Graveyard Shift
By J. M. Vogel
“Based on aforementioned findings during examination, the deceased is confirmed -- male, sixty-five years old, pulmonary embolism.” I clicked off the voice recorder and arched my back in a very satisfying stretch. Two bodies down, three to go. A quick glance at the clock made me sigh. Two o’clock a.m. A long, endless night lay before me.
Endless night indeed. Who was I kidding? I worked third shift. My entire life was one long night. Mr. Solar Orb in the sky and I were no longer on a first name basis. Our relationship ended six months prior when I took this job and refused to see him anymore. I missed him dearly.
“Negativity will get you nowhere,” I chastised myself. The graveyard shift was starting to take its toll, but a promotion would happen eventually – or at least that’s what I kept telling myself. Proud of my attempted optimism I sauntered over to the sink to wash my hands. Snack time. My fresh berry salad chilling in the refrigerator called to me. I felt my spirits picking up at thought – until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
“Ho-ly crap!” I exclaimed, leaning in for a closer look. I knew that the fluorescent lights and snot-yellow walls weren’t helping, but neither factor was completely responsible for my haggard state. Long, scraggly black hair framed a sallow, gaunt face, pale from little sleep and lack of direct sunlight. Bruise-colored circles beneath heavy, bloodshot eyes completed the horrifying picture. If not for the fact I was upright, I could have been mistaken for one of the corpses! I stepped back and turned off the sink. Screw the shift differential – I needed to talk to someone about first shift tomorrow. The extra money wasn’t worth all this. I made a mental note to call my supervisor.
Thoroughly depressed, I made a bee-line to my secret chocolate stash. I needed some serious cocoa-laden therapy. The berries would have to wait.
After devouring my dark and decadent chocolate bar, I leaned back in my chair and propped my feet up on the desk. The chocolate helped me posit that maybe the situation wasn’t quite so dire. I opted for a vacation in the sun instead of a career ending ultimatum to my boss. Becoming reacquainted with the sun paired with a few days away from death could have nothing but a positive impact on my sullen behavior and neglected appearance. Problem solved, I grabbed my MP3 player and relaxed, rock and roll happily blaring in my ears...until it wasn’t.
A startling clang, so loud it echoed over my headphones, woke me from my reverie. “What the heck?” I asked, swiveling my chair toward exam room two. Yanking out the headphones, I froze, trying to hear the noise again. If someone was here, I’d know it, I assumed. There was only one door in and it required a keycard. I listened hard, but heard nothing else alarming.
A few moments of silence helped my heart return to its normal rhythm. Cursing my caffeine intake, I turned toward the desk, determined to spend the last five minutes of my break catching up on my soap opera. I had to know who the baby belonged to!
Two minutes into my search, another loud clang drew my attention away from the computer. “Hello?” I called, praying nobody answered. While no voice responded, a rustling of fabric and squeaking of what I assumed was gurney wheels let me know without a doubt that I wasn’t alone.
No one had come in or out and, at the beginning of my shift, I always completed a cursory exam of each of the corpses. Each one was definitely dead. Working in the Medical Examiners office, you always hear stories of people who come back to life, but most often it’s just a psychotic colleague with a sick sense of humor who turns up under the sheet. I rooted through the desk for anything lethal. The only remotely weapon-like object was a pair of wooden chopsticks that I used to secure my hair. I rolled my eyes at the discovery. That was really going to help.
The smack of bare soles hitting the floor let me know that my time was up to search for weapons. Whoever was in exam room two was on the move. The pointy chopsticks just had to do. I stalked toward the intruder, utensils raised. The shuffling of feet and constant tumult from the room led me to believe that the unknown occupant was disoriented. Maybe the chopsticks wouldn’t be necessary? Hey, a girl could dream.
As I rounded the corner, I gasped in surprise. An honest to goodness vampire stood before me, fangs and all.
While I worked on picking my jaw up from the floor, the she-vamp gave me a long, appraising look. “Where can I get some clothes?” she asked, motioning to my attire. I couldn’t speak. I just stood there, staring at the only supernatural being I’d ever come across. Was she seriously asking me for clothing?
Nonplussed by my lack of response, the vampire continued on. “Careful with those wooden sticks,” she said as she brushed her long stringy hair from her face. “Those things can be dangerous to those like us.” She gestured between the two of us. Did she really think that I was a vampire too?
That did it. I raised the chopsticks high and jammed them into the monster’s chest. I fell back against the gurney as I watched her crumple to the ground and disappear into ash. After the display, when I was able to regain my wits, I charged to my desk, grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled two words with my red marker – “I quit!” I then signed my name, grabbed my personal affects and ran to the nearest exit.
You know it’s time to leave the graveyard shift when a vampire confuses you for one of their own.
- - -
J. M. Vogel is from Columbus, Ohio. Her works of fiction can be found online through "Every Day Fiction," "LQQK Magazine," "Fiction365," "Thrillers, Killers 'n' Chillers" and "The Fringe." Other stories can be found in print through "The Creative Minds Collection" anthologies, Volumes II and III.
By J. M. Vogel
“Based on aforementioned findings during examination, the deceased is confirmed -- male, sixty-five years old, pulmonary embolism.” I clicked off the voice recorder and arched my back in a very satisfying stretch. Two bodies down, three to go. A quick glance at the clock made me sigh. Two o’clock a.m. A long, endless night lay before me.
Endless night indeed. Who was I kidding? I worked third shift. My entire life was one long night. Mr. Solar Orb in the sky and I were no longer on a first name basis. Our relationship ended six months prior when I took this job and refused to see him anymore. I missed him dearly.
“Negativity will get you nowhere,” I chastised myself. The graveyard shift was starting to take its toll, but a promotion would happen eventually – or at least that’s what I kept telling myself. Proud of my attempted optimism I sauntered over to the sink to wash my hands. Snack time. My fresh berry salad chilling in the refrigerator called to me. I felt my spirits picking up at thought – until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
“Ho-ly crap!” I exclaimed, leaning in for a closer look. I knew that the fluorescent lights and snot-yellow walls weren’t helping, but neither factor was completely responsible for my haggard state. Long, scraggly black hair framed a sallow, gaunt face, pale from little sleep and lack of direct sunlight. Bruise-colored circles beneath heavy, bloodshot eyes completed the horrifying picture. If not for the fact I was upright, I could have been mistaken for one of the corpses! I stepped back and turned off the sink. Screw the shift differential – I needed to talk to someone about first shift tomorrow. The extra money wasn’t worth all this. I made a mental note to call my supervisor.
Thoroughly depressed, I made a bee-line to my secret chocolate stash. I needed some serious cocoa-laden therapy. The berries would have to wait.
After devouring my dark and decadent chocolate bar, I leaned back in my chair and propped my feet up on the desk. The chocolate helped me posit that maybe the situation wasn’t quite so dire. I opted for a vacation in the sun instead of a career ending ultimatum to my boss. Becoming reacquainted with the sun paired with a few days away from death could have nothing but a positive impact on my sullen behavior and neglected appearance. Problem solved, I grabbed my MP3 player and relaxed, rock and roll happily blaring in my ears...until it wasn’t.
A startling clang, so loud it echoed over my headphones, woke me from my reverie. “What the heck?” I asked, swiveling my chair toward exam room two. Yanking out the headphones, I froze, trying to hear the noise again. If someone was here, I’d know it, I assumed. There was only one door in and it required a keycard. I listened hard, but heard nothing else alarming.
A few moments of silence helped my heart return to its normal rhythm. Cursing my caffeine intake, I turned toward the desk, determined to spend the last five minutes of my break catching up on my soap opera. I had to know who the baby belonged to!
Two minutes into my search, another loud clang drew my attention away from the computer. “Hello?” I called, praying nobody answered. While no voice responded, a rustling of fabric and squeaking of what I assumed was gurney wheels let me know without a doubt that I wasn’t alone.
No one had come in or out and, at the beginning of my shift, I always completed a cursory exam of each of the corpses. Each one was definitely dead. Working in the Medical Examiners office, you always hear stories of people who come back to life, but most often it’s just a psychotic colleague with a sick sense of humor who turns up under the sheet. I rooted through the desk for anything lethal. The only remotely weapon-like object was a pair of wooden chopsticks that I used to secure my hair. I rolled my eyes at the discovery. That was really going to help.
The smack of bare soles hitting the floor let me know that my time was up to search for weapons. Whoever was in exam room two was on the move. The pointy chopsticks just had to do. I stalked toward the intruder, utensils raised. The shuffling of feet and constant tumult from the room led me to believe that the unknown occupant was disoriented. Maybe the chopsticks wouldn’t be necessary? Hey, a girl could dream.
As I rounded the corner, I gasped in surprise. An honest to goodness vampire stood before me, fangs and all.
While I worked on picking my jaw up from the floor, the she-vamp gave me a long, appraising look. “Where can I get some clothes?” she asked, motioning to my attire. I couldn’t speak. I just stood there, staring at the only supernatural being I’d ever come across. Was she seriously asking me for clothing?
Nonplussed by my lack of response, the vampire continued on. “Careful with those wooden sticks,” she said as she brushed her long stringy hair from her face. “Those things can be dangerous to those like us.” She gestured between the two of us. Did she really think that I was a vampire too?
That did it. I raised the chopsticks high and jammed them into the monster’s chest. I fell back against the gurney as I watched her crumple to the ground and disappear into ash. After the display, when I was able to regain my wits, I charged to my desk, grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled two words with my red marker – “I quit!” I then signed my name, grabbed my personal affects and ran to the nearest exit.
You know it’s time to leave the graveyard shift when a vampire confuses you for one of their own.
- - -
J. M. Vogel is from Columbus, Ohio. Her works of fiction can be found online through "Every Day Fiction," "LQQK Magazine," "Fiction365," "Thrillers, Killers 'n' Chillers" and "The Fringe." Other stories can be found in print through "The Creative Minds Collection" anthologies, Volumes II and III.
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Creative, funny, quick-moving-loved it!