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Writer's pictureMark Sanders

Chapter 12: Panic

Blogtober 2023

The phone woke Clarkton up at 4:37 a.m. according to his bedside clock. Years of police work had conditioned him to be fully awake and alert after the first ring. Calls this early were never good news.


“Clarkton,” he said, sitting over the edge of the bed.


“It’s Nicole,” she said, her voice already on the edge of panic. “Tippen’s body is gone.”


“What happened?”


“Someone triggered the alarm at the funeral home,” she said. “I came over to see what happened. Nothing is disturbed or missing except for his body.”


“I’m on my way,” he said.


Nicole had fair skin, but when Clarkton arrived, she was as pale and bloodless as one of her bodies. She was sitting at her desk clicking a computer mouse between several security camera readouts.


“Can you see where they came in?” he asked. “Can you make out any faces?”


“Just one,” she said, and she double-clicked an image to enlarge it to full screen.


The drawer where Tippen’s body was stored pushed itself out into the floor, and Tippen rose up covered in a sheet like a cheap ghost costume. He stood up and lurched toward the door of the exam area. She clicked the mouse again to show the emergency exit at the back of the funeral home.


Tippen shuffled up against the panic bar, pushing the door open and triggering the alarm. He slipped through the gap in the door and disappeared.

“I’ll be damned,” Clarkton said.


“Me, too,” Nicole replied.


Photo credit Adobe Stock #218230887

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