yet I kept dragging.

The excuses to drop the body kept creeping into my head one after the other. Even common-sense thoughts. If I thought that the body was not fresh, why did I keep trying to bring it to the morgue? What, in the first place made me go looking for it? Well, Svetlana. She wanted me to find that body and see if that was her husband. She saw him yesterday, but today he wasn’t home after work. I reiterated the previous events of the evening in my head as if this happened weeks or months ago. Indeed, it seemed that way, as my memory was getting blurry, as if conforming to my vision, which was getting poorer by the minute. They say when one is scared his senses improve. And I was definitely all eyes that one moment when I just found the dog gnawing on this poor man’s body. But now, as if all my bodily resources have been exhausted, I felt weak, and the world around me was not clear. It seemed as if a strong myopia suddenly stroke my eyes: it was like a white fog covered everything around me, and I could only see silhouettes, but was unable to distinguish fine features of houses, lights, and the bushes growing next to the sidewalk.

It was hard to drag the body as I entered a narrow alley with shrubs on either side, as it’s muscles, petrified by death, kept the body in an awkward position, and its right arm was constantly getting stuck in the bushes. And yet I didn’t drop it. I kept dragging it, even though my mind told me that it couldn’t be Svetlana’s husband, so there was no point; even though my sense of esthetics whispered in my ear that I shouldn’t drag a half-disintegrated body half way across the town; even though my common sense was whining that somebody would surely see me and report to the police first thing tomorrow morning; even though my animal superstition was tugging on my sleeve and warning me that the body would come to life any time now. I could now hear those four voices so clearly in my head, that they animated around me in the form of shadows dancing in circles, and taking their turn at my side to tell me what to do.

Suddenly, one of those shadows became more than real, and blocked my path. I was just getting out of the poorly lit alley, and the light of the street ahead trickled in, as if condensed by the intense cold. Right in the middle of it was a long shadow. Somebody, though I couldn’t tell exactly who, was not going to let me pass. As the shadowy figure approached, limping on one leg, I saw that it was that same dog that had attacked me earlier. I dropped the leg of the body, and in an emotional motion clasped my mouth to hold back the scream of startle. A specific taste spread through my mouth, and I spat around as hard as I could. The dog’s mean attitude seemed to fade for a short moment, replaced by surprise, as the animal made a step back. But as fast as it vanished, the killer stare returned.

All of a sudden, I stopped spitting and came back to reality, realizing the danger that the dog was. Something began to whirr just behind me, and the light that had been dim suddenly started glowing much brighter. I looked around and to my terror realized that I was surrounded by dogs. A devil’s dozen^* of them formed an almost perfect circle around me. I startled and stepped back. I tripped over the body and fell flat on my back. I wanted to yell for help, but tears and fear clogged my throat and I couldn’t make a sound. My heart was beating so fast, it seemed like the chest was going to burst open.

I knew better than to keep lying there, remembering how the dog tried to have a go at my neck. So, I jumped up again. The dogs were still around me; waiting for something. It seemed they weren’t your regular homeless animals – they were beasts deep down in their minds. They stood, facing me, most definitely eyeing for the tastiest piece. Their tails low. Their ears close to their head. Their fangs showing. Quiet growl escaping the mouths. It seemed the voice of their ancestors was speaking in their minds. The wolves’ spirits revived.

Somehow I didn’t feel scared any more. Only very sad. The tears were strangling me. I knew this was the end. Even the voices in my head quieted down, annoyed that I didn’t follow their advice, and ashamed that they couldn’t save me. I don’t know why, but I thought of Svetlana. I felt very close to her, and very sad that I didn’t fulfill my commitment.

A single bark from the leader. I am on the ground again. Thousands of teeth tearing at my flesh. I am not fighting. I have let the hope go. The pain is moving from my legs up the stomach and into the brain, clogging up in the chest along the way. I see drops of blood flying, and little fountains from the broken arteries. The excruciating pain is tearing apart that, which is left intact by the teeth…

I seem to see the club flying back and forth, and more blood bursting in spurts around me. But the pain does not go away. Must be a hallucination - the last resort of the dying brain in hopes of salvation. Why am I still alive? Why don’t they just break my neck and finish it all?

The End

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* Devil’s dozen – in Russian, the same idiomatic expression that means a baker’s dozen in English – 13.

[vovan]

Miscellaneous notes:

Police Report:
On November 10, citizen Dmitry Alexandrovich Pleshkov was found in the Morgue of New Leningrad by his co-workers. Elena Nikolaievna Krilova came to work at 8 o’clock, as usual, and found Pleshkov by the entrance door, unconscious in a puddle of his blood.

When the experts arrived, Pleshkov was still unconscious, but was moved to his office, so it was impossible to fully explore the place of the crime in person, and the testimony of Krilova has to be trusted.

Pleshkov had suffered heavy bodily damage. The four lower ribs on the left side, and two lower ribs on the right side broken. Left shoulder fractured. Both legs heavily mutilated. The wounds on the legs were deep, and made with a thin but rather blunt object, with signs of tearing. The state of the wounds suggested that they were made around the previous midnight. Despite heavy blood loss, the pulse could still be faintly felt, so the man was taken to the hospital immediately.

In addition to Pleshkov, there was also a dead body. It was found next to him, in a rather strange position. The body was leaning back, and holding both of the arms at the waist level. The head was bent downwards. The experts could not establish the exact date of death, but concluded that it must have come over a year ago. Therefore, the identity could not be established.

Further investigation of the morgue turned up a pen hidden in the left drawer of Pleshkov’s table. It had blood all over it, and pieces of flesh stuck inside. Future investigation showed that there were Krilova’s fingerprints on it.

Police Officer Timur Sergeevich Nikolenko.

___________________________
Signature

***

Court case #1201:
New Leningrad Police Department vs. Krilova, Elena Nikolaievna

Page 10

… is hereby proven not guilty. Medicinal expertise clearly proves that Mr. Pleshkov’s wounds had been made around midnight November 10. At that time, the defendant was at home, which had been testified to by uninvolved parties. Though it is also clear that the wounds, which resulted in the amputation of both of Pleshkov’s lower limbs were, indeed, made with the object used against the defendant (a metallic pen), it is undecided as to who the responsible person is, and therefore, the object will be put aside till further investigation.

***

Psychological report #12 01 3178

Date: November 24, 1695.
Patient: Pleshkov, Dmitry
Doctor: Gogohia, Gvantsa

The patient suffers from several psychological disorders, and hallucinations.

In the last session, earlier today, he was recalling the accident that resulted in his wounds. At first he was calm and the story went along smoothly. However, as he was getting closer and closer to the culmination, he got more nervous, and excited, and ventured further into the realm of delirium, and in fact mentioned certain “voices in [his] head” a number of times, which, coupled with other symptoms seems to prove the presence of multiple personality disorder.

The patient also mentioned the name of Svetlana a number of times, as in the previous sessions. However, the earlier investigation resulted in the following information: There are 197 women named Svetlana in New Leningrad. 8 of them work in some grocery store. However, none of them have a husband that is a miner by occupation. The patient, therefore, shows signs of hallucinations, and possibly schizophrenia.

Based on the symptoms, it is reasonable to assume that the patient may be a threat to himself and others around him. As such, he will be kept in a hospital till full recovery, to be determined by further examination.

***

The mummy of the icy wastelands^*

The body clearly is quite curious from the historical point of view. The “experts” of the New Leningradian morgue, if I can call them that, have damaged it during their “examination,” and yet had not come to a conclusion concerning its age. They did have enough common sense, however, to inform the real masters of historical analysis here, in Moscow, of their find, and the body was delivered to the capital. Here, the experts have determined that the man died about two thousand years ago.

It is unknown how the poor insane man got hold of it, but the way the body was preserved is rather clear. It most probably froze shortly after the death, and was kept intact from the influence of time in the permafrost of the Greek Peninsula tundra. It dates back to the last conflict between the Russian and the Greek armies, and might shed some light on the time. Even though the relations between these two nations are comparatively well documented, little is known of that last battle.

---------------------------
* This is concerning the body found in the morgue next to Dmitry. (editor’s note)

*******

Author’s note: (of the real author, me, vovansim )

The history of how the “mummy” came about will be the next plot of my next story, when I get to writing it. As you can probably see from the note above, it will deal with historical events. I told you this story would tie into civ eventually

[Centauri18]

Not bad. Not bad at all. I admit I wasn't terrified like you other guys, but maybe it comes from considering Stephen King something to read before going to sleep.
Very good. Very suspenseful.
Nice work.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Phew is it safe to come out now if that was just a way to lead into a civ story I want to know whats burning in your pipe vovan !

Seriously though that was a truly brilliant story and it is safe to say that no other like it yet exists on this forum, very original and well written.

Cant wait to see what you cook up next and have you considered changing your nick to Boris Karlof

[unscratchedfoot]

I'm still shaking from the after-effects of this story. A real wing-dinger of a tale.

[vovan]

Thanks for the good words, folks. I think that without the constant support that your posts were during the course of this story, I wouldn't have been able to finish it - I would have gotten bored much earlier.

[Centauri18]

So where does the creature come from? What is it? Is there an actual game of Civ3 involved?
And once again, this story KICKS @$$!

[Chingis Khan]

Outstanding story!
The only real problem I have with it its that my conscience dictates I should vote for it over my own 'The Spearman' in the upcoming contest!!!
Damn conscience
Anyway, you have some real talent. Excellent story!