The Thoughts of Dr. Otto

Body Snatcher

The moonlight guides my trespass into this macabre gold mine of possible discovery. Seeking out the latest names of the mornings obituary in order to placate what others call morbid curiosity, but how else am I supposed to learn? Least this loose soil lays at my feet where luck had saw fit to cage away the other graves. And so I begin to dig. Daydreaming under this blue moon of what this person's life might have been like given the brief description, 'Dead by hysteria, taken too soon' read this humble tomb just as the papers I scouted. Whatever could that mean?

Some tragic accident that would see this fresh harvest spoiled or perhaps insanity saw them waste into nothing. Curiosity cares me through the scorn of having to move earth in contrast to those too high up to get their hands dirty though I chuckle knowing my hands will never touch this dirt either. Did this person ever need to run the earth through their hands or had they been born above the common toil? More questions only to be answered once my spade meets pine. The name had been withheld on this one as well, another oddity surrounding this case. Had it been a shameful death; topped themselves and now were trying to be spared the dignity of being picked apart by us crows?

If it had been then surely they knew nothing of the one that stalks these hallowed grounds. Surely the spirits will play constable for them during the night, ha! Though it seems their displeasure would make itself known in the absence of my only light and by shaking the sky at my actions.

Something solid greets my blade!

Finally, my treasure greets me! I toss my shovel aside and begin clawing away the dirt around the lid in excitement as the sky begins to cry in horror of my deeds. The rain makes finding a grip on the solemn wood box difficult, but not hard enough to stand it up right and allow me to see 'Gone to Soon' eye to eye.

A crack of nails gives rings out.

The sky rumbles in disbelief.

In the dead of night I still see what little light reflects off a beautiful porcelain skin.

All is filled with screams.

Instincts jam my hands around the mouth and throat of this shrieking banshee as every fiber of my being tears free to stand upright in terror. My pulse overpowering any felt from this cantankerous cadaver in fear of being found at such a time and only when the rain overtook the silence did I care to even notice what I had restrained. Was it some sort of devil? It starts to trash and I thrust myself against it to keep it contained, attempting to glance down my masks' beak at what forces I had unleashed. Its blurred form tries to break free from my grasp until it grows tired. Eyes. Lamps wide and bright while piercing through me with jade set irises trying to make sense of the situation. I see ebony hair shining ever slightly down to her shoulders. Her shoulders. Her. I gaze down again and see her pinned against the coffin no longer struggling. Eyes fixated at what foul creature ripped her from death, or was it? Over my shoulder I can see marks in the wood where a rabid attempt at freedom was made by the same bloody hand that grips pathetically at my arm. Had she even been dead before they tossed her in here? That is what one gets for not hiring a competent physician like myself! What flat bastard could miss the urines odor? It's now that I notice interjection in the rain and realize this was a response to my actions. Still I cannot risk discovery. Slowly I raise my hand off her mouth, leaving a finger behind to signal my desires. Thankfully the message is clear enough that she does not shriek or cry out and I begin to look over her in the dissipating light. What porcelain features had first been glimpsed now seemed a soft rose color of being flustered at her predicament, but something feels strange.

The familiarity of this face. Like something so distant and hidden away. It couldn't be! Strange girl in a foreign land from long ago that spoke of fortunes and the fays, whom I've always known, the one that still stalks my dreams with such strange visions. How? How was this possible? I'd buried her broken body several times by now! A faint cry breaks my daydream to the vision of a devious smile on her lips. Being coy now? I lose myself in the moment and take her there, hand still clasped around her neck while the other tears aside the modest gown that now clings to her with dampness. It is not terror in her eyes anymore, not like when life returned so abruptly. It was...glee. It must be her just like it had been so many tines before. So vigorous am I at the sight that I stamp the narrow end of her casket lose and find myself holding her pinned up against the grave's wall. She starts to spasm, eyes rolling backwards before fainting with a choked out moan. Poor girl, maybe I should've loosened my grip? It's not until I finish until her dainty feet touch the black mud beneath her and she slumps against me, head cradled in my neck cooing softly in the rain. If not by how perturbed I was in seeing her face again, it would have been a peaceful moment. Haste did not stay far from my mind though, and the idea of getting caught in such a ghastly state was not a possibility I wished to ponder on. So like with so many bodies before, I hoist her from the hole and stuff her into a waiting barrel to be taken away in. Yet I try to be more gentle in my approach knowing that what I handled was unfortunate, very much alive and worst yet, sentimental. Filling the hole goes quickly and does a modest job at hiding my disturbance, soon I find myself at another plot repeating what I had done before. This time the body of the deceased is just that, deceased. It doesn't shriek when I open the lid, nor have I seen this face before in a far off land of my past. Although the body is a bit stale for anatomical study, it will still give me SOMETHING to work with. 

With the settling of the mud, I look to the sky and take note of the faint glow of a soon to rise sun that signifies that my thievery had been made short by my first disturbance; that I would have to make due with only one cadaver. It is a dreadful outcome, though only slightly better than getting caught now with a living body, much less after what had been done.  The journey back with my unearthed goods leaves me with another type of dread. Was this who I really thought it was, truly again? Was it a rebirth or some gross coincidence to spite me by some unseen author? Could I simply be THAT great of a resurrectionist? The humor doesn't ease my mind of the tournament, nor does it provide me with more subjects for dissection. The only clear thing brought about that night is an admiration for the body snatchers talents over my own.