The case in the morgue. Tales of a morgue orderly: an interesting case from work Real stories revived in the morgue

The thick silence of the morgue could be cut with a knife like a sausage. The night watchman Matvey Ivanovich, a retired military man with a shaved head and a gray mustache brush, loved this evening hour. Charon's employees have already dispersed, the doors are locked and you can get a thermos, sandwiches and a fresh newspaper from the portfolio. The watchman did not trust computers.

The world should not change because the American TV has sinned with the typewriter, he grumbled.

The paper news seemed more familiar to him: it rustled, smelled of ink, and could have wrapped dinner in it. The deceased citizens of the morgue behaved quietly, without interfering with solving crosswords, eating sandwiches and drinking tea. It was this quietness of the room, well isolated from the world, that he loved most of all. The noise in the life of a retired soldier would be enough for three civil fates.

The pathology department was small, if not tiny: on one side there was a refrigerator with cells for those leaving for another world, on the other, there were lockers with medical instruments and an anatomical research table with water taps and a large scale. At the front door was a flat wooden board on which doctors pinned various papers with buttons. Right there, at the writing table of Khrushchev's times, Matvey Ivanovich was located with his thermos. He settled down more comfortably in his chair and was just about to open a newspaper with sandwiches, when the silence was broken by a strange sound, similar to snoring. This is how guests snore when they fall asleep after a feast in the next room behind a closed door. However, no adjacent rooms in the morgue existed: it was located in a separate annex. Guests came here, having served their earthly term completely, and could not snore by definition.

The watchman put down the sandwiches and listened. The sound died down, but did not disappear altogether, catching a torn decibel to the edge of audibility. It was not clear whether the ear hears a subtle note or the imagination draws it in the head. Matvey Ivanovich shook his head like a bulldog after bathing. The snoring became clearer and came from the far corner. From under the table with scales and sink.

Outrageous! - muttered the watchman, getting to his feet. His thought was direct, like a torpedo shot: the pathologist went through the free alcohol and fell asleep on the floor. However, no one was found under the table. Apparently, the rumor let down the old military man: snoring could be heard somewhere behind his back - from the nearest compartment of the refrigerator. Afraid to believe the impossible, the watchman came up and carefully opened it. The snoring stopped abruptly. Matvey Ivanovich froze in indecision, but then nevertheless pulled on the gurney with the deceased. He lay serenely under a cold white sheet and did not make any sounds.

Sleep well, comrade, - muttered the watchman, rolling the dead man back into the refrigerator. Then he walked around the perimeter of the room, peering under tables and between metal cabinets. At the window Matvey Ivanovich stopped, wiped his sweaty bald spot with a handkerchief, and thrusting it into his pocket, glanced at the inner hospital courtyard. A black cat danced at dusk around a yellow lantern on a concrete pole. Snow flew out of the darkness in large flakes - slowly and solemnly, like manna from heaven. For a whole minute the watchman watched him motionless, gradually calming down.

Fffffuuu, - he exhaled noisily and went to the table with dinner and a newspaper. But Matvey Ivanovich was not destined to get to the sandwiches: a sharp single snore hit his ears and immediately a verse. Out of surprise, the watchman even sat down, bending his legs and pulling his neck into his shoulders. Then he turned around and quickly rushed to the refrigerator. Fidgeting nervously, he opened the cells one by one, rolling out their inhabitants under the bright light of the ceiling lamps. When the last gurney left the mesh, the watchman stopped and counted the personnel of the morgue. Seven deceased citizens lay in front of him, with disciplined arms stretching along the bodies under the sheets. Realizing that he was doing absolute stupidity, Matvey Ivanovich walked slowly along the row, carefully observing the dead. Nobody moved. He strode back, and at that moment there was a short snore from behind. The watchman rushed to the sound, but another snore - just as short and insolent - came from the other end of the row. Despite the complete absurdity of the situation, the thought flashed through Matvey Ivanovich that the dead were mocking him.

Hrrrzhrr! - and the watchman rushed to the extreme left gurney.

Zhrrrhrr! - and he ran back.

The snoring stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Breathing heavily, the watchman stood in the middle of the room and turned his head around, not trusting the silence that had come. Cold sheets were thrown to the floor, and seven dead faces stared with closed eyes at the ceiling. A confusion reigned in Matvey Ivanovich's head, reminiscent of the thickening twilight outside the window. A lonely idiotic thought crawled out of him into the light of the lantern of the mind: "We must turn them on their side, people do not snore on their side." Gathering the remnants of sanity, he drove the thought deeper into the subconscious. Instead, another immediately appeared. She seemed less crazy to the watchman. Taking a mirror out of his briefcase, he checked all the dead in turn: no one was breathing. Then he carefully examined the inside of the refrigerator and, finding nothing, was about to roll the deceased back, when two quiet but long snores were heard almost simultaneously, merging into a real roulade. Unable to bear it, Matvey Ivanovich jumped to the nearest gurney and turned the dead man on his side. Rulada broke off. Puffing and listening constantly, the watchman laid the others on their side. I listened. Silence. He picked up the sheets from the floor and carefully covered each one in turn. I listened. Silence. He stood watching the dead. On their side, they looked unnatural, like giant dolls, but no one snored. Matvey Ivanovich washed his hands under the tap, carefully wiped it with a towel, sat down in a chair and froze. Silence. He glanced at the open thermos of cold tea.

An auditory hallucination? - no one knows whom he asked aloud.

The new thought made the retired military man extremely happy. An auditory hallucination, of course! An echo of the old service. Banal contusion of the subconscious. He looked triumphantly at the next dinner and froze, paralyzed by a new snoring. Directly in front of him, peeping out of a newspaper package, were snoring loudly ... sandwiches. Yes, yes, the snoring came from the package! Matvey Ivanovich's cheek involuntarily twitched. The nervous tick hit the brain like a starting pistol shot at the sprinters. Thoughts rushed from their place, elbows pushing each other away.

Ventriloquism of the deceased! - one shouted ahead of her rivals.

Auditory hallucination! - Breaking forward, another screamed.

You're just crazy! - the third took the lead.

The watchman jumped up, brushed the package off the table and kicked it. The sandwiches scattered across the floor and fell silent.

It is necessary to return everything as it was, - an outsider thought hobbled to the finish line. Matvey Ivanovich, like a somnambulist, obediently took a scoop and a broom, swept up the bread and poured it into the trash can. Then he rolled the dead into the refrigerator, forgetting, however, to turn them over on their backs and a couple of sheets on the floor. He put a thermos and a mirror in his briefcase, snapped the lock and ... Snoring fell on the room like a stream of water from an inverted barrel. It came from everywhere: from cupboards, from the ceiling, from under tables. Everything was snoring! Unable to withstand this cacophony, the watchman huddled between two metal cabinets, covering his ears with his palms and closing his eyes ...

... Two years passed. The former caretaker spent four months in a psychiatric hospital outside the city. It turned out that it is not so easy to drive a real military man crazy. It was worth learning that the doctor is of higher rank, and the brain of the old soldier fulfilled the order to return to a normal state and provide the wearer with the mental accompaniment of physical life. The brain even overdid it, showing the initiative: Matvey Ivanovich learned to use a tablet and parted with paper newspapers forever. One of the spring days, having kicked out his old "nine" from the garage - the summer season began! - Matvey Ivanovich drove into a car wash and sat in a chair, slowly filling with his index finger a lengthy comment under the next news about the sanctions. In the commentary, he painted Obama in the blackest colors and only moved on to characterize Ms Merkel when two men entered the room. Apparently, they continued a long-standing dispute, for the first thing that the retired military man heard was the words "You're wrong!"

You're wrong! one of the men said condescendingly. - First, the inexplicable is a temporary category. Today it is inexplicable, like an immaculate conception, and tomorrow even a child knows that he was conceived in a flask. Or vice versa: yesterday they knew how to build pyramids, but today they forgot and began to invent fantastic versions. Secondly, the inexplicable is a personal category. One and the same fact is common for me, I may not even notice it, but for you it's a miracle.

Nonsense! - waved the second. - There are things that are clear to everyone. And there are those that no one can explain. Do you remember I told you how a couple of years ago an entomologist died?

Do not remember that.

Yes, I did! Professor. In this very entomology he was a celebrity. Returned from New Guinea with a bag of some unknown beetles. And he got sick. Lies in a separate room, demands to bring his beetles. In general, I do not know how, but the head physician allowed him. I then looked after his laboratory assistant. Hochma was the same! These beetles spread throughout the hospital. When they are nervous, they scare others away: the neck rubs against the next segment and a sound similar to loud snoring is obtained. No one was allowed to sleep for three days!

And what does our conversation have to do with it?

Yes, that's not what I wanted! In the hospital morgue after the death of the entomologist, one case occurred. Spooky! In the morning, doctors come into the morgue, and there is a complete mess: the tables have been moved from their seats, there are two sheets on the floor, tools ... The watchman is huddled between the cabinets: his face is covered with his hands and is trembling like in a fever. Over the night, my mind was moved. They open the refrigerator, and there the dead are lying on their side. And two without sheets. As if they got out of the refrigerator at night and then returned. By the way, it is impossible to open the cells from the inside and close them back behind you too. How do you explain it?

Let's smoke? - his interlocutor left the answer.

Went!

And they went out into the street, not noticing how strangely an elderly shaved man with a tablet looks at them.

I was born and raised in Kalmykia. Since childhood, I have been fond of detective novels, so it is not surprising that after graduating from school I went to study as a forensic scientist. Unfortunately, I didn't manage to get a job near my home, so I had to leave my parents in the Russian outback.

Here I fully understood what life in a foreign land is. To say that no one here loved me is not enough. I was a stranger, a stranger, and even with a specific oriental appearance. A forensic scientist is generally not a very romantic profession, but in the department where I worked, the most unpleasant and dirty work was dumped on me.

I never remember that I had a chance to go to the scene of a crime - they invited my own people there, but I had to spend my working time in the morgue, inspect dirty, sometimes half-decomposed corpses, and not just inspect, but often collect them in parts.

Worst of all, the morgue was run by a terribly unpleasant woman named Claudia. She was already in her 50s, she was listed here as the head nurse and was terribly proud that her relative was holding some important post in the city administration.

For the same reason, the other three employees of the morgue were afraid of Claudia and tried never to contradict her. This lady immediately disliked me.

It all started with what she once called to her face a narrow-eyed scarecrow. I did not tolerate this and answered her quite accordingly.

Since then, our enmity began - Klavdia ran to complain about me to her superiors, but they responded to her complaints without much enthusiasm: I was rescued by the fact that I was a good specialist, knew my job and was needed in my place.

Of course, they summoned me to the authorities, held a preventive conversation, asked to be more restrained, but that was all.

She also had a daughter, probably 13 years old. The girl's name was Lena and she had Down syndrome. Claudia raised her alone, and in order not to leave the mentally retarded teenager alone at home, her mother took her to work. Of course, this was strictly forbidden by the rules, but who could say what to the actual mistress of the morgue?

As far as I understand, Lena grew up here. The morgue for her was something completely ordinary, however, she did not bother anyone. She came in the morning and quietly sat in the corner of the rest room with a sketchbook and pencils. Everyone here was already so used to it that no one was embarrassed by the fact that there was a child next to the newly opened corpse.

However, as often happens with downs, for her 13 years old the girl was already quite tall and curvy, so her mother put on a white robe on her, and if there were strangers in the morgue, they just thought it was someone from the staff.

Surprisingly, but it was with Lena, unlike her mother, that I quickly found a common language. Gradually, we even became friends with her. As far as I could tell, Claudia did not pay any attention to the development of her daughter, she put an end to her, so the girl was uncommunicative and too inhibited.

She spoke slowly, made long pauses between phrases, but if you got used to this manner, you could see that the girl answered questions quite reasonably. Sometimes we just kept silent - it didn't bother us at all.

But, like any normal person, it seemed unnatural to me. A child should not grow up in a morgue, next to corpses. Once I asked Lena why she wouldn’t tell her mother not to bring her here.

It seems that the girl did not understand my question - she did not even think about the fact that she should not be near the dead. I often noticed Lena approaching the dead on the tables, standing next to them for a long time, and it seemed to me - don't laugh - she was talking to them.

I asked her about it - and she confirmed my guesses. Why? Because they ask her about it.

Are the dead talking to you?

No. They just cry a lot. And they really need someone to be near at this moment. Here I stand.

Can you hear them cry? The dead cannot cry, they are dead.

They can. Sometimes they even scream with fear. When darkness falls on them

Darkness?

That's what they call it. It is said to be a black and cold void. Darkness. They are afraid of her, they try to run away, but they fail. Darkness comes for everyone. Then they start screaming and calling for help. But nobody comes - except me.

Why are you going? Do you need it? I suppose it's scary?

A little. But I feel very sorry for them. It's not difficult at all to listen when someone is crying.

Did it happen that they would ask you for something?

She hesitated for a moment with the answer, and then nodded.

Remember - the boy was brought three days ago?

I remembered. Then a kid was brought to us, who, having quarreled with his mother, swallowed pills. It was not possible to save him.

He very much asked me to go to church, light a candle and tell God his name. Darkness fell on him, but no one met him, and he did not know where to go. You know, the dead told me that when it’s my turn to go into darkness, no one will light a candle for me either, because my mother did not baptize me in church. And I am also mistaken.

I was silent, not knowing what to say to this girl. Then he asked:

And what, are they all like that?

No. There are also evil ones. It is dangerous to approach such people, they can grab you and drag you with them.

Of course, I decided that the girl was just fantasizing. Or is it a little damaged in the mind - is it any wonder if you are next to the dead from childhood? It is not easy for an adult to endure here either. And then one incident happened that made me think.

I was in the morgue when an enraged colonel burst in. At first I could not understand what he was talking about. The colonel claimed that we sent a living person to the morgue, left him without medical assistance, so he died. He was furious and threatened to bring us all to justice.

I tried to calm him down, explaining that the person he was talking about had a completely destroyed brain, so he could not be alive, even theoretically. But the colonel continued to shout, he claimed that when the victim regained consciousness, he told the nurse the name of his killer.

It was his driver, which at first no one even thought about. Togo was detained and found irrefutable evidence.

Do not misunderstand me - I saw the person he was talking about. A middle-aged businessman was brought to us with a completely crushed skull. Honestly, there was not much left of the head there, so he could not regain consciousness and talk.

They began to figure out who the deceased was talking to. As you probably already understood, it was Lena. Since she was in a white coat, the investigator mistook her for a nurse.

In general, I do not know how, but this case was hushed up. But Lena stopped appearing in the morgue from that day. Claudia finally decided to leave her at home out of harm's way.

Two months after this incident, I still managed to go to my homeland - there was a place for me, which I was incredibly happy about. We never saw Lena again. After another six months, I accidentally met my former colleague at the advanced training courses, I learned from him that everything was still the same in the morgue, and Klavdia again took Lena to work.

And after some time I suddenly dreamed about Lena. It was very dark around, I saw only her figure in the distance, but I knew for sure that it was her. And she screamed at me just one word:

In the morning I woke up and decided to call my former colleague to see if they were all right. From him I learned that Lena had died. As it turned out, the mother drove off to a corporate office in the afternoon, and the watchman simply did not notice the quiet girl in the corner of the hall when he closed the morgue for the night.

When she was discovered in the morning, she was lying on the floor, and her palm, as if in a vice, was clutched in the hand of the gallows, who had been brought the day before.

On the same day, although I am a Buddhist, I went to an Orthodox church and lit a candle at the image of Christ. I told him the name of Lena. I still do this sometimes. I really hope this will help her find her way in the Dark.

I was surrounded by corpses. As an undertaker in a morgue, I certainly got used to it. It scared me a little when I first got the job. But in the end, you get used to it, and you just feel like in the office. After a while, I began to talk to them as if they were living patients, which is also normal for my profession.

You might think it's annoying to work with dead people all the time. After all, so many scary stories about the morgue everyone has heard in real life. But I really enjoy it, in fact I find it quite peaceful. Yes, this is much better than dealing with the violent emotions of some of the living. The dead have no complaints, they all behave like model patients.

My name is Mark and I've been doing this for almost ten years. I work in a funeral home, in a morgue. The cemetery has graves with dates dating back to the eighteenth century. The building itself is an old Victorian mansion refurbished in the early nineteenth century. Architectural elements of that time appear in the old masonry, giving the place itself a special atmosphere of an earlier time.

Our scary morgue story begins at the end of December. In winter, when the ground freezes over, you will have to wait until next year to bury the bodies. So until then, the coffins will be temporarily placed in the old morgue in the cemetery for storage until spring. It was my job to roll them out and place them in their temporary home. We usually tried to do this in the evening, as the sight of the coffins being moved made people feel a little uncomfortable.

I remember how cold it was as I pushed the coffin cart across the road to the cemetery. I hated this time, it was always so cold and the cart was heavy and never wanted to ride in the snow. I would have made it to the old building exhausted and out of breath, all I had left was to place the coffin on the counter and make my way back.

Sometimes, when I was loading coffins into the old morgue building, I heard the loud creak of old planks, accompanied by the feeling of being watched. The dead never bothered me, but there was something in this old building ... There were no windows, and the air inside was rotten and musty. The moldy smell was so strong it was almost unbearable.

I guess I'm not the only one who didn't like this place. I was working on embalming one of my patients. As I said earlier, talking with the dead is common for me, although it is a one-way conversation. When I was working on the dead man, I explained to him what I was going to do with him, that he would wait in a special room until the ground thawed. And that was the first time my imagination got the better of me because I swear to you, I heard him tell me not to take him there. I laughed to myself, because after all, what difference does it make to the dead where they rest. And in general, being buried in the mud is not better than lying in an old building.

Then spring came, and with it the earth thawed. This meant it was time to start moving the coffins to their permanent location in the cemetery. It was a grueling task despite the ice and snow obstacles disappearing. These coffins and their eerie contents weighed a lot, and moving them around on our own was hard work, regardless of the weather.

But the most scary story about the morgue just beginning…. It was early in the morning at the end of March, I don't remember the exact date. It was still quite cold despite the deceptive sight of fresh green grass. I grabbed my cart and started the long walk to the storage building next to the cemetery. I trudged along the path, silently indignant that I had to complete this terrible task. I had another job, but I needed to get it over with.

When I opened the iron door, it made a loud creak and I pushed the hearse inside. I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to enter, as the building still gave me an uneasy feeling. I put the hearse next to the rack and began to move the coffin. The old building creaked loudly as I worked. First one end, then the other, I finally put it back in place on the hearse as my imagination kicked in again. I thought I heard a whisper saying "get out." Looking back, I saw nothing there and waved it off. It was then that I heard a voice loudly shouting "go."

When fear replaced rational thinking, I quickly pushed the cart out the door following it. I felt better just back outside and everything I heard quickly became unimportant. Maybe I thought it was a ghost, and he just wanted to be left alone. As I pondered these thoughts in my head, I heard another loud creak, followed by a loud crash.

At first I was scared to return. It was so loud, it took me a few seconds to realize that I was okay. When my heartbeat began to calm down, I finally looked around. The old warehouse building has been reduced to rubble. All that remains now is a shapeless mound of broken planks, glass and nails. If it had happened a minute earlier, I would have died right there and now. Then I started thinking, is that why I heard this voice? Did my dead friends try to warn me that the old house was about to collapse? I think about it a lot, and there are too many coincidences to come to any real conclusions. But one thing I've learned for the rest of my life - if the place is creepy and it gives me goosebumps, I stay away.

This story begins with the search for my first job. Browsing and analyzing a job listing on a local website can be a tedious task. But when you live in a city with 5,000 people, it complicates your search several times more, forcing you to lower your minimum job requirements.

I went to college every day and came back home, so I really needed the money. One time, about to leave, I accidentally drew attention to an ad, which struck me very much. It was a morgue job. The thought that I would have to work around dead bodies just depressed me. However, I continued reading the job description and found that the job does not imply interact with any of the bodies. This is where my real and scary story from the morgue happened.

I have no other options, I thought to myself. The next day, I called and spoke to who I thought was in charge. He insisted that I come the next day and just get to know the place. The next day I was ready to get a job and drove to a small establishment. Mark, the head of the morgue, greeted me at the door with a smile and a firm handshake. "Did you say your name was Mikhail?" he asked me kindly.

“Yes, that's right,” I told him. He led me all over the grounds and then led me to a huge lawn, which he explained I would have to mow every week. I didn't mind that at all. Finally he finished his tour and we entered the building. He pointed to a dimly lit room in the corner. "I'm sure you can guess what kind of room it is," he said. I think that even with my eyes closed, I would be able to determine what kind of room it was, because of the specific smells of decaying flesh. This room from the very beginning made me unpleasant. If I knew what horrible stories the morgue of this room conceals, I would not even step here.

Then he went to another small room and took the keys from his thigh. Opening the door, he began to explain that this was his office. I looked inside, I saw a table, a large chair, scattered papers and a mini-refrigerator, however, nothing out of the ordinary. Soon he closed the door and locked it. Then he began to show the room in which we found ourselves as soon as we entered the building. Dirty and cracked floor tiles spoke of age and neglect of work. “You have to clean up here every night, nothing fancy, it's quite a small area,” he explained, tapping his fingers on his chin as he thought of other tasks. “Throw away the trash, bring some items when they arrive at our morgue, such as small boxes of formaldehyde or new scalpels. I think that any small random quests that may appear should be easy on you. " He finished explaining. "All clear? Have questions?". I couldn't think of anything, so I just shook my head in the affirmative and expected him to continue the tour. “Okay,” he said. “I'm waiting for you here tomorrow at about 5 pm. You're going to work until midnight or so, okay? "

“Okay,” I told him. The next few nights of work were pretty straightforward: I come in, clean up any disturbances that happened in the day, mow the lawn, and then just kill the rest of the time. I just sit in my phone or watch TV in the common area of ​​the building. He never seemed to mind, because most of the time he just didn't leave his office. He exits when a new body arrives at the morgue. I remember the first time I saw a fresh corpse that was brought to us. Mark came out and started talking to the police, they wrapped the body and made some notes. Mark then transported him to a dimly lit room, placed him in a cell in the wall and conceived the morgue by disappearing. Most of the time the next day was occupied by a professional autopsy performed by Mark.

I worked in the morgue for a few weeks and Mark seemed to be very friendly. He always bought me lunch from a local barbecue shop on the road. One day he discussed his disappointment that he had because all the past employees who were in front of me were gone. I could tell that he seemed like a lonely person, as if he had no one in his life. I always shared this lunch with him, and I really felt like we got a little attached to one another.

He was about forty-five years old, but he already had a little gray hair. His eyes truly held their sadness, although his voice told a different story.

Mark usually cleaned his office and the room where the bodies were stored around 8 pm. The morgue room was small, there were about 10 racks in which you could place corpses and then hide them in the wall. He wiped the floor, which was usually not very dirty, sometimes he wiped the windows, and sometimes he wiped the metal doors, but in 90% of the cases he finished everything in 5 minutes. At 9 or 10 o'clock he usually went about his business, maybe 15 minutes, I think he had a problem with alcohol, as he came back soaked in the smell of whiskey and cigarettes. Like a clockwork, at 11 pm he walked to the store and bought some snacks. He usually returned with 4 yoghurts, 4 small packs of potato chips, 4 oranges and 4 bottles of water. Sometimes the products could change. He would give me 1 each and then go to his office and put the rest in the mini-fridge. Mark always stayed longer than me, so I think he bought them for himself later.

One night at about 9 o'clock, Mark left the room where the bodies were kept with a strange feeling of anger, he slammed the door to the room so hard that it opened slightly. At that time, I was in the process of cleaning the floor in the common room, so I looked into that room. The floor was very dirty there because I think Mark just dropped the formaldehyde bottle. Glass was scattered all over the floor and brown liquid was spilled. I realized that Mark was very angry, so I left.

I thought that if I cleaned the room, I would impress my boss. I went in and immediately began to wipe. I collected the shards of glass and threw it away. I was almost done when I heard the sound into the building. I looked up, expecting someone to enter the room, but no one was there. I was definitely just hearing the noise, so I kept my head up, expecting to hear something else. I heard a knock again, and in surprise jumped like a frightened cat. A noise came from the wall behind me. At least that's what I thought. I stood in the room for the next 5 minutes but didn't hear anything else. The morgue room still kept me on my toes.

I left the room, convinced that I was just making myself sound, since this was the first time I stepped foot in this strange place. I was watching TV in a small room when Mark returned. The smell of liquor instantly penetrated my nose. He looked at me after looking into the room with the bodies: “You cleaned it up there,” he said. “Hmm, yes,” I replied. He said nothing, but looked at me with his shining, bloodshot eyes. “Okay,” he said as he walked into his office.

The next day I offered to wash the outside of the building with a hose, which I didn't want to do. He came out to me from time to time to check how I was doing with my work. It was driving me crazy. It was very hot that day. “You're like a little fireman,” he told me with an eerie smile. What? I thought to myself. It was the strangest thing he ever said to me. Mark told me that the last guy who worked before me decided that it would be nice to dig a ditch here as the rain washed away all the flowers. “I called him a miner,” he said with a laugh.

The next night, when I finished getting around, he made me go to the store. I hated going to this store late at night. It was just weird. I quickly went back to the morgue and noticed that the building did not glow, even the street lights on the side of the road near the morgue had gone out. I stared at the ominous building and walked slowly to the front door. "Mark?" I called. There was no answer. I swallowed and stopped in fear. Some unknown force threw me back, but I nevertheless crossed the threshold and saw that there was no one inside. The door to the room where the dead bodies were kept was wide open. I walked in slowly and looked around the room. I noticed something strange that I hadn't noticed before. The two outermost racks had padlocks, as if someone was worried that the corpse would not go anywhere. Cold sweat ran down my spine. The front door of the morgue swung open, and Mark saw me here, surprised and a little nervous. He hurriedly entered the room where I was and closed the door. “I was just confused by the mess with the documents, so I went out for a walk,” he explained.

I looked at him skeptically. He quickly changed the subject and explained that he needed to focus on something in his office. He left me alone in the common room. I looked into the room where the bodies were stored again. In the corner, I saw a small CCTV camera that was aimed at those two outer compartments. Strange, I thought.

Mark suddenly left the office and asked me what I was doing. I turned around and said, "Nothing." There was an awkward moment of silence, Mark had a sharp and angry look. "Why is the camera pointed so strangely?" I asked in a trembling voice. He lightened his tone and explained that the previous employee said that this is the best place for the camera, because she can see the whole room. Mark at home laughed.

He returned to his office, closing the door behind him. I haven't seen him all night. I knocked on his door at midnight, but there was no answer, so I just said goodbye to him. I left the morgue where this strange story took place and went to my car in the parking lot. Through the very dim light of Mark's window, I could see his gloomy and frightening silhouette. I started to get extremely paranoid. I pulled out of the parking lot and headed home, realizing that, because of my excitement, I forgot to pick up my wallet and phone from the employee locker. I slapped my hands on the steering wheel in anger. I don't want to go back.

In about 15 minutes I was near the gloomy morgue. I stopped in front of the morgue and looked through the black windows. Deep chills shot through my body, I could not even bring myself to get out of the car. I'll pick up my things tomorrow, I thought to myself.

The next day at 5 pm I was already at my workplace. I hadn't seen Mark for an hour, I assumed he was in his office. The grass was cut down, the floor was mopped up, the debris was thrown away and the windows were clean. I decided to kill some time by washing the dirty lawn mower. It took me half an hour. A few minutes later, Mark appeared out of nowhere. "There is my fireman!" he exclaimed excitedly. This did not make me happy. I looked at him to acknowledge his presence. “Yes,” I said, ignoring the conversation. After a few moments, I looked up again, but he disappeared like a ghost.

I haven't seen him for the next few hours. I've done all the work I can. I even wiped all the chairs in the living room. After that, I knocked on Mark's door several times, expecting him to answer. There was silence. I sat down and decided that I would stay all night. Moments later, Mark burst through the front door. He was clearly drunk. "Mihaiel" his words were slurred. He could hardly walk in a straight line. He fumbled with his keys in the door of his office and, finally, opening them, he hastily pulled them out and slammed the door behind him. The keys slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor, but he didn't notice.

I sat a little scared and dazed from what I had just seen. I looked at the keys on the ground and my thoughts began to lead me forward. I waited about 10 minutes and went to Mark's door. I knocked several times very lightly, but there was no answer. I knocked on the door three times. Nothing. I bent down and slowly lifted the keys up. My curiosity was very great. I went to the room with the corpses and unlocked the door. A chill enveloped my body as I entered the room. I walked over to the two padlocks where the locks were hanging and began fingering the keys. I inserted the key and the lock opened. I recoiled in fear when I heard desperate sounds and a muffled scream.

I locked on my feet, breathing hard. I looked into the common room, nothing has changed, Mark's door is still closed. I plucked up my courage and slowly rolled out the body. My heart pounded when I saw a guy, maybe 18 years old, dressed in a dirty jumpsuit with black boots. His mouth was covered with a rag and tied tightly around his face. His entire body was tightly bound with ropes, impairing his ability to move. His eyes spoke of fear and terror, but also desperately called for help. I stumbled, not knowing what to do. I had to open another counter. The key slid quickly and pulled out the padlock. The counter swung open quickly and I was again struck by an overwhelming sense of fear and danger. There was a 23-year-old boy who was wearing an apparently fake police uniform. Used condoms were scattered around him. He looked at me and recoiled desperately, his gaze sharing the same opinion as the previous guy.

I realized there was another locked counter that I hadn't noticed before. I hastily opened it, expecting the same result. When I started pulling out the rack, I could not see anything inside, but I continued to pull it all the way. A photograph was taken at the very end of the counter. My picture when I was standing with a hose outside the building. In addition, there was a firefighter's helmet. I stepped back and turned pale. I ran out of the building and locked myself in my car. I haven't even had time to call the police yet. I just sat there in a stupor and thought about the maniac at work. Here is such a terrible story about the morgue happened to me.

This terrible mystical story happened back in Soviet times, at the end of the 20th century in one of the morgues. Prosector Gerasimov, performing an autopsy, was accidentally pushed by the orderly Chugunov, an old alcoholic who was expelled at one time for drunkenness from the university.

After completing the autopsy, Gerasimov unexpectedly found a small cut on his right glove. Apparently, when the orderly pushed him, he cut his hand with a scalpel. Without attaching serious importance to this, the dissector treated the cut with an antiseptic and after the end of the working day calmly left for home.

And the next morning it became known that Gerasimov died suddenly. Gerasimov's widow reported the following details about her husband's death: "I came home from work, felt bad and died in terrible convulsions."

The cause of death was established by an autopsy: infection with pathogenic microorganisms or "cadaveric poison". Poor Gerasimov was buried by the whole team.

And a couple of days after the funeral, strange things began to happen in the morgue. At night, the watchmen in the silence of the empty building heard the sound of someone's footsteps and the creak of opening doors. Once dozing watchman Brichkin was awakened by a heavy knock. The source of the knocking was found in the next corridor, next to the duty room. On the threshold lay the corpse of a homeless man, which had previously been on a gurney, which stood a few meters from the door.

Soon, conversations about nighttime incidents reached the head of the morgue, Kupriyanov. On this occasion, he spoke at a general meeting.

Comrades, we all know very well that our collective is participating in socialist competition, ”Kupriyanov thundered. - So, as a leader, as a communist, finally, I demand to stop spreading superstitious rumors that can lower the authority of our team and cause fair criticism from higher authorities!

But soon an event happened that caused a scandal.

One night, the inhabitants of the surrounding houses were awakened by terrible screams. The public figure Tumanyan, who looked out the window, saw such a picture. Along the deserted street from the side of the morgue, a person in a white robe was running, screaming heart-rendingly. The social activist recognized her as the orderly Chugunov, a well-known drunkard and rowdy in the microdistrict. Someone was following the mortuary worker.

Tumanyan, trembling with indignation, dialed 02 and rapped out to the officer on duty:

Over-cynical disorderly conduct, take proper action.

The detachment that arrived at the scene found the doors of the morgue wide open and the absence of the orderly Chugunov in his workplace, who that night was replacing one of the watchmen. Kupriyanov was notified of the state of emergency, who immediately went to the scene.

In the morning it became known that Chugunov had been caught by the guards and sent to the nearest "durka". Kupriyanov managed to find out that Chugunov, widening his eyes, spoke of a certain Gerasimov, who had risen from the grave, who tried to destroy him. "All slimy, stinking, pulled his rotten hands to me!" - conveyed the words of the subordinate to the chief.

Returning to work, Kupriyanov found an unhealthy and disturbing environment in the team. The staff discussed the night incident in dismay. In a rage, Kupriyanov called his subordinates donkeys and announced that this night, in order to dispel all superstitious fears, he intends to personally be on duty in the morgue building. Further events are known from the words of the watchman Brichkin, with whom the chief remained on duty that day:

At midnight Kupriyanov decided to make a tour of the premises. I started to follow him, but he told me to stay in the duty room. Well, he went, I hear he is going up to the second floor. So I am sitting, rustling the newspaper. And suddenly it seemed to me that in the corridor someone quickly slipped past the open door of the duty room. What the hell do I think? I looked out: the front door was locked, there was no one in the corridor, and only at its far end, where the bend and the stairs leading to the second floor, flashed some vague silhouette. And on the stairs, the steps of Kupriyanov were heard, descending. I felt uneasy. And then there was such a terrible cry, from which the blood froze in my veins! Shouted Kupriyanov. Apparently, he ran into someone who walked past the duty room and managed to turn into a corner before I looked out into the corridor. I fainted from fear. When I came to my senses, there was a ringing silence in the morgue, it was already dawn on the street. I gathered my strength and examined the entire building. Found nothing suspicious. I haven't found Kupriyanov anywhere either.

This story of the watchman made the most depressing impression on the employees of the morgue, who came to work in the morning. However, they failed to discuss the situation. In the funeral hall, from where relatives take their deceased to bury, indignant voices were heard. A crowd of angry citizens rushed into the room.

Why did you put some face on our grandfather ?! - they rustled.

Indeed, in one of the coffins, two dead people were lying with a jack. One is a bald old man, the other is the head of the morgue Kupriyanov, with a face distorted with a grimace of horror ...

It was found that Kupriyanov's death was due to a stroke. They said that it was caused by the strongest fear. But it was not possible to establish who or what frightened Kupriyanov to death. Remained unknown and the scoundrel who thrust the dead boss into the coffin of the old man. However, some people said that the ghost of the prosector Gerasimov was to blame for a series of terrible events. At first, they believed them, but in the future nothing terrible happened, the morgue lived its usual life, and such conversations were gradually forgotten.