Selected Short Stories Featuring New Corpse Smell

by Nicolas Wilson

followed me to the cafeteria. When we got to the barista she bit her lip and she said, “Actually, I should probably just have some tea.”

  “Tea sounds perfect,” I said.

  We sat just long enough for it to get awkward before she smiled at me. “So, um, tell me about yourself,” I said, stumbling over the words.

  “Well, my name’s Clare, but I might have already said that. Um, I’m not sure what you want to know.”

  I really wanted to know that she was a closet anti-Semite, or something, anything, that would make me want her dead- or at least make what I’d come here to do easier. “Uh, why are you in the web design class?”

  “I’m a digital technology and culture major- a fancy way of saying I want to start in web design and eventually tell other web designers what to do. Oh, and I want to be successful enough at it that I’m not working on porn websites.”

  “So you want to be in the top 10% or so of web designers, then,” I teased.

  “What about you?”

  “Oh, I’m an, um, English major, actually. I took the class kind of on a whim- I needed an elective in that time period. But Dr. Barbeau seems great.” At the mention of his name she became suddenly animated.

  “Oh, I know. I’ve taken every one of his classes I could. It started in a community media class a couple of semesters ago and- he’s just wonderful. Knowledgeable, but he’s really good about conveying that in a way that’s really generous and easy to get.” Then she sighed, and absently prodded her tea with a stir stick. “This is the last of the classes he teaches,” she said, almost sad, then she looked squarely at me for a second, and said, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  I counted to twenty after she’d left, then stood up slowly and followed her. The café was largely empty, since only students who didn’t have class were here, so not an eye was on me. I walked to the women’s bathroom door, and paused only a moment to prepare feigned surprise if I ran into someone else there, and pushed the door inside.

  My hand had been fixated on the pocket knife in my jacket for nearly fifteen minutes, tracing its subtle contours, my fingernail stepping across the serrated back of the blade. My thumb caught on the switch, prepared to flick it open at a moment’s notice. The bathroom looked empty, and oddly genderless, save for the lack of urinals. I began to wonder if Clare had just run out on me when I heard a little gasp, soft and wet.

  I froze, certain someone had noticed me, but a second gasp came, and a third, which became a sob. Great, slimy sniffles echoed across the bathroom tiles, and I shivered, my fingers suddenly repulsed by the blade in my pocket. I left the bathroom.

  When she returned, I pretended to be surprised that her eyes were puffy and red. “Are you- are you all right? Did something happen?”

  A large tear streaked down her cheek; and she seemed to understand that it was inevitable, that the size of the ball of moisture was equal to the size of her pain, and that it was more than she could fight- more than she could ever hope to wipe away. “I’m pregnant,” she said. There was a pause, before she added, “don’t congratulate me. Everyone else does. Of course, nobody asks if I want to be pregnant, or if her father wants to be her father. Really, how many people were actually trying to have a baby when it happened to them? It’s always people trying who can’t, and people who weren’t who do... it all was just an accident-” she stopped, horror striking her features as she realized she’d said too much.

  “An accident- not a mistake. Wait- it’s Dr. Barbeau’s, isn’t it?” She knew her face had already confirmed it, and nodded slowly.

  “Oh my god. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid- he can’t be with me. I just, I feel like such a fucking cliché.” I let her talk; she didn’t blame him- she’d seduced him- and when she stopped, I gave her platitudes, because the truth would have been far worse. I told her I’d see her around, in class, maybe, if I didn’t drop it; I had to deflect when she asked for my number, because I didn’t think my cell would work across worlds, and I knew the immediate rejection of the moment would sting less than the persistent rejection of ignored phone calls.

  As soon as she went home for the day, I went to Barbeau’s office. He had his reading glasses on, and regarded me with a cold look; it woke something animal in me, and I fought to keep a snarl from my lips. “It isn’t done. I talked to her. And I know what you did.”

  He tried to get up, I think to let his tall frame add to his aura of authority, “Wait-”

  I pushed him back down into his seat. “You’re going to pay for her education. You’re going to pay for her medical costs, and you’re going to pay child support. You’re going to pay in cash, because I’m not pushing across checks that will be cashed out of a version of you who didn’t sleep with his student. This is not a negotiation- you will do these things, or I will ruin you. Oh, and if you make another attempt to harm her- or if you’re even dumber and come after me- I’ll ruin enough of your parallel lives that it will irrevocably fuck your aggregate.”

  His mind raced for a moment, as he pondered all the possibilities, and I think he realized he was getting off light. “Fine,” he said, “now get out of my office.”

  I had to wait a day, because Clare’s class only met Mondays and Wednesdays. I dropped in after her class was over. “So you didn’t decide to stick it out?” she asked, a little hurt I hadn’t stayed, if only to keep her company.

  “I kind of need to talk to you. Coffee?”

  “Um, I’m not really sure I can…” she said, and my ego shrunk a little.

  “It’s not about you and me- it’s about your baby, and Dr. Barbeau.” She mouthed the word “Oh,” and got up and followed me. We were silent all through ordering, and it wasn’t until we sat down that I finally spoke. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t just let things go. I talked to Dr. Barbeau. He- he said he never intended for things to happen the way they did with you- and for obvious reasons they can’t continue. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if his lawyer advised him to pretend like he didn’t know what you’re talking about. But he’s agreed to help you pay for your baby, including covering your medical bills and child support. He also volunteered to pay for your tuition. His one condition is that you don’t tell anyone the child is his. I know it’s not ideal- but he’d lose his job, his livelihood- he knows he made a mistake. He doesn’t want you to think of this as hush money- he just wants to do right.”

  I had to keep telling myself that I was lying for her, and for a different Barbeau than the guilty one, but I still felt like crap for it- particularly at the end, when with tears in her eyes she actually thanked me. “For obvious reasons, he can’t give you the money himself, so I’ll be the go-between. You probably won’t see me in class anymore; it’s just not my kind of thing, but I’ll be around.”

  Table of Contents

  New Corpse Smell

  You learn to live by smell. The intestine uses bacteria, protozoans and nematodes for digestion. Shortly after death, these microorganisms devour the intestinal wall, and leak out into the body cavity, releasing digestive enzymes into the body. Cells begin to rupture, particularly cells rich in enzymes like the liver, and those with a high water content, like the brain. Flies lay eggs at wounds and orifices, and within the first 24 hours, maggots hatch.

  The transition of bite victims from life to death can be seamless, even to an observer. In the first few hours the corpse is most dangerous, because they outwardly appear to be human, and continue to exhibit normal levels of strength and dexterity, and even maintain higher brain functions, including the ability to communicate; they may continue to breathe, though this is only reflexive and requires active concentration. Their responses become increasingly aggressive and feral, as their bodies flood with epinephrine, making them very fast, strong, and violent. Freshly dead corpses can be detected through the stench of their bite wounds. Facial muscles are among the first affected by death, causing the corpses to drool. Their saliva reeks of decomposition, and bite wounds are soaked in
it.

  Several hours after death, rigor mortis seizes up muscles and joints. The corpses become stiff and usually lay on the ground, giving the appearance of death. During this time, livor mortis, the settling of the blood in the lower extremities, occurs, as heavier red blood cells are pulled down by gravity. The upper body becomes pale, while the lower body becomes dark and swelled with blood. As interior musculature dissolves, the outer layer of skin separates, giving the appearance that the corpse is wearing a thin, loose-fitting plastic coating. Ammonia collects in the lungs, and usually diffuses through the mouth and nose. However, liver dysfunctions such as cirrhosis can also lead to a build-up of ammonia in the body post mortem, so this should not be taken as a sign that a corpse is immobilized.

  The body produces cadaverine and putrecine, amines that are heavier than air and stay low to the ground. Cadaverine is what gives semen its distinctive smell. During this time corpse hunters are the most active, using dogs to detect the higher levels of the amines in the corpse. During this phase, a knowledgeable corpse hunter can approach and incapacitate the body with impunity.

  In two to three days flexibility returns to the corpse. In the absence of oxygen, intestinal microorganisms respire, releasing hydrogen sulfide and