Autopsy Sonita

The Bodies That Wouldn’t Rest The first thing Sonita noticed was the smell. Not the usual one. She had grown used to the cold, metallic scent of the mortuary, the sharp bite of disinfectant mixed with the faint, stubborn odor of death that never truly left. It clung to the walls, to the trays, to her skin, no matter how hard she scrubbed. But this one was different. Sweet. Rotting, yes, but sweet, like something that had no business smelling pleasant. Sonita paused at the doorway, her gloved hand resting lightly against the cold steel frame. The overhead light flickered once, then steadied. The generator hummed somewhere in the background, struggling like it always did during the long power cuts. “Another night,” she murmured under her breath. The mortuary answered with silence. She stepped inside. Three bodies had been brought in earlier that evening, unidentified, the police report had said. Found near the riverbank on the outskirts of town. No visible signs of violence. No witnesses. That alone was strange. But what unsettled her wasn’t the report. It was the way the attendant who brought them in had refused to stay. “They’re not normal,” he had whispered, avoiding her eyes. “Just… do your work, Sonita. Don’t ask questions.” She had laughed then. Now, standing in front of the covered trays, she wasn’t laughing anymore. The smell grew stronger as she approached. Sweet. Wrong. She pulled the first sheet back. The man beneath looked… peaceful. Too peaceful. His skin was pale, but not in the usual lifeless way. There was a strange smoothness to it, almost wax-like, as if someone had carefully preserved him. His lips were slightly parted, and for a brief, irrational moment, Sonita thought he might speak. She leaned closer, no signs of trauma. No bruising. No cuts. Nothing. “Cause of death?” she muttered, reaching for her clipboard. “Let’s find out.” Her voice sounded too loud in the stillness. She began her routine, methodical, practiced. Measure, observe, record. But then. She froze. There, just below his collarbone, was a mark. Small. Circular. Almost like a burn… or a puncture. Her fingers hovered over it, not quite touching. “That wasn’t in the report,” she whispered. A soft sound echoed behind her. She turned sharply. Nothing. Just rows of silent metal trays and the flickering light above. Sonita exhaled slowly, forcing herself to relax. “You’re imagining things,” she said. “It’s just another case.” But her heart wasn’t convinced. She turned back to the body. And that’s when she noticed it. The chest. It moved. Barely. So slight that she almost missed it, but once she saw it, she couldn’t unsee it. A slow… shallow rise. Then stillness. Her breath caught in her throat. “No,” she whispered. Dead bodies don’t breathe. She stepped back, nearly knocking over the tray beside her. “Stop it,” she said to herself, shaking her head. “This is stress. You’ve been working too many nights.” But the room felt different now. Heavier. Watching. She forced herself to look again. The body was still. Completely still. No movement. No breath. Nothing. Sonita swallowed hard. “See?” she said, though her voice trembled. “Nothing.” But as she reached for the sheet to cover him again. His fingers twitched. She screamed. The sound tore through the mortuary, raw and sharp, echoing off the tiled walls. The lights flickered violently. For a second, just one second, the entire room plunged into darkness. And in that darkness… She heard breathing. Not hers. Not one. But many. All around her. Close. Too close. The lights snapped back on. The room was empty. The bodies lay still. Silent. Dead. Sonita stood frozen, her chest rising and falling too fast. Slowly, carefully, she turned in a full circle. Nothing had changed. Except. All three sheets… had been pulled down. Sonita didn’t remember walking out of the mortuary. But she found herself outside, leaning against the cracked wall, gulping in warm night air like she had been underwater. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, no, no…” This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. She had worked with the dead for years. She knew what death looked like. What it felt like. What it didn’t do. Dead bodies do not breathe. They do not move. They do not uncover themselves. A cold realization crept into her mind, slow and heavy. Unless… They were never truly dead. Behind her, the mortuary door creaked open. Sonita froze. She didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. A voice came from inside. Soft. Dry. Unfamiliar. “Sonita…” Her blood turned to ice. She had never told anyone she worked alone at night. So who, “Come back,” the voice whispered. “We’re not finished.”