Under The Mist
Journal Entry #1

A sensation so deadly but so fulfilling it seemed irreplaceable. I worked a simple job. I work at the morgue in downtown Chicago. I work a simple, remedial job. I was not a normal coroner. I was somewhat of a genius. The reason I am not a normal coroner is the fact of what I can do. I have a way with death. We dance in my lab slowly as the undead are told why and when their lives were stolen by the Grim. As I said I was an extremely good coroner, as a detective once put it. But there are reasons I am. I am just as evil as the ones who did the killing.

I was a murderer. I was just as cold and just as evil as them. And yes them being the life takers, the thieves and the rapist. I knew them all by name, by type of murder. Every single attribute associated with any of the kinds of evildoers listed previously, I knew it. Chicago as of late had been cold. Colder than usual and above this was a mist. A mist so thick you could see only a few feet ahead of you. Its density was almost symbolism for the lack of knowledge of the ordinary person walking down the street. The man you just passed had killed three men with a knife ten years ago. A certain feeling that filled me with cheerfulness daily. I was dubbed insane by most who knew of my “weird” tendencies of taking life. It’s a power rush. With your hands and feet, you could end the life of anyone.

I discovered of my “insanity” at a young age, 10 or so. Amazed me to watch as one man beat the life and soul of man. I remembered that day; no one could ever pry it from my memories. If I were to lose that memory, Rage that burned then would break free from its cage and rip apart the human race. I was crazy, I knew it. Detective Maliyah knew it as well. He was a man who was the usual guy for the job when it came to dropping of bodies. Hey wasn’t too complex quite simple minded in fact. His brown short hair and mustache that was similar to a caterpillar was always high and had crumbs in it. He seemed unlikely of ever finding out that someone was a killer.

I obviously being a genius killer could outsmart any police or detective to cross a line and talk to me as if I were a mere human. And no I don’t address myself as human. I am too complex to be associated with common riffraff. I am too superior to be addressed in such a manner.


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I stopped there, this man was insane. It sounded as if he knew that too. Stephen was not human. He was a monster. We found the body of Maliyah few days ago. I had brought the body to the morgue and when I arrived all that was there was Stephen’s assistant, Terry, bleeding. I ran to the back to see if Stephen was alive or gone. He was gone but there sat a butcher’s knife. Also, a post it note, stating “Death is a beautiful painting of blood and screams”. I called Stephen’s phone. No answers. My heart beat fast and my gun was in my hand. I called the only person I knew who would know, Caban. Caban was a good friend of Stephen but as he started to go into isolation Caban moved on. Caban picked up but it wasn’t him, it was a slow breathing and then a whisper, “Get out of town, He Did.” It was Stephens’s voice.

I took of my glasses. I rubbed my eyes vigorously. I squinted at the clock it was twelve-thirty. Shook my head and looked out my window it was raining. My small apartment was dark. I looked at my messy bed. I then looked down at my scrambled desk. It had notebooks, papers, and pencils scrawled across it. I stretched my arms high into the air. It all didn’t match. Why would he do this? He wasn’t after money. He didn’t have any sort of enemy. Heck he didn’t have friends. I cracked my neck and gazed around my room. Paintings were hanged diagonally. And walls were tainted.

I needed rest, days went by fast lately. Every day, we found a body and a note. I had somewhat of a collection now a’ days. Each one seemed crazier than the last. From “A lonely soul under the mist” to “A knife is like a birthday gift, sweet and full of joy”. Every time I read them I cringed. I had to read this man’s journal daily to find what he wanted, his objection.

I tilted my head down and slowly dozed off into slumber.







Chapter #2
Journal Entry #2


Terry had the day off. It always seemed more depressing when she was around. She mopped around here like a slave. At least I enjoyed the dead. What was even more interesting about today was who was coming today. I colleague of mine. An embalmer, his name was Lucas. He was a good hearted man. He had a lanky body. And a blonde set of hair that was always quite shaggy. I was at Terry’s desk waiting for him. There was a loud bang at the door. “It’s Open” I screamed. In Lucas walked. His Shirt had a picture of nirvana’s symbol. And he was also wearing blue jeans. And he looked like he made no effort in preparing for his visit.

That was another thing, why he wanted to visit was odd. He was not my friend. I didn’t have many. What would drive him to come here today? He walked in with a big smile and arms wide open. I stood up and intercepted his hug. “Steve. What’s up?” He said with a gentle voice. “I am well, Lucas. How about yourself.” I said with a giant grin. “People are always going to die. So business is good.” That made me want to smile with such happiness the light I would show would be brighter than that of the sun.

All I could think is, yes there were always will be death. By me, and the world. I lead Lucas to the back to show him my latest job. A young boy that was hit by a wild bullet, But this wasn’t an accident. I could tell by the accuracy of the shot. It hit many of the internal organs. And then the heart. The source of humanity. The home of the human soul. The place of which my art was painted. The art of murder.

When Lucas saw the boy He looked away. I couldn’t stop staring. “Sad, isn’t it. Death. We work with it every day but it is the oddest portion of my daily life. I see a life and I see a soul that once loved and breathed my air.” He said slowly. I needed to be excused. My anger was about to show and was about to burn Lucas to a crisp. And it happened.

I walked away with a crooked smile. I searched for my butcher’s knife. It sat on my desk. I want and graved it. I put on gloves. And my apron. My jeans were already covered in blood and my white T’ shirt was ready to be painted with the beauty of the human body.

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I knew what was going to happen. He was going to kill him. He was going to kill another man. I scanned through. No body placement or where he put it. There was one sentence that caught my mind. “A killing such as this one needed to be displayed”. There was a knock at the door. It was about six in the morning. I had waked up early. I needed to read Stephens journal. “Open.” I croaked. My voice was raspy from staying up late the night before. The door busted open. Collin, the chief of the Chicago police. “Abandoned, art gallery. Guy hung. Another note”. Collin was out of breath and in a rush. “Calm down what has happened” I said. “Ok, we found a body. It was in the art gallery on Racine. The abandoned one. There is a message playing. Its keeps saying ‘Read on, read on’. We think he knows you’ve got the journal”

I looked sideways. I saw my face in the mirror. I hadn’t shaved in days. My scruffy face resembled that of a porcupine. My dark hair and nice hazel nut eyes resembled my fathers. I was oddly dressed in clothes. I didn’t remember getting dressed. But it didn’t matter I was halfway out the door with Collin and throwing on my jacket.

We ran down my apartment buildings stair then we saw blood. We saw blood. It was across the floor. It followed into the room where my neighbor lived. Her name was Marlene. She was and secretary for Collin. A nice lady always had something to say. But at the second we saw blood and a post it we knew it. He did it. I barged down the door. And there she sat on the couch. Not dead but stunned. I knew this by there being no blood anywhere. And Stephen loved blood, that’s one thing I could say with full confidence about.

I turned around and walked toward the hallway. I stooped down while Collin called the police. The note read.
Read On.
Read On.
Cause once you Read On.
Death will fall upon all.
Frankenstein has been rebuilt.
And Dracula will bite the living for the dead.
Read on.
Read on.
He was a sick and twisted individual. A true monster. A few doors opened. And then there was a man, and he was dead.


Chapter #3

He was stapled to the door. And written on his walls where. You thought you were safe. I didn’t plan on reading anymore. Not one more word. Not a single word, a syllable. I guess that he had to make some sort of killing that night. Marlene wasn’t dead. But Joe was. He was the man who lived directly below them. He was a nasty man. He was self centered. But loved art in all its forms. I stared at his blue eyes. His pale lifeless skin was a reminder to me of what was out there. I looked back into Marlene’s room. Just like her the room seemed motionless. Her chairs were straight. Her photos of family and friends strait on the wall. And there on the coach she sat. I walked over to her. I pulled a chair in front of them.

“Marlene, how are you doing?” I said. I wasn’t the most sympathetic when it came to situations like these. My partner was, but lives are fragile. Fragile as glass buildings. It takes one man, in this Stephen to come to that house and shatter one piece and the rest comes crumbling down. A terrifying feeling. Maliyha, he was dead. He was just another victim of the mist. Marlene didn’t respond, she just starred. I touched her shoulder and then she fell. Face forward, and there right in her back. A knife, long and thick. And a note on it, it read “Yes, Yes. Read on”. I was livid, I felt a flame. A flame, flames full of anger and then a shook my head. To find, the worst, most disturbing image ever to be seen by human kind. A knife in my hand. And the tip in Marlene’s back. My head was shaking and tilting back from front and back. And then I realized it. Under the mist, no-one is who they say they are. And when we see the world as the enemy, we see the mist’s paintings of blood screams and violence.

4-10-14
Prison Cell A
Stephen McMorick