Writer's Will

Corpse King I

Fog fell over the body almost immediately. Blood dripped from his knife, thick and hot drops pooling on the muddy ground. A calm quiet hushed the marsh as he took his rag and wiped the blade clean. When the stainless steel was ridden of stain, he sheathed the blade in his boot. Ever careful, he prodded the victim. No shudderings, no twitches, lifeless. A good sign. It was the ones that struggled to live that gave him the hardest time. Now, with his task completed, he could relax for a few hours. The moon was absent, and the night deathly quiet.

The sun rose languidly over the marsh grasses, casting beams of sunlight over the stiff body of a small woman. Rigor mortis had set in a while ago, and a small lizard was gnawing away at her cheek. Waking to the light shining in his tent, he rose and began his morning routine. Ablutions taken care of, he examined the body slowly. A meticulous amount of preparation was needed for the custom orders. When he was certain this one had turned out well, he got his key and unlocked the coffin. A splintered shoddy box of teak, inexpensively made but of ludicrous material, the coffin made for a suitable place to stash a cadaver. In the coming hours, the coffin would heat up though. Time was of the essence. He picked up the formaldehyde, and uncorked it. A beat passed, and he took a swig of embalming fluid.

***

The Doctor lived in a loud part of town. Prying neighbours, inquisitive businessmen and flirtatious housewives had driven the good Doctor to bolt his windows shut, and it also helped to conceal his studies. Soon enough, the Corpse King would arrive with the Doctor's order. Soon enough. The Doctor wrung his hands and paced about his operating table. He put away bandages from his last patient, a girl with a gash on her leg. He was just going to feed the leeches when he heard his back door being knocked upon. The back door to the Doctor's clinic was a heavy thing, rusty hinges and thick metal plates holding the wooden portal together. When somebody knocked on that door, it sounded like the gates of hell were being beaten upon by Lucifer himself. Luckily for the Doctor, Satan hadn't come for his soul just yet. Unluckily, he forgot that his payment would be in two days. The Corpse King would not be waiting two days. The Corpse King, was at his door.

The Doctor hesitantly turned the doorknob, and opened the door slowly. A crack of candlelight seeped out into the cloudy greyness of the midmorning. The grey light cast a shadowless gloom over the figure filling his view. An ugly, rough face leered down at the slightly built Doctor. Pale green eyes locked with the Doctor's own browns. They had an unearthly air, and it took all of the Doctor's resolve to meet them. "Your order, is ready. Payment." There was no question in the statement, and the voice was cold. The Doctor swallowed, and forced down his revulsion at the tepid warm stench of his visitor's breath. "Thank you. I will have your payment and more, in but two days." A low growl set the Doctor's teeth on edge, but before he could protest, the Corpse King brushed past him into the clinic. He dragged a large wooden box in his wake, and with great ease he lifted it onto the Doctor's operating table. The Doctor noted, quite ominously, that the Corpse King did this with one hand. Again one-handed, the Corpse King took out the coffin's nails and slid the cover off. The Doctor felt his heart skip a beat when he saw her. His breathing quickened and he swiftly brought a candle down to examine her more closely. "Still fresh I see. A gnawed cheek, and some mild decomposition in the skin." The Doctor frowned, setting the candle down and stepping away from the body. He opened his mouth to prompt the Corpse King to leave but no sound came out. He found he had lost his voice, mostly due to the daggers at his throat. Struggling intensely not to cut himself on the razor sharp blades, the Doctor swallowed and looked questioningly at the Corpse King. "Two volumes, full payment and an overdue bonus of thirty percent." Without any more words, the gruff man stalked out the back door, cloak billowing behind him. The Doctor felt the delicate lines pressed into his skin, the frantic pulse of his veins under hot flesh. He knew, that the Corpse King made no compromises. What had compelled him to do so now?

***