Manhunt. Volume 5, Number 5, May 1957

“What a body. Bet it was worth fifty bucks a night, huh, lieutenant?”

“You can tell this gal worked indoors; no suntan anywhere.”

“Real blonde, too. Wow!”

Helen’s view was suddenly obstructed by something white and billowy that wafted down upon her. The thought that had been pushing at the edge of her consciousness, finally got over and into it. Helen thrust the thought away, fearfully. As the whiteness closed about her she involuntarily tried to turn her head. Nothing happened. She struggled to grasp the significance. She tried to move her hand, her fingers, anything. But nothing happened. She had no feeling. I’m... I’m paralyzed, she thought, panic rising in her. The pushing thought emerged again; her mind tried to discard it, but it stayed, stubbornly. It’s me. They think I’m dead! her mind screamed. I’m alive! Somebody help me! Please! Somebody help me!

Voices again. Helen listened intently. Maybe they hadn’t sent for a doctor yet. That’s it! The doctor will know.

“There she is, boys. A real doll. Take a look!”

The whiteness whisked away. It must be a sheet, she thought. The light glinted down at her. She heard a long, low whistle.

“Boy, what a dish. Why, hell, if he didn’t want her, I’d of been glad to take her off his hands.”

“At fifty bucks a night? That stuff’s way out of your class, buster.”

“What’d the M.D. say, lieutenant?”

“Blow on the head. Can’t see it though. Not a mark on her!”

The whiteness floated down on her again. My God, thought Helen. They really think I’m dead. Even the doctor who examined me. Of course he made a mistake. I’m not dead! Oh, dear God, dear God, let them see that I’m alive. Please!

Helen knew she was being carried. The light got dimmer. I must tell them somehow, she thought, I must! She fought to move. Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing! She was floating again, floating, the blackness closing in. She fought it. Time stood still. Gradually reason groped its way back. Someone was near. She knew! She heard street sounds. Then voices.

“Les’ll be madder’n hell, bringing a stiff in this time of night. It’s almost three.”

“Hell! He’s gettin’ paid for it. Soft job. All he’s gotta do is tag em’ and put em’ on ice.”

That’s me they’re talking about, thought Helen. Dear God, no! No! She sobbed within. The street sounds faded.

“Tell Les to get the wagon out here on the double. I wanta get back. Damn hospital’s bad enough, but the morgue really gets under my skin.”

“Know what you mean, boy. Know what you mean. Les’s got an easy job, but I wouldn’t take it for all the tea in China.”

“Les sure seems to like it. He’s a queer one. Gives me the creeps sometimes.”

I’m in the morgue, Helen thought in terror. Help me! Somebody help me! She heard movements, squeaking wheels. The whiteness became whiter, then dimmer. She heard echoing footsteps. Knew she was being moved again. Somebody here’ll see that I’m not dead, she thought. Les! This Les! He’ll see I’m alive. God! I’m going crazy. This isn’t real. It’s just a bad dream. I’ll try to forget it and I’ll wake up. She repeated this over and over to herself, comfortingly. Suddenly the whiteness lifted. A thought far back in the recesses of her mind pushed its way to the front, shouldering out all other thoughts. It’s for real! It’s not a dream! You’ll be burried alive — alive — ALIVE!

Blackness again. Then a light shining in her eyes. A new face, soft, blubbery, injected itself between her and the light.

“You boys brought me a real doll this time, didn’t you? My, what pretty yellow hair — and such a pretty face. If her eyes were closed, you’d think she was sleeping, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said the loud voice of one of the hospital attendants. “Sign this so we can get out of here, will yuh?”

The grinning face disappeared. A hand blocked the light from Helen’s face. Darkness! Then the bright light again.

“Hmm,” purred the soft voice. “Eyes don’t want to stay closed, do they, little one?”

“Come on, will yuh?” The hospital attendant’s voice again. “You can do that later.”

Footsteps faded. Helen’s eyes were riveted on the light overhead. Her mind refused to accept the reality of all this. Don’t leave me here alone, she thought. Please don’t leave me. Somebody’s got to know I’m alive! The blackness pressed against her, left her. Footsteps echoed down the corridor, closer, closer. A door clicked shut. A key turned in a lock. Les’s middle-aged, fleshy face appeared above her. Her eyes were glued to his large nose. Les leered at her, and her flesh began to crawl.

“Tomorrow they’ll cut you open to see what made you tick. Or rather,” he corrected himself, “to see what made you stop ticking.” He giggled. “Then you won’t be so pretty, will you, my charming little miss!”

Cut me open? Helen thought: An autopsy! That’s what he must mean. But I’m not dead. That’ll kill me for sure...