A short horror story written by my sisters:
I am a few of the living that walk among the dead. Everyday I linger with tortured or troubled souls that tell a story through the vessels they leave behind. However, like the dead I am forgotten by the living. Locked away from the outside world, so people will not see the horror that I cause. Cutting away at flesh and bone I pick at the carcass of the dead like a vulture looking for a meal. Call me sadistic or insane for finding joy in ravaging the once living. Am I mad? Those like me are given nicknames like Jack the Ripper and BTK. Most are locked behind bars, while I’m left to walk in the shadows of a basement. Everyday I venture into the shadows of past souls only to stay silent amongst the living. I am not clairvoyant or a killer. I am a forgotten field that very few want to imagine. I am an autopsy technician, paid to walk among the dead and being the last answer to a tortured souls call.
Housed and Fed 