Novelas y relatos de Postmortem

He also forced me to get on my knees in repentance every year during the week of Mom's death anniversary. It just happened to be the first day of that very week when the drug dealers broke into the cemetery. Zack's phone suddenly rang at that moment. "Zack! Come to the police station as fast as you can!" … It was already night time by the time Zack rushed to the police station. "Another case?" he asked, turning to look at Officer Wright, captain of the homicide unit. "Take a look yourself," Officer Wright replied with a sombre look. Zack opened up the black plastic bag placed on the autopsy table. The smell of blood mixed with decay hit him like a wave, making him frown involuntarily.

The family’s savings were drained in desperate attempts to treat him, leaving us buried in debt, but nothing helped. Then one day, my brother disappeared. For three days, we searched everywhere. Finally, we found him in the village river. The brother I had adored, always so clean and well-groomed, was now bloated and unrecognizable, his body distorted by the water. I later learned this phenomenon was called "postmortem bloating." After my brother’s death, my parents fell into despair and passed away not long after. I stared at Xerxes, tears streaming down my face.

“What type of poison” “Atropa belladonna. It was the same one found in your father’s autopsy. I believe their death is connected.” Nightshade poison. A deadly poison for a deadly organisation. I scramble closer. “What do you know Doctor?” Gail looks at me, hesitant. “Nothing much aside that I believe this is all connected to the inner circle.” The Inner Circle? This is the first time in ten years I’ve heard that name again. The last time was the day my father was buried.”

A coroner immediately stepped forward and crouched down to conduct a preliminary examination. With gloved hands, he gently pried open my eyelids and pressed my icy skin. The yard was deathly quiet, save for the rustling of the freezing wind through the treetops. Before long, the coroner stood up and shook his head at the officers. His voice was low and clear as he announced, "He has been dead for over three days. The body shows clear signs of postmortem lividity and early bloating. The victim appears to have died from mechanical suffocation."

she said, and walked past him. The cathedral archives were colder than the hospital morgue. Cattleya stood between shelves that predated most nations, running gloved fingers across restricted medical-theological texts. She did not believe in miracles. She believed in patterns that refused easy classification. One sealed manuscript stopped her. Non-human physiological persistence: post-mortem coherence, adaptive tissue response, cognition during clinical termination. Most of the page had been redacted into black silence. But one word bled through the ink like a scar that refused to heal:

“An unstable compound leaked from one of the sealed chambers.” He spun the chair to the side, “Once inside the lungs, it triggered a chemical reaction that does not stop after death. Even in the morgue, the process continued.” He leaned back slightly, his eyes steady on me. “The compound accelerated cellular breakdown, causing postmortem autolysis. The soft tissue dissolved into fluid and gas within hours.” Then he slid me back a full detailed report across the table. “If the refrigeration system struggled or the embalming chemicals reacted, that would have finished the job. Nothing supernatural here, just chemistry at work.”

Her family doesn't know about it for now. Olivia strode toward the body. She had lost her consciousness for three days straight. Thus, everything that had happened that night felt like yesterday to her. The excruciating pain, strong wind, and cold waves were still fresh to her sensations. With trembling fingers, she slowly pulled the white sheet to reveal Mona's face. Although Mona's body hadn't decomposed due to the cold environment, there were livor mortis over it. Not long ago, she was wreathed in smiles like the dazzling sun; now, she was lying in such a cold place with a pale face.

“An unstable compound leaked from one of the sealed chambers.” He spun the chair to the side, “Once inside the lungs, it triggered a chemical reaction that does not stop after death. Even in the morgue, the process continued.” He leaned back slightly, his eyes steady on me. “The compound accelerated cellular breakdown, causing postmortem autolysis. The soft tissue dissolved into fluid and gas within hours.” Then he slid me back a full detailed report across the table. “If the refrigeration system struggled or the embalming chemicals reacted, that would have finished the job. Nothing supernatural here, just chemistry at work.”

At that time I realized that the silence of loneliness was sad and suffocating. On the other hand, I can’t help but blame myself for what happened. However, I know more than anyone else that if I don’t fetch his soul someone else will do it. Death is not something that a person or anyone in the world has control over especially if a person’s death is predestined and written. I learned CSA killed Mr Perelman or Central Sleep Apnea a condition wherein a person pauses in breathing due to a lack of respiratory effort during sleep. That’s the thing Hazel explained to us when we last got together after the funeral.

"You said that you were getting a divorce, but I didn't dare make any decisions regarding your husband's body. It’s still inside the morgue. Would you like to see him?" Lori choked back a sob. Her voice was unstable. "I'd like to see him." Inside the morgue, the white cloth over my corpse was removed. It was the first time I was looking at my dead self. My body had been preserved very well. I looked just like how I did before I died. The only difference was the many wounds, especially on my stomach, which had a huge hole. It was not hard to imagine the pain I experienced while I was still alive.