Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I work in a Morgue. The dead tell me how they died | Scary Stories

Episode Date: August 12, 2024

Do you want to know their secrets...   Scary Story exclusively written for the channel by Geddy Cahoon  Cover Art from Ninerio More of the artist’s works at ninerioarts               Original YouTube link: I work in a Morgue. The dead tell me how they died.  Merch: lighthousehorror.shop  For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Darren Curtis Music - YouTube  Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

How do I explain my job? Imagine you work at a convenience store, and the sodas in the fridge started talking to you. It's kind of like that. Yeah, I think that about sums it up. But instead of a cashier, I'm a mortuary assistant. I work in a morgue under a hospital, and a few months back, the corpses started talking to me. Now I know that sounds unbelievable, psychotic, unhinged, but honestly, the dead body sitting up and spilling their guts, it isn't even the worst part.

It's the things they tell me that make my guts twist. I guess I should start at the beginning. I've always been a good listener. That's one of those natural skills that you can't really learn you're just born with it. the shoulder to cry on, the sympathetic ear, or any other body parts that can be a cushion for someone's thoughts, desires, and fears. That's me. I remember being around 12 or 13 years old and having a deep, serious conversation with my

father. Conversations that a man probably shouldn't be having with his son. But our relationship was always different. Growing up without a mom, we'll do that, I guess. We were always more like friends than a dad and his kid. We talk about dad's life, his work, how much he missed mom, sometimes, how much he really wanted to drink. But I thought it was all for the better.

I wouldn't be where I am now if I didn't turn out the way I did. I wouldn't have been blessed. In the beginning, being a corpse handler was something that I sort of fell into by complete accident. I was young at the time, barely starting college. My then-girlfriend had a dream of opening her own funeral home, and in a stroke of complete genius and infatuation, I decided that I'd join her. We'd complete school together and start our own joint venture, a funeral home to call our own the stuff of romance. Well, as you can guess, things didn't work out between us and in the end. But I did find that I was honestly fascinated by the job. I'd always been interested

in that stuff since mom died. I was never someone who got queasy at the sight of a bloody injury or a nasty car accident. The first time I actually worked on a dead body, it just felt natural to me. It felt as natural as, well, listening to people's problems. I've spent my entire life as a kind of sounding board for the people I care about. Everyone trusted me with their deepest secrets. I don't even think it's that I give the best advice or have the perfect solution to every problem. I usually don't, if I'm being truthful. But sometimes, people just need to be heard. Lately, though, when it comes to my work, my listening skills have been a bit of a problem. I was more than happy being a low-level assistant. I just wanted an easy job

that would let me turn my brain off as I wheeled bodies around. The atmosphere and pace of this type of gig, it suited me just fine. That's how I started in this field, and it's pretty much where the normal part of this story ends. Things just got so, so much worse. I'd been to I've been working at a hospital in St. Clair and slinging dead bodies around for about three years when they asked me to swap to the night shift. Thought about it for a bit. Pay was better by a few dollars, and I've always been a night person on top of everything else, so I agreed.

I didn't even have any of the typical fears or hang-ups you'd expect. The idea of being alone at night with tons of dead bodies didn't really scare me. me. I knew that the corpses were just that. Dead. At least I thought so. God, if I could go back in time, I'd strangle myself on the spot before accepting this job. So like I said, things started out normally enough. Well, enough for a morgue in the basement of a hospital at least. It wasn't unusual to see messed up, twisted bodies of all colors, shapes, and sizes. There's a lot of different ways a human can die in a major hospital. They didn't all talk, though.

Not at first. The first time it happened. I thought my coworker Dave was playing a prank on me. It was 3 a.m. We just wheeled in the corpses of an elderly man in the same. woman. Their respected causes of death weren't immediately obvious to me. There were no fatal injuries that I could see. So I thought old age was probably a safe bet. We just transferred the first body from the gurney to the slab. I had my back to Dave, filling

out some paperwork about the old man. It was going as normally as you'd expect when a voice cut through the still air. It was that kind of dry, throaty voice that could only belong to something not from this world. It's funny, humans just have some innate ability to sense when something is wrong. My hand froze, the pen hovering over the paper as the raspy voice let out a single word. Gild. Now in the moment, I'll admit I was really scared. I just laughed and turned around, expecting to see Dave with a stupid grin. Very funny, I quipped. Dave still had his back turned, but he turned around and raised an eyebrow when he heard me. Killed. I repeated, in a half-assed attempt at a zombie voice. The confused

look never left Dave's face. What does that mean? He seemed genuinely lost. I chuckled again. A little more hollow this time. Didn't you just... I trailed off before I could finish the question. Dave rolled his eyes. Yeah, good one.

Anyway, listen, I need to run to the bathroom. He didn't wait for my response as he set his clipboard down and left me alone with the two bodies. The room went deathly silent. as I heard Dave's footsteps receding up the hall. The only sound left was the hum of the fluorescent lights above my head. I stood there alone, standing still in the freezing morgue. There was just this feeling, like something hanging in the air, some sort of aura.

I didn't know how to describe it. My eyes were now locked on the body directly in front of me. The old man. His eyes were closed, his skin pale and wrinkled. I held my breath, and then there was a sound like bones cracking, and the faint squeak of aged and dry rubber wheels rolling gently on cold linoleum. Kill! The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, as that same hoarse voice drifted through the air.

It felt like it was warming its way between my ears and into my brain, and it was coming from behind me, from the other body. Slowly, I turned to face her. I felt the color drained from my face as I saw what was waiting behind me. The dead woman was sitting up on her gurney. Her eyes were still scrunched closed. But a stiff grin had spread across her previously blank face. Her face that was supposed to be dead. I could see her body had begun showing signs of breaking down.

Her flesh was discolored and turning purple. Her gray hair was a wiry rat's nest from being roughly transported to the morgue from wherever she had died. I watched in horror. as her mouth slowly opened, exposing teeth stained brown from years of smoking, the voice drifted out from her rotting throat again. But it wasn't like the dead woman was speaking. It was almost like her body was just the vessel for a voice coming from another place,

like some kind of demented ventriloquist act. Her mouth didn't move. It simply hung open as the withered voice repeated that single word again. She said. I felt my knees getting wink. Sweat, beat it on my forehead. Where the hell was Dave? I guess I still held out a bit of hope that this was all an elaborate joke.

And then a cold, clammy hand grasped my shoulder. I didn't need to turn around to know. I already knew who was. It was. I didn't even hear him get up. Another one of those awful voices from the pit of hell whispered directly in my ear. Have you ever felt someone whisper in your ear? The heat of their breath.

Almost like there's a warmth to what they're saying. You feel their humanity in every word. There was no humanity here. No breath. No warmth. Just icy, alien, nothing. The dead man croaked out two words. I shut my eyes tight, feeling my body shudder in horror.

When I opened them, I was in the same room under the same lights, still staring at a corpse, sitting up with its mouth wide open. Then there was an awful sound, like wet meat being shoved through a drain. The woman forced her eyes open. They were nothing but milky, empty, orbs staring into my soul. Suddenly, she swung her rigid legs around to my side. It's a motion I'm very familiar with. She was trying to get up, seeing that snap something in my brain, and I ran.

I bolted out of the morgue, crashing through the swinging doors, I nearly knocked over a very confused Dave as he walked down the hall with two coffees. I jumped in my car and I peeled out of the hospital's parking lot. I drove down dark city streets, not really knowing where I wanted to go. I almost crashed a few times. Every time I stopped at a light and tried to close my eyes to calm myself down, all I saw was that open, rotting mouth and those empty. eyes. Their voices repeated over and over in my head, killed our son. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes

to figure out what the two corpses were implying, but in that moment, I was more concerned with whether I was currently in the middle of some sort of psychotic break. But before I even realized what I was doing, I'd stopped the car, the brain fog I'd had since rushing out of the more cleared up a bit. I looked around to see where I'd ended up. By the looks of it, I'd parked on a dingy street somewhere in the suburbs. Dawn was coming up and faint sunlight was leaking into the night sky. But for the most part, everything was still shrouded and black. I looked at the house I'd stopped in front of, a normal-looking ranch house with a single orange light in the front window. killed

our son somehow I just knew it felt like I didn't have control of my own body as I shut the engine down and left the car I silently walked up the front

path to the house's oak door I knocked on it three times with the back of my fist I wanted to be back in my car back home and bed Hell, even back at work with those hideous grinning corpses. This night had transformed into a horrible nightmare, and I just knew that when whoever was

inside the house answered their door, things were only going to get worse for me. Slowly, the door swung open. Just a crack. Behind the door was a tired-looking man, probably in the room. his 40s. His eyes were wild. His brow furrowed in suspicion. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. It explained why he was up at 4.30 in the morning, anyway. It's probably hard to get a good night's sleep after you've just murdered your parents. I guess neither one of us was really thinking straight in that moment. Who answers the door for a stranger in the

middle of the night. When our eyes locked, a vision began playing in my brain. It was a perfect recreation of what had happened. I saw the old couple. The two corpses in my morgue, but alive, they're both laying in bed, elderly and sick, and waiting on their son to take care of them. I saw the man in front of me. He was frustrated and fed up. I saw him placing a pillow over his mother's face. And then once she stopped moving, he walked across the room and did the same to his father. The man's expression changed from suspicion to confusion as he saw my face glaze over. Our eyes were still locked, and it was like I could see him, but also through him as the vision played out in my head.

I wondered why he'd done it. I suppose caring for one sick elderly person takes a lot of something, let alone caring for both of them at once. Or maybe he'd always hated them. The vision I was seeing didn't give any context or explanations, no excuses or justifications. All it showed me was a horrific tragedy playing out to its end. I still had that feeling of being a passenger in my own body as I shouldered my way into the house. It caught the man off guard, and it sent him stumbling back into the foyer.

He tried to say something, grabbing at a side table to steady himself. I wasn't a big guy, but the killer was downright puny. I was on top of him grabbing fistfuls of his matted hair before he could stop me. I don't even know when I started raising my fists up and down, smashing his skull into the floor again and again. At first, between the wet thwax, I could hear him asking who I was, what I wanted.

I didn't even really know the answer to those questions. In that moment, I felt strangely disconnected from the entire thing. I smelled the dark, fresh blood that leaked from the man's crushed skull. I heard the sharp cracking gradually soften as his skull became a lump of jelly. I watched the life leave his wide, terrified eyes. But at the same time, it was like I was watching a scene play out on a TV show. I stared at the stranger I'd become. Come. Blood splashed into the air, dotting my arms and face red.

Finally, it was done. I released my vice-like grip on the man's hair. His fractured skull dropped into the puddle of blood with a whip thud. Suddenly, I was back in control. Back in the moment, not just watching it, I staggered backwards, setting myself against the wall. All I could do was sit and stare at what I'd done. What had I done? I was looking at a dead man that I'd just beaten to death with my bare hands. But it didn't really feel like I was the one who did it. I wasn't sure how much of my actions had been under

my control from the moment those two bodies started speaking to me. Through the days, I suddenly felt I felt a chill seeping through the air, like that chill I felt in the morgue before this all started. I looked to my left, then to my right, I was still in the man's foyer, but it suddenly seemed so much larger and darker than before. I looked at the man and had to stop a scream. Above the dead man against the dark nothingness the house had become was the old couple. It was the two rotting corpses that had sent me on this mission. They were here, standing above the body of their son.

A two wide smile was stretched across the woman's face, while the man's face remained blank. They both stared at me as a black mist began to spill from the bloody open mouth of their dead sun. I watched it rise in small wisps and eventually grew into a hazy black form in the shape of a human. The woman stepped forward. Each step shook as she used legs that were no longer meant to function. She reached out and caressed the cloudy figure with her hand. Her massive grin somehow grew even wider as she did. By now, there was just a solid wall of black surrounding us.

There was no trace of the house that we should be in, and out of this thick darkness, a massive skeletal hand suddenly reached out. I was frozen to the spot. I wondered if I was actually dead myself. At this point, I'd take that over being clinically insane. The hand was easily five times larger than my own head. It's attached to a bony arm that seemed to stretch forever back into darkness. The fingers ended in sharp claws, and the bones themselves looked dry and, rotten, like this thing, whatever it was, had been around for centuries. In one quick motion, the giant claw wrapped closed around the mist creature and dragged it

back to where it had come. The man and woman shared one last look into my eyes. The old woman gave me a look that almost looked like gratitude. And then everything snapped back to normal. The skeleton creature, the dead couple, the mist figure. It all disappeared. It was just me. And the bloody corpse of the man I'd just murdered.

His body was still there. Dark blood still slowly leaked from his mangled skull. No matter how badly I wanted this to be. a dream. The part where I killed him had been real. Finally, I felt like I had control over myself again. I stood and ran from the house, making a beeline for my car. I sped home as fast as I could. I'd call work tomorrow, come up with some excuse why I left early. But what did it matter anyway? I was sure the cops would be waking me up soon and arresting me for a murder. The entire drive home, I was torn between wanting to forget and knowing the full truth

of what exactly had just happened. Had I been used to write some kind of universal wrong? How would I know the vision I'd seen of the man murdering his parents was even true? I stumbled into my apartment and I collapsed into bed. Thankfully, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep as soon as I closed my eyes. When I woke up hours later, it wasn't because the police were breaking down my door. Instead, my phone was blown up with texts from Dave and my supervisor. I did hope that it was all a nightmare, but one look at the flaking, dried blood that covered

me. It was enough proof. I shivered as I remembered that huge skeletal claw emerging from the dark. Several years of being a good employee had earned me some goodwill for management. After I ran out on my last shift, they were more concerned about my well-being than anything else. I quickly made up some excuse about getting food poisoning and apologized for running off. I should have asked to stay home that night. I should have wanted to quit the damn job.

But instead, I told them I'd be in that night for my shift, no problem, and I thank them for their concern. I couldn't get that woman's face out of my head. I keep thinking about that look she'd given me before everything reset itself. Gratitude. Gratefulness. When I arrived at the hospital that night, the whole aura of the place felt different. There was a heaviness in the air, like this sense of waiting for something to happen.

I didn't pay Dave much attention, but I could feel his stare on the back of my head when he thought I wasn't paying attention. I guessed he was a little suspicious of my story, not that I cared much. Surprisingly, the shift was pretty normal for the first couple hours. We filled up some paperwork, prepped the bodies, and took down any patients that had died upstairs. But that feeling that something's about to happen, it still hung over my head all night. I was deep cleaning some of the tools when I finally heard it. Another raspy voice echoed through the morgue.

This time, I didn't react with shock. I pretended I didn't even hear anything. I casually looked at Dave from the corner of my eye. If he could hear the voices now, too, he wasn't shown it. Good. I wasn't immediately sure where it was coming from, though. Unlike the previous night, there were no fresh body. waiting out in the open to jump at me.

It didn't take me long to figure out where I needed to check. The giant wall of stainless steel storage cabinets. Where we file the corpses away like paperwork. The voice must be coming from one of these. I knew this was where I'd find the body crying out to be heard. I felt that same force take control of me. I wasn't really in control anymore. But this time, I felt a lot calmer about it.

I was instantly drawn to a specific cabinet. I'd log this one in a few days ago. It was a pretty nasty case. A young guy around my age, whose entire face had been nearly shredded in half, It was determined to be a workplace accident. Sure, an accident, I thought. Killed?

I called out to Dave trying to sound casual. Hey, I'm going to check on this one from the other day real quick. Can't remember if I filed the tag correctly. Dave said nothing, simply nodding at me. I opened the drawer. Immediately, I was met with a man's cloudy eyes. They were open, bulging out as they stared at me. They weren't open when I'd put him in there.

I know they weren't. The man's wounds had been pretty bad. He'd fallen face first under the exposed blades of a lawnmour he'd been repairing. His mouth, well, it essentially had been separated from the rest of his face. Deep red gashes ate through his neck, and his cheeks directly below those wide, terrified eyes. As I stared down at his mangled face, his jaw began to quiver. The two flopping halves of his face came apart, exposing his chipped teeth. and what's left of his tongue.

He said quietly. I could barely understand him. I looked into his eyes, and then I nodded. Pushed. He continued. My boss. I didn't run out of the room in a panic this time. I simply shut the drawer,

and I went about the rest of the, my shift. When I clocked out at the crack of dawn, I got in my car and drove. I drove until I arrived at another normal-looking house that I didn't recognize. I knew there was a man inside who'd done something horrible. This time, I didn't wait in confusion. I knew what I had to do. I smashed a window with my elbow, and I climbed into the house. As I dusted myself off, I saw a portly, middle-aged man sleeping in a recliner. A half-empty beer was clutched in one hand. Again, I had a vision. I saw him standing behind the dead man during work. A twisted snarl of rage came over his face, as the dead man worked on the lawnmower.

Soon, he got the blades running again. He wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled in satisfaction as the lawnmower sputtered to life. Suddenly, the fat man pushed him face first into the whirring blades. A massive spray of red colored the sky and coated the boss. Again, I wondered why, but only for a moment. I guessed it didn't really matter. People did horrible things to each other all the time.

Those are just the facts. I walked over and grabbed the beer bottle from the sleeping man before he could wake up. I smashed it over his head. He jumped in confusion and pain, nearly falling off the recliner. I took the jagged half of the beer bottle that remained in my hand, and I plunged it into his neck again and again, and again, until he stopped moving and gasping. I stepped back and waited. The room went dark.

The man with a sliced face appeared, giving me that same look of the room. gratitude. I smiled at him. The misty smoke figure rose from the fat man's mouth. I'm still not completely sure what it is. His essence, his soul, his crime, maybe. A manifestation of the evil he'd done. Then from the darkness, the hand appeared. That bony arm connected to something from beyond our world. It reached out and grabbed the mist. I tried to really study it this time. Really try and get a better look.

It seemed to linger just a little bit longer this time. Almost like it was waiting for me. Like it wanted me to see. Then it was gone. Everything was gone, and I was alone again with a corpse. There were so many, many others that needed me to listen. The garbage man who'd murdered his sister, I pushed him into a compactor. I watched as his body splintered and snapped.

There was the librarian who'd wanted her husband's insurance money. I smashed her skull with an extra large encyclopedia. On and on and on. Each time I was guided by the hand, it would emerge when the deed was done and grab at those wispy figures. I knew what it was. I'd spent so much time thinking about it.

It wasn't a demon or some kind of creature from hell. It was the hand of karma, of destiny. And I was their eyes. For some reason, it had chosen me to carry out justice. I never found out why it chose me, but it spoke to me through the corpses, at first at least.

That's only because that was the easiest way to reach me. back then. You see, I quit my job at the hospital this past week. I don't need it anymore. Not after I saw that monstrous hand appear over a woman's head in broad daylight? And instantly, I saw a picture-perfect vision of what she'd done to her mother. I followed her into an alley, and I did what I was supposed to do. I had earned its trust.

It doesn't need the corpses anymore. Now it can appear to me whenever it needs to. Send me after whoever it wants. It shows me all the awful things you're all doing, the horrible messes you leave me to find, and how you should be punished. And when it speaks to me, I do what I do best. I listen.