FICTION

Franklyn

A practical joke takes a turn

Franklyn lies utterly still in the dark, with the sheet pulled up over his head; he breathes as slowly as he can. Nervous excitement, plus the cold of the steel gurney, makes him want to shiver, but he fights the urge.

Footsteps ring out. Snatches of a conversation drift his way. Franklyn readies himself.

Joel turns on the lights as he and Mary enter the morgue, but only the lights at the far end of the room light up. Franklyn has unscrewed the other lights.

“Damn, I wish there was more light,” Joel whispers.

“Why are you whispering?” asks Mary. “There’s nobody here but us chickens — and a few dead bodies,” she says, holding her hand over her mouth to stop the giggles.

Joel blushes, but Mary doesn’t notice in the semi-dark.

As the newbs walk by Franklyn’s gurney, he leaps up with the sheet still over his head.

“GRRRRRRRRRR!!!!”

The kids, startled, drop their clipboards and race for the door, screaming, while Franklyn holds his sides and doubles up laughing.

“I love hazing the newbs,” says Franklyn. “They’re so easy to freak out. And now that we’re co-ed, it’s even more fun.”

“Good joke, dude,” echoes through the empty morgue.

Franklyn feels an icy hand grip his shoulder. He spins around quickly and stares into the cold, lifeless eyes of the last corpse he had wheeled in. The colour drains from his face as he faints.

“Sophomores always taste the best.” Henrik smirks as he bites down on Franklyn’s neck.