The next morning after my dad left for work, I began some work of my own.
Although I still had a challenging time trusting the boy, he'd officially piqued my curiosity beyond repair. And he'd said "see you tomorrow" like it was a set date, so I figured I'd oblige him. But I tucked my knife into the back of my pants for good measure.
I stole a pair of my dad's old sweatpants, which were about as close to the boy's size as I was going to get. And one of the few things he had not covered in motor oil.
One or two of my running shirts were a bit big for me so I tossed those in the bag as well.
When I dug through the pantry I made sure to only grab things that had meat in them, which was relatively slim pickings. So I grabbed a few cans of the little sausages that made me wretch and a few things that he could just mix in with them.
After I'd gathered a few more things that he might need, tiny mouthwashes and shampoos etc. I was out the door.
I couldn't help but feel excited, as well as nervous. He was a real person who could talk and smile, but I didn't know of that was a good thing or not.
As I was about to round the corner I car appeared, slowing down next to me. The neighbors I'd been avoiding peered out at me from rolled down windows.
"How are you Bowen?" Ms. Lotte asked, sipping some pop out of a large Styrofoam cup.
"I'm good," I tried to think of an excuse for the bag, "Just going for a little hike."
"Yeah, I don't blame you." She Smiled and then continued chewing the straw, "Well have fun. Tell Brendan we say hi."
"Alright." I said cheerily, hoping the interaction was almost over. But before I could pull away one of the Lotte's three screaming boys leaned forward.
"Is Mr. Tarpi going to let us pick his strawberries again?"
"Of course." I said, ignoring the fact that they were technically my strawberry bushes that they usually picked without asking. But they were kids, what could you do?
The little boys cheered as the car rumbled away, hands shooting out the windows to wave to me.
I waved back until they were around the corner. Continuing on, it wasn't long until I reached the shack.
This time I knocked, and only opened the door when I heard a soft, "Come in."
The boy was sitting in the recliner; the blanket I'd left wadded up at his feet.
He waved to me as I entered and shut the door behind me, and as he did I saw a number of new slices running up his arms.
"It's you!" He exclaimed, getting up and crossing the room to take the bag from my hand, "With new treats."
He began pawing through it eagerly, pulling things out to examine them. The look in his eye was dangerously close to childlike wonder.
"How are you doing?" I stayed near the door.
"Great," he pointed to the back door, which was propped open, "You must have done a lot of cleaning, I saw the bags."
"Yeah," I said, a bit embarrassed, so I changed the subject, "What happened to your arms?"
"Oh I sinned." He set the bag down and admired them, "this one was the beans, and this one is when I got hungry and ate the can of corn, this one was for waking up when it was daylight outside..." His voice trailed off.
"How often do you do that?" I asked approaching him delicately, reaching out for the injured arm. He jumped back like I was poisonous.
"What are you doing?"
"I was just going to check out your cuts."
"Touching a woman is a sin, silly, unless you're one of the elders. Wow, master sure did make a weird choice in making you my guardian."
"Master?"
He laughed, waving off such a ridiculous question, and continued pawing through the bag, "You don't even know, I've been so easy on myself."
I went to sit down on the grungy recliner, which squealed under my weight, "Really?"
"Yeah, if any of the elders could see me now I'd be covered in atonements," he chuckled, holding up the sweatpants, "I guess that happens when you're responsible for your own punishment."
As he milled around through the stuff I saw a particularly deep mark up near his elbow, "what was that top one for?"
He stopped, looking down at it, "I've been alone for a while," a twinge of sadness crossed his face, "it's a sin to be alone."

I felt all the air escape from my lungs. The knocking continued, a light hearted rat-a-tat-tat on the glass.
I dug deeper into my bed, hoping beyond anything that it was just a dream. But then I heard a clear voice.
"What does 'vegetarian baked beans' mean?" The question was simple, some of the words drawn out like they were being carefully pronounced.
Then the male voice nearly begged, "Please, I really need to know."
I sat up staring at my window. For some reason the harmless nature of the question made it even more frightening, and confusing for that matter.
Sliding onto the floor I crawled slowly over to the window. I didn't know if I would be able to convince myself to look, but if I'd faced him dead, I could surely look him in the eye alive, couldn't I?
Just for safety I grabbed the pocket knife I'd started keeping on my night stand and flipped it open.
As I got closer to the window I heard humming. Not even menacing humming, but the absentminded sound someone makes while they're waiting for the bus.
I gripped a corner of the curtain, took a deep breath and tore it open.
On the other side, features highlighted by the moon, was the boy in all of his living glory.
He smiled at me, a very different smile than the one I'd come to know. This one was animated, revealing slightly crooked, yellow, gloriously human teeth. He looked at me like I was just an old friend.
"So what does it mean?" He asked plainly. In his hand was one of the cans I'd brought him, the top peeled back.
I got to my knees, afraid to get too close to the glass, but still having to lean in to answer.
"You don't know what baked beans are?"
He laughed, "No silly, of course I know what beans are. I don't know what vegetarian means." The word rolled off his tongue awkwardly for emphasis.
Not knowing exactly how to react I just told him, "It means there's no meat in it."
"Shit!" He exclaimed, dropping the can like it had bitten him. He stepped back from it, got a weary look in his eyes and pulled out a knife from his waistband.
This time it was my turn to jump back. But he didn't come at me with it, instead he ran it across his own arm.
"What are you doing?"
He put the knife back in his waistband and looked up at me confused, "it's a sin."
My eyes were wild, "What is?"
"Eating dishes without meat in them," he laughed, "everyone knows that."
I considered arguing the point, but it was one of my lesser worries, "Why did you cut yourself?"
"To atone for my sins." As he said it I thought of all the cuts he'd had when I found him. How much sinning was that?
"Are you alright?" I asked nervously, still expecting him to try and break in and murder me.
He shrugged and smiled again, flexing the injured arm, "Totally. I've had worse."
A small laugh escaped me when he said that, which caused his brows to knit together in confusion, "Well I guess people like you guys might not understand, with your fancy food and huge house."
"This is a trailer with a porch built on the front."
"Well whatever you call it here, I'm sure you guys don't care about your sins as much."
I snorted, "I guess not."
"Well anyway, see you later." He waved and began walking toward the woods.
"Wait!" I called after him. He turned around and came back.
"Yep?" He bounced on the balls of his bare feet.
"Where are you going?"
"Back home."
"To the house?"
He rolled his eyes like I'd said something silly, "Of course, it's where I live now I guess."
"You guess?"
"Well it's where the master put me, and he's always right."
I had so many questions to ask but none of them came out, so I just nodded like an idiot.
And with that he gave me another smile and a wave, "See you tomorrow."

The smile immediately dropped from my face as I knew I'd made a terrible mistake.
I was stuck in here with something I didn't even know to be human, in the middle of the woods. My dad wouldn't be home for hours, no one would come looking for me here, and the neighbors wouldn't be able to hear anything from their house.
I was on my own, but I wasn't alone out here anymore.
I turned around slowly, not seeing anything at first, until I caught the flash of a hand behind the recliner.
I circled around slowly, so that I was between it and the door in case it came after me. It didn't move, but I could hear it panting.
I honestly did not want to get any closer, but for some unknown reason I did it anyway. It was slow but edgy, ready to spring at any moment.
I sidestepped so that I could get a fuller view of it crouching there. I saw a knee and an elbow, both covered in the familiar torn clothes.
And the I was met with a face, with the same blue eyes, except not nearly as hollow. In fact, they were wild.
I jumped, and as soon as I did he yelled out the most blood curdling scream I'd ever heard.
He lurched back and I screamed too, dropping the bag and bolting out the door. His screaming followed me half way down the road before it faded out.
I ran full force again this time, but instead of a stupid grin and happy tears I was just full of pure horror. Is just looked into the eyes of a dead man, and he'd been the one screaming.
I ran to my house, checking to make sure he hadn't followed me. When the coast seemed clear I ran in. Grabbing my purse, keys, pepper spray and Harley I ran straight to my car.
I tossed a grunting Harley in the passenger seat and locked the doors the second I was inside. I scanned the area again. Taking in the chicken and pig pins and the surrounding woods, but saw nothing that tripped any alarms.
I put the car in gear anyway and was out of there in a flash, speeding through the twisting country roads lie my life depended on it.
I had been stupid. So stupid.
I drive into town and waited for my dad to get off work. Harley and I hung out on a picnic table behind a gas station eating jerky and lounging in the shade.
I had no luck calming myself down. Every noise set me on edge. I matter how far away he was I always expected him to be standing right behind me.
When my dad got off work I insisted we go out to eat for some father daughter bonding.
He was perfectly happy about it, so we ate burgers at a small place with outdoor seating, but I couldn't eat much of mine.
When it began to get dusky I reluctantly agreed to go back home, wanting to be behind locked doors before dark.
We drove back in or respective cars, so I didn't have to try and hide my growing terror.
Getting back to the house I ushered us all inside.
"Are you okay Bo?" He asked as I circled around the living room, pulling on the windows to make sure they were locked.
"Yeah," I reassured him, " I'm fine, just that, Callie told me a few people had been robbed nearby. So can we do this just for a night or two? It would make me feel better."
"I didn't hear about that."
My mind swam, trying to cover my tracks, "Well you know Callie, she knows everything."
He looked skeptical so I pulled out my sweetest, most innocent face, "Please?"
With an eye roll he agreed and I continued around the house checking every door and window, not taking any chances.
Before I went to bed I asked him, "Could you maybe lock your bedroom door tonight too?"
He signed and nodded.
"Great! Thanks dad, love you." I kissed him on the cheek and ran back to my room, clicking my own lock behind me.
After checking and double checking my windows and doors I finally felt comfortable enough to lay down. But even a show I normally love didn't push it the scary thoughts.
I curled up under my covers and stayed there, watching the sun go down through the blinds.
My back pressed against the wall in a vain attempt to make myself feel safer, which was surprisingly effective.
The last few days of minimal sleep were finally taking effect. I could feel myself begin to drift off.
Until I heard a knock at the window.

It took me a second to process what I'd heard. I wiped my eyes and glanced up towards the only other thing that could possibly made that noise.
His eyes were shut but the little smile was still painted on his face. Although this time it seemed less rigid and more dreamlike.
I glanced down at the torn shirt and saw a shallow rise and fall of the chest that poked through.
I stay there for a moment, dumbfounded. I mean, it was strange enough that he'd been healing, but to see the body that had been a bloated rotten mess a week ago breathing was almost too much.
I considered the idea that my sadness was causing me to go a little crazy. Getting to my knees I crawled over to him slowly, legs shaking and floor creaking.
Up close he definitely looked like he was breathing. If I looked close enough I could even see his nostrils flare slightly as he exhaled.
I reached out, pulse pounding so hard I could feel it in my fingertips. Ignoring the feeling I lightly pressed my had to his cheek, but recoiled quickly.
He was warm, slowly becoming a human temperature. I could see color returning to his lips.
Sliding my hand down to his chest I felt a heartbeat murmuring through skin. Then I grabbed his arm and lifted it to examine the pink shade of his fingernails. I gripped his hand, and it felt like any other hand I'd ever held.
I felt a little giggle of joy burst through my lips. He was alive. I just couldn't believe it. My hands began to tremble.
I didn't even know what it could mean. Would he be a real person? Act, think, and talk like a living being?
Only days ago he looked like he'd been mauled by a wild animal and left in the sun for a week. But here he was, sleeping peacefully next to me.
If he was going to wake up, he would probably need a few things. I jumped up and shot out the door, not caring who saw.
I sprinted all the way to my house and into my kitchen. Grabbing a plastic shopping bag, I began throwing in water bottles and canned food. There was a cheap fleece blanket stuffed in the back of my closet and I threw it in as well.
I was too excited to try and think of anything else so I stuck with that and ran straight back out the door, leaving a very confused dog in my wake.
Running full on all the way back with the bag knocking against my leg I only slowed when I got to the door.
Panting happily, I ran straight to the kitchen only to feel my breath hitch in my throat. He wasn't where I left him, and I heard a creak behind

I only slept for a few uncomfortable hours in the midmorning before being forced awake by my own brain.
I made myself an elaborate breakfast in hopes that it would make me feel better. On the side was a cocktail of ibuprofen and coffee in a desperate attempt to make kill my headache.
I curled up in my bed with my pancakes, bacon, and eggs. My laptop played a few episodes of my favorite sitcom as I stuffed my face hopefully.
But to my dismay everything just curled up into a knot in my stomach and made the feeling worse.
I set all the plates on the floor and sat back, resting the computer on my rounded tummy.
The feeling left behind from the meal had me uncomfortable and I couldn't find a good position to lay in so I got up and began cleaning while the show played in the background.
Usually, as much as I hate cleaning, having a clean room made me feel more relaxed. So I figured it was worth a try. My room had recently descended into a pile of dirty clothes and food wrappers.
I shoved the clothes into my hamper and beat them down so that it didn't look like it was over flowing. After that was done all the trash was shoved into a garbage bag, which was then shoved into the bigger one in the kitchen.
Then after I made my bed I laid back down, feeling surprisingly more relaxed, but not enough to keep all the bad thoughts away.
I couldn't tell dad, he would worry and I couldn't stand the idea of him thinking it was his fault. Callie was out of the question because, bless her, she wouldn't understand and I doubted she would try very hard to change that.
Mom would just brush me off, and Cameron would tell everybody and their mother I was a hair away from killing myself.
Besides those people all I had were a handful of exes from short term relationships and a few acquaintances that had immediately fallen off the face of the earth after graduation. So I was stuck.
It was then that I was struck with an idea. A completely demented idea mind you, but an idea none the less.
I shot up, changing out of my sweat soaked shirt and sliding on some flip flops.
I was lucky the neighbors spent most of their time indoors, keeping me from the awkward scenario of explanation of my fascination with the house.
I slid in the door to the same old shack and the same old body. It was scary that I'd grown so immune to the macabre nature of the situation.
I was all the way into the house before I noticed it. The smell. Or lack thereof. I mean it's an old building, so it still smelled musty. But there was no rotting smell at all.
It struck me as odd, but it wasn't the reason I was there. I walked into the kitchen, that same familiar face smiling into oblivion.
I leaned against the opposite wall, sliding down until I was sitting on the grimy tiles.
"I don't think anybody's ever liked me that much." I said into the empty silence, "I've always felt kind of alone, but now that I'm out of school and everyone's moving on, I just feel so lonely." I felt the tears welling up in my eyes as I continued to word vomit, "And now I feel like nobody ever cared about me at all. People only really talked to me because I was always with Callie, and she would make them. But she has this whole new life, and I don't think anyone will care about me on my own."
I tucked my head between my knees, sniffling and rocking back on my heels. The sadness I pushed down came welling back up violently.
I squeezed my eyes shut but that didn't keep the tears from brimming in the corner of my eyes.
And as a tear streamed down my cheek, I nearly missed the small gasp from across the room.

I hurried home, returning all the cleaning supplies to their original spots and changing out of my sweats.
I wasn't really known for my fashion sense, I spent most of my time in either workout clothes or for special occasions a plain shirt and jeans. There wasn't much in between.
Don't get me wrong, I love checking out cute clothes online, but I rarely practiced such things. There just wasn't a point, I was either feeding the animals, or running, or going to school with the same 300 people I'd known since I was five.
It didn't matter what I looked like; pretty, ugly, or however you would choose to describe me, I would always be the same. After seeing the same faces day in and day out, pulling a fairy godmother style change was out of the question.
I stuck with running shorts and a t shirt I got from a 5k a few years back. A few dabs of concealer and sweep of mascara later and I was waiting for Callie on my porch.
Harley sat next to me, tail wagging. I scratched his belly and glanced down my drive way for her truck.
The baby blue pickup rolled in a few minutes late, tires crunching on the gravel.
She waved to me and leaned over to unlock the door. I jumped off the porch and got in.
Callie was a pretty girl with dirty blonde hair and a curvy tummy and thighs. And don't even get me started on her clothes, she'd always had a much better appreciation of fashion than me, and it showed.
"How's my dear Calla Lily doing?" I asked, buckling myself in.
"Your dear Calla Lily is stressed." She sighed as she maneuvered her way around my parking spaces so she didn't have to back out of the long driveway.
"Would a giant helping of nachos from Rachel's help?
She shrugged solemnly, but gave up quickly and smiled, "It's a start."
We drive quickly through the twisting country roads with the windows rolled down. She talked about the people that annoyed her and the people she liked.
Callie was good at filling her time, if it wasn't jobs and classes it was new friends and enemies. My job was to be along for the ride. Listening and nodding were my specialties.
I laughed as she told me about some crazy party she went to in the city with a friend of hers. It had apparently been quite the wild ride.
We parked outside Rachel's, one of the few eating establishments that wasn't trucker food or McDonald's. Granted, it wasn't far off, but their nachos were killer.
We sit down in our favorite booth and order a round of root beers and some nachos. We came here after school almost every day, but it had been weeks.
She continued on with her stories. She'd already began inserting herself into college life; attending parties and events to get acquainted with her future classmates.
She asked if I'd gone to anything like that but I told her no. I hope she assumed it was just because my school didn't do that type of thing, but I doubted it.
Our nachos came and we dug in, laughing about stories of drunken shenanigans.
I threw in a few old high school memories but she didn't seem very interested. Couldn't blame her, if I had that many new college experiences I'd probably be more interested in forgetting high school too.
We talked until it got dark out and she insisted she needed to get back so she could get some sleep before another long day tomorrow.
We drove back with the windows up and music playing as Callie added in a few final remarks about her new life before dropping me off in front of my house.
I watched her truck lights disappear down the road and went inside. Dad was eating a microwave meal (he only really liked cooking after he'd drunk a bit too much).
"How was your day Boa-constrictor?" He asked as I leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.
"Good, I hung out with Callie."
"Great, she's a good girl, it's a shame her parents gave her such a stupid name."
I sat down next to him on the couch and tried to catch up with the crime show episode he was watching, "Calla Lily isn't that bad of a name."
He snorted in response and took a bite of mashed potatoes.
"This is coming from the guy with a daughter named Bowen."
"Hey you can't blame me for that one, Cameron was the kid I got to name."
"Some kids get all the luck."
He chuckled and we watched a few episodes of the show until he decided to turn in. I took a shower and got into bed.
I'd like to think that Callie didn't ask about me and my life because she knew there was nothing to tell. Nothing I was comfortable sharing at least.
I hoped it wasn't because she just didn't care. I mean I'd always been the listener in our duo, but I'd always figured it was because I rarely had anything worth saying. Nothing interesting ever happened to me.
That night I laid awake again, but this time I didn't think about the body once.

It was a face of pure innocence in a way, like the young man was caught in a day dream.
If his face had ever been distorted by rot, it definitely wasn't anymore. His skin was pale and his upturned lips were blue but aside from that it was a completely normal face.
I couldn't look away. The urge to cry was boiling up behind my eyes. Because this was no longer just a creepy mystery, it was a person. This face belonged to a boy whose life was ended, and it had only hit me just now.
Shame coursed through me. I'd treated this like a science experiment, but it had been a human life, and I was letting it sit in a dirty shack.
There were probably people looking for him. And since I'd never seen his face before I knew he was far from home, there wasn't a person in this town that I didn't know.
Tears began to slide down my face. How could I do something like this, I mean the situation was interesting, but I was hanging out with a dead body for bleeps sake. That wasn't okay at all.
Weird healing or not it was so wrong. But at the same time, there was nothing I could do about by that point.
I was too far in, my fingerprints were everywhere, I mean I'd tidied up for crying out loud. How much more suspicious could you get?
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out, only taking my eyes off the boy long enough to see what it was about.
Callie was asking I wanted to get something to eat when she picked me up. During the cleaning spree I'd totally forgotten that I had to keep track of time. She was supposed to be at my house in fifteen minutes.
I texted her back quickly and got to my feet. Gathering my things, I left everything as it was. It struck me that I didn't have to come back. It's not like he would miss me, and I don't think you can really owe the dead.
But as I looked at that soft, sweet face, my heart just broke for him, whatever he was.

I stayed up the whole night again, waiting for the sounds of my dad getting ready for work and leaving the next morning.
The second the door clicked shut I jumped up and ran to the kitchen. I grabbed trash bags and cleaning supplies and stuffed them into my backpack.
I didn't let myself think about it to much. Sure, there was nothing okay with what I was doing, but I was in too deep. Calling the police seemed a bit out of the question at this point.
The morning air was just a little nippy underneath the humidity as I made that familiar walk.
I felt lucky that the neighbors kept relatively predictable hours. It would be hard to explain my visits to the creepy building.
I got inside and dropped my bag on the recliner, and spun around, scared that the body literally would have gotten up and walked out. But it was exactly where I'd left it.
Actually, it took me a minute to realize, the smell was considerably less bad. The only thing I could pick up was the trash.
The body looked profoundly different than the first time I saw it. Even the pink scar marks had healed over in some places to reveal nice smooth skin, like nothing had ever happened at all.
I'd decided during the night that if I was going to make a habit of this, I wasn't going to be sitting in filth the whole time.
I pulled one of the trash bags out and opened it by flapping it around. There were a few sets of rubber gloves (trust me I was not touching anything in here without a healthy layer of protection).
I adorned them and got to work pulling the large chunks of emulsified garbage apart and shoving them into the bag. It wasn't long before the plastic was straining and I had to tie it off and open another.
I spent a good long while picking up the candy wrappers, old cigarette packs, and all the other stuff that had since become unidentifiable.
My phone, which was poking out of my pocket playing music, chimed with a text alert.
I paused, pulling off one glove before touching the cellphone. It was Callie, one of my best friends, asking what I was doing later that day.
I smiled, she had a full time summer internship working with fruit flies at a lab and almost never had enough free time to actually go out.
Even though I was incredibly tired I told her I would love to. I needed to spend some time with the living.
I laughed at the absurdity of it. What was I doing? This was wrong on so many levels, but I needed to see how this turned out.
I got most of the trash out of the first room and layered it heavily with disinfectant and air freshener.
Satisfied with my work I went to the kitchen, which had a back door. I had to kick it a few times to get it to get it unstuck. When it finally gave way I dropped the full bags just outside.
Getting to work on the second room I began filling up bags quickly. The laundry sink, stove and tub would take a pretty decent scrub to get clean, so I left them alone.
I worked my way around the body, not interested in touching it even if it looked perfectly healed.
There was quite a lot of trash piled under it though, so I crouched next to it and began slowly pulling things out like a game of really morbid game of Jenga.
Most of it slid out with relative ease, until I got to what was wedged under its upper body.
But when I yanked on that the whole body limply slid towards me and I stumbled back with a gasp.
Because the face that looked back at me was smiling.

I returned two days later. The original plan was to go the very next day, but my sleeping schedule only gave me a small window of daylight, and my dad had offered to take me out to dinner.
There were only a small handful of restaurants in a thirty-mile radius, most of them diners designed for truckers.
Which means going out to eat is a silver dollar pancake fest.
"Are you excited for college?" This is most of what my dad talks about anymore. Mostly because he dreads it, which makes my heart ache every time he brings it up.
"Yeah, it should be fun."
"You'll do great, I mean you got into Chapel Hill, you've got brains," he took a huge bite of scrambled eggs, "you didn't get that from me."
I cringed, my father wasn't dumb by any means. I figured he put himself down so much as a result of my mother's condescending nature.
"You're not stupid."
"Thanks Bowen-arrow." He used one of his personal favorites from my long list of nicknames.
I would miss him, my sister lives with my mom most of the time. He would be lonely without me there, and the guilt got worse with every day.
I shivered at the memory of it as I made the trek to the shack the next day.
Honestly I didn't look forward to college. I hated school. I mean I could do it just fine, in fact I was considered good at it. But I hated it with a fiery passion. College just sounded like being trapped in misery for four years.
Don't get me wrong, I knew I needed to do it. But it killed my soul a little.
The little house was the exact way I'd left it. Which made me feel a little more secure to some degree.
I walked in, greeted by that horrible and familiar smell. Rounding the corner, I found the same body in the same position.
I held my breath as I approached the body and knelt down next to it.
The bicep where I'd jabbed the Bobby pin was healed up, covered by nothing but thick pink lines. Looking down I saw the pin lying near my foot.
With shaking hands, I took a picture of the same bicep.
I was right, but now what?

"911 what's your emergency?"
"Hello, I think I've found a dead body."
"You think?" The woman on the end of the line asked.
"Well I mean he's healing."
"Healing? Then he's not dead dear."
I sighed, trying to think of how to explain it without sounded too crazy, "I mean he's like really decomposed, but he's healing."
She paused for a moment before reslonding, "So you're trying to tell me that you've found a body that's decomposing, but for some reason you think it's healing?"
"It is!"
"Okay here's what we're going to do," she said slowly, "You're going to lay off the zombie movies and get a life before I send the police out there to arrest you for prank calling 911."
"No its not that, it's real I swear."
But she cut me off with a firm, "Have a good day." And hung up the phone.
I began doubting myself, which was silly because I was staring at it right in front of my face. So I decided to do my own research.
I'd lived out in the country my whole life, I loved it, but it did have its faults. For example, when you think you're witnessing a biological impossibility and the faulty Internet signal won't help you confirm it.
I paced back and forth in the little shack, keeping a safe distance from the body but never turning my back to it.
The phone refused to connect to the data long enough for me to Google human decomposition. But honestly, logic and a high school education can tell you that it's impossible for dead tissue to heal itself, it just can't happen.
The body should be worse having sat in the hot summer weather for days. But after further examination the maggots who had infested the deep wounds, laid shriveled and dead on the floor, like they had been pushed out.
I threw my phone to the ground and huffed. What could I even do of no one would believe me.
The only issue is that there is the possibility that I was just losing my mind and nothing was actually happening.
So I concluded that I would give it one more try to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.
I picked my phone back up and approached the body. The bicep I was closest to was still distorted by rot, so that would be my tester.
I took a picture of it, and then pulled a Bobby pin from my hair and sunk it into the marred flesh.
The texture caused my stomach to heave but I fought it and kissed the idea of sleep goodbye.
This image wouldn't be leaving me any time soon. Luckily I had yet to see the face. It was awkwardly cocked away from me and I was very content with that.
I took another picture for good measure and left, leaving the door loosely open like I'd found it.
When I got home the humidity that clung to my skin fit well with my story. My dad asked how my run went and I told him it was fine. Nothing to worry about.
Except for the fact that I was worrying about everything. I was worried that I was crazy. Or that maybe there was a crazy killer in the woods. And there's also the unshakable idea that if I'm right that means that one day that body will wake up.

I hid in my room for days, denying any offers to leave the house.
I couldn't eat without smelling rot, or sleep without thinking of the horribly twisted angle of the body.
There was no escape from the thoughts, even my normal summertime routine of over consuming television and Internet alike had no effect on the constant memory playing back in my head over and over.
I sat in my room all night painting and repainting my nails, organizing my drawers, and brushing my teeth multiple times a day just to keep myself busy.
My dad came into my room after he got off work and woke me up.
"God, sweetie, you're so sweaty." He nudged me out of my fitful sleep.
"Oh, yeah, I guess." I pulled the comforter off myself.
"It's over a hundred degrees outside, why are you using your thick blanket?"
I sat up and turned the fan on my bedside table off, "I don't know, it sounded like a good idea when I went to sleep."
"You mean at seven this morning?" He said rolling his eyes. My dad was a big, soft man, but his eye roll was eternally that of a teenager.
"Yeah." I chuckled. But the truth was that I couldn't make myself sleep when it was dark out anymore. I was too jumpy, I just curled up under my comforter, savoring the illusion of safety while drowning in my own body heat.
"You're a silly one."
"Well there's only one place I could have gotten that." I smiled as he started picking up stray pieces of clothing and tossing them in a pile near my door.
"Yeah, it definitely wasn't your mother, she's a cold bitch."
Now was my turn to roll my eyes, "be nice, I still have to see her every other weekend."
He put his hands up, "fine, I can be civil sometimes."
He went to watch TV in the living room and I curled back up in my bed. The light of day made me feel more at ease for some reason, but I still felt like I had a knot in my stomach.
I knew I needed to tell someone, but I didn't know how. And if I did I knew I'd have to talk to the police and the news, not to mention I'd have to admit to trespassing.
Plus, the more I thought about it the less I was convinced it was even real. I mean it was just so out of the ordinary. Where would it have even come from?
I tried to get myself to go back to sleep in hopes that the dreams would subside and I could actually rest, but my brain fought it.
Then I had a thought, what if I went back? My stomach lurched at the idea. I wasn't a glutton for punishment, but if I went back, affirmed it was there and then called the police, maybe I would feel relaxed knowing it's not just sitting there.
I'd been searching through the news sites and the local paper but nothing about a body had ever popped up. And it would definitely be big news here.
I jumped up and went to pull on my sneakers. Harley was lounging on my pile of dirty clothes but jumped up excitedly the second I put the shoes on. I waved him down, telling him he didn't want to go where I was going.
I ran out the door, telling my dad that I was going on my usual run. He waved to me, the cigarette between his fingers crumbling in the air as he did.
My heart was already beating fast as I took off in a full sprint. I wanted to get it over with, but honestly it wasn't as scary when I knew what I was heading towards. I could prepare myself this time.
I rounded the corner, passing by the house with the toys and a mismatched bathroom set littering their lawn, and had finally arrived.
It was just the way I'd left it. The door was still ajar, but it didn't slam in the wind today, there was only a lazy sway to it.
I pushed it open, not bothering to admire the grim look of the front room. The smell rung true immediately this time, summer decomposition.
Rounding the corner, what I saw was both surprising and not surprising.
The body was there on the same pile of garbage in the same awkward position. But it looked wrong.
The torn skin had smoothed over in some places, turning pink and puffy like a healed cut. Bloating in the midsection had decreased substantially.
I didn't know a lot about the dead, I didn't even have a goth phase growing up, but this seemed wrong.
How did dead flesh grow back together?

1. HAUNTING DOG

Harley ran with me every morning. My Dad's retired hunting dog was my favorite jogging partner, with his floppy ears that hung almost all the way to the gravel as he happily waddled along next to me.
But today as we rounded the curve of my road he slowed all of the sudden. I stopped, scared that this was one of the first signs of his advanced age.
His fur stuck up along his spine and he muttered a breathy bark of warning.
"What's got you all riled up?" I asked.
He looked at me, and then turned and took off running towards the house. In shock, I watched the old dog's rear in full gallop disappearing back around the corner.
I shrugged it off and attributed it to some kind of residual hunting instinct.
I jogged on, our nearest neighbor's house was just ahead. Their Doberman Pinschers that lived under the porch usually came out to greet Harley and me, but today they stayed concealed under the wood planks.
I waved to the dogs anyway and kept my pace. The only other house for a few miles was a long abandoned shack a little while down the road.
It hadn't been used since before I was born. Someone bought it a few years back, presumably for the land, but had neglected to tear it down.
I was passing it like I did every morning but was interrupted by a loud banging. The splintering wooden door was ajar and smacking against the frame in the wind.
I slowed down. I'd been down the road from the house my entire life and I'd never seen the door unlocked.
I'd spent most of my life refusing to get near it because of its obvious creepy factor. But I was curious about this sudden change, and I didn't have to worry about Harley running off into the nearby woods.
The sun rose and with it came the sticky summer heat that clung to my skin. I ran in the morning to prevent the feeling, but I figured after my little adventure I'd follow Harley's suit and head home.
I had to walk through a thick layer of grass to get to the porch. It stretched across the length of the shack but was almost too narrow for a chair to sit comfortably.
It creaked as I shifted my weight onto it, and I flinched. My heart jumped up into my throat but I swallowed it back down. There was no reason to get freaked out.
I pushed the door open with a single finger and set a foot inside. There were no light switches or outlets.
I estimated only two rooms, the front one included just a moldy recliner and plywood leaned against the wall.
The carpet was peeling and there was an even layer of trash that melded together to create a topographical landscape to the floor.
There was a doorway to the left that led to what looked like a type of kitchen, although all I could see was a small black wood burning stove and water damaged tile floors.
My heart was pounding but it would have felt worthless to get this far and not see the whole thing. I doubted I would be able to work up the nerve to come back.
The floors squeaked with every step but I was dead set on getting an eyeful.
But the second I fully rounded the corner I regretted it.
On the floor in front of a rusted stove was a bloated body.
The odor, which I had originally attributed to the mold and trash, finally rang true as pure rot.
The body was laying on a blackened pile of garbage. It was long enough that I assumed it was male, but nothing else about it was distinguishable.
Most of the clothes were ripped. The skin beneath them inflamed and a mix of unnatural colors.
Luckily the face was tipped away from me, so I was spared that image because based on the rest of the body it was going to be distorted beyond recognition.
After a moment of hesitation, I bolted out the door, leaving it swinging behind me.

Bowen was a bored, lonely girl who filled her days with running down rural country roads. But that quickly changed when she discovered a decomposing body in an old shack.
But, somehow, he wasn't dead.
In fact, he was getting better, his fatal wounds healing themselves from beyond the grave.
And from the moment he opened his eyes Bowen was dragged into a terrifying world she never could have imagined.