Doors

In the next room, behind the steel door, she heard a handle rattle.

Then, something like footsteps.

She grabbed the phone. The line was dead.

She scrambled for the key. She could have sworn she’d locked everything up.

Finally, she burst through the steel door, shaking.

It was ruthlessly dark. One of the hatches was open. Footsteps padded towards her, gently. She called for the manager, no, screamed for the manager.

More footsteps. More darkness. She tried the light, but nothing happened.

Finally, she screamed for a different reason.

Upstairs, in the morgue, the manager made a cup of tea.