You are not going to believe this. My best friend, Bob, invited me to a Halloween party in a morgue!
I am a qualified doctor. While in medical school, I drifted away from mundane medical subjects, removed body parts from dead bodies in the morgue, and assembled them to make another human.
My friends found it nauseating and avoided my presence. But Bob understood my obsession and used to tell me I was an artist of a particular kind. Unfortunately, however much I tried to breathe life into those assembled bodies, I couldn’t come anywhere close to Victor Frankenstein in Mary Shelly’s novel.
Bob urged me to go the extra mile and have genuine body parts of dead people at his Halloween party. He knew all about my fascination for human body parts. We’d had a bet to see who could make the scariest party ever. He winked and said he would help me get what I wanted at the party.
The unmarked morgue in the hospital was in the basement where I had dumped all the body parts. I could smell the strange smell of the barbecue coming out of the kitchen located next to it. I wondered what was cooking!
Bob was spitting on food to ensure his germs were on everything and continued with his disgusting acts. He made the party go wild with eerie music, and people dressed as zombies made strange moves. I attended the party dressed like a surgeon at the operating table wearing a blood-soaked coat, mask and a string of surgical instruments hanging around my neck.
The party was electric, everyone feeding off of the smiles and fast dancing. In the dark of the place, the booze and mind-blowing drugs were making rounds.
Bob was absent for some time and suddenly made a grand entry with his companion, Jen, dressed only in a hospital gown. The girls dressed as zombies with body parts I had brought moved in close to her in a circle. Bob stood in a corner swinging a shank he’d made by snapping a plastic spoon.
Suddenly, someone dimmed the lights to the minimum. The ear-splitting social-reject music didn’t seem to have any effect on the party-goers. It was meant to muffle the screams.
I threw a blanket over Jen and held her arms in tight. In seconds the needle was in her left buttock, and a dose of tranquillizer was in. No one noticed Jen still on the floor in the bedlam, a glint of white plastic sticking out of her abdomen and blood pooling on the floor. The colour had drained from her face, and her hands twitched involuntarily.
I reached the double doors of the morgue, and without pause, I pushed with my body weight. My hands held the blood-soaked parcel tight. The doors swung open soundlessly and with ease. A draft of air hit my face, warm and with a tincture of bleach.
I had finally found the kidneys my wife needed.