Sarah’s Laughter in the Morgue

I HEARD MY SISTER’S LAUGH FROM THE HOSPITAL MORGUE

The chill of the morgue air hit me first, sharp and metallic, then a wave of dread. I was there to confirm what felt unreal, to identify him and say a final, agonizing goodbye, but then I heard it.

A soft, unmistakable giggle. My sister Sarah’s laugh, light and impossibly full of life, echoed off the sterile, tiled walls. It was utterly impossible; she was supposed to be miles away, at the funeral home, arranging everything.

I spun around, my heart hammering against my ribs with a frantic, suffocating beat, convinced I was hallucinating from the unbearable weight of grief. “Sarah?” I whispered, my voice cracking and barely audible in the silence.

The sound came from behind the last stainless-steel door, the one I hadn’t dared to look at, the one labeled with a number I couldn’t bear to read. There was a shuffling noise, then a soft, rhythmic tapping, like nails on metal.

My breath hitched, cold and thin in my throat. No, this wasn’t just grief playing cruel, disorienting tricks. This was profoundly wrong. This was… undeniably real.

Then the morgue attendant appeared, wiping his hands, a strange, knowing smile twisting his lips.

👇 Full story continued in the comments…“Everything alright, ma’am?” he asked, his voice a low, oily drone.

I stared at him, my mind struggling to catch up. “I…I heard my sister. Her laugh. Behind that door.” I pointed a trembling finger.

The attendant’s smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed too long, too sharp. “Ah, yes. The… arrangement. Sometimes they… linger.”

Linger? What did he mean? I moved towards the numbered door, ignoring the attendant’s outstretched hand, his attempt to stop me. My hand trembled as I reached for the cold metal handle.

With a desperate tug, I pulled it open.

The sterile smell intensified, almost suffocating. The gurney lay empty. The room was perfectly sterile, nothing out of place, except…

There, on the wall opposite the door, was a single, crudely drawn smiley face, scrawled in what looked like blood. And below it, a single word: “Help.”

Terror seized me, a cold, paralyzing grip. My gaze snapped back to the attendant, who was now standing behind me, his smile gone, replaced by a predatory gleam. He was holding a scalpel, the blade glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“She’s a difficult one,” he murmured, his voice now devoid of any warmth. “Always trying to escape. But we’ll take care of that.”

He lunged.

I screamed, a primal, bloodcurdling sound that echoed through the morgue. I stumbled backward, desperately trying to evade his attack. The scalpel sliced through the air, narrowly missing my arm.

Suddenly, a crash. The heavy door slammed shut, driven by an unseen force. The attendant, surprised, stumbled back.

From the room behind me, a voice, no longer my sister’s light giggle, but a low, guttural growl, filled the air. The metal door rattled violently.

I spun around again, and saw the door.

The word “Help” on the wall, it was morphing.

It was changing.

It was no longer a crude drawing, but the beginning of a word.

“H…”
The door burst open.
Behind it, a form, twisted and inhuman, a figure that bore a haunting resemblance to my sister, emerged from the darkness, its face contorted in a silent scream of unending agony.

It was trying to say the rest of the word.

It lunged at the attendant.

The last thing I saw before darkness closed in was the attendant’s expression of utter, horrified surprise, the realization of the terrible mistake he’d made.

When I woke up, I was in a different room. It was a room filled with sunlight, and the gentle smell of flowers. A woman with kind eyes sat beside me. She told me I was safe. That they had found me in the morgue, unconscious, and had arrested the morgue attendant for his unspeakable crimes.

I never saw my sister again. But sometimes, on quiet nights, I thought I could hear her voice, whispering, a faint echo carried on the wind, trying to finish the word. Help…