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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/EmmaWatsonButDumber on 2024-09-07 19:43:35+00:00.
I am a forensic pathologist. If you are not familiar with the term, simply put, my job is to perform autopsies and find out the cause of death of a body. It is not a profession for the weak, and I can certainly say it has given my life a grim hue, but I've learned to live with it.
I'm fairly good at my job, and respected amongst my colleagues. The only way I can do my thing is if I dehumanize the body in front of me, and just view it as a... specimen of some sort. I try not to think about the life it had, and just be done with it as fast as possible.
I got to a point where I tune it out and never get grossed out or creeped out — I could have my lunch break next to a corpse and I would not give a fuck.
Last June was when our small town started talking about this... incident.
An 18 year old had been found dead in a well.
We don’t really pay attention to this kind of news — it’s not helpful in any way, nor does it impact our everyday lives. This time the crime was everywhere, due to its… gruesome nature. His teeth were found stuck on his back. I don’t know why, but that creeped me out, and I don’t get creeped out easily.
Fast-forward to Thanksgiving, and another grim day — this time, two bodies: an old widow and an engineer with a wife and kids. People were talking about the teeth, stuck to their backs.
Stories began circulating of this new serial killer — they called them Teeth, just that. There was no online coverage, because in this small town people don't believe in the media.
Soon, the next killings followed: men, women, children.
All found in water wells, all with teeth stuck into their backs.
Police had an ongoing investigation, and multiple suspects. One particular man, whose real name I won't disclose, so we'll just call him Keith Paulson, had caught their eye for his antisocial behavior and his constant lurking at the scenes of the crimes. Finally, one day, forensic research matches his prints to a set found at the newest tragedy.
That was it — Keith Paulson was Teeth.
However, a day before his court meeting, he went missing.
Everyone panicked. At night, I couldn’t help but think. What if he got to my son? My wife? I began losing sleep - countless nights followed, until the next day, when he was found dead.
I breathed a sigh of relief: finally, the torment was over. I could finally rest, knowing we were safe. I hated the whole situation, and I'd assumed the bastard had taken his days, afraid of what he would have gotten done to himself in jail.
I got a call from the chief that very night. Sitting at my desk, looking through my computer, and the phone rings. It's 3AM, so it did startle me. I knew, even before I answered, what it would be about. I didn’t want to. I really didn’t. My head was racing, silently pleading he wouldn’t ask me what I suspected.
“Mr. Simmons?”
“Yes? Ralph, is that you?”
“Yeah. Listen, uh, we have a… situation. We might need your expertise.”
“Don’t you have your guys for that?”
“We do, but given your experience and… dexterity, you’d be more suitable for the job.”
“All right.” I responded, fixated on the window. “What time tomorrow?”
“We might need you tonight, actually.”
My blood ran cold. What could be so urgent, that they couldn’t wait?
“Are you sure? Why is it so urgent?”
“Just… the faster we get it done, the better.”
“What is it?” my wife asked, from the hallway.
“They need me for a job.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. On that… teeth guy.”
I saw her eyes widen. “No. That whole thing is really fucking creepy. Can’t you just pass?”
“I don’t think I can.”
“Ernie, it’s the middle of the night.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to go to sleep knowing you’re out there opening a serial killer up. Plus, what if he isn’t the killer? What then? You, out there, alone?”
“I’ll get an assistant.”
“Don’t go.”
“I’m sorry.”
I got dressed and drove off into the night. I never get creeped out, but this was… different.
Alone, in the car, I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d killed himself. I guess I was about to find out.
As I got to the hospital, I could see the police cars lined up. I got out and met Ralph. “So, what was so special about this that couldn’t wait?”
“It’s just, it really looked like a suicide, but it also looked like he had crawled into the well by himself.” I assumed they wanted to get it done as fast as possible, because if Keith was just a victim, the real deal hadn't been caught, and with someone so active and thirsty for blood, you cannot waste another day.
I frowned. “I’ll need an assistant.” I knew I actually didn't, but for some reason I didn't like to be alone with that guy at 3AM.
“I’m afraid no one is available now. I’ve spoken to the others, and no one wants to have anything to do with him.”
With that said, they left me in the hospital's basement, accompanied by fluorescent lights and the smell of sanitizer. The top two floors of the hospital were active, but the night patrol, on this side of town, wasn't so numerous. Just a few nurses and some doctors sleeping on the watch. Rarely any emergencies.
Basically, I was alone.
I usually work in the middle of the day, and I really wanted to just go back home, to my bed and my family. The sooner this is over, the better, so I better get to work, I thought.
This is how an autopsy works. First, the pathologist - me - reviews the deceased's medical history, circumstances surrounding the death, and any relevant details provided by law enforcement or medical personnel.
As I read through the report, my mind kept flashing back to me the same words: It looked like he had crawled into the well by himself.
Then, the external examination follows. The body is visually inspected for external signs of injury, trauma, or abnormalities - bruises, lacerations, rashes. Skin color, lividity, and rigor mortis are noted.
Keith had been found in a well. That was essential, and I had expected him to look worse. Way worse. What I found and how he looked was horrifying.
Let me explain. I won't bore you with technical details, and just strip it to the essential.
Water exposure often causes bloating as gases accumulate inside the body during decomposition. The skin may turn a pale or greenish hue, especially in cooler water, due to bacterial activity. Keith did not look like that at all. In fact, it looked like he'd just fallen asleep. No bloating. The skin wasn't wrinkled or softened. He looked fine.
For obvious reasons, I wanted to see if his teeth were stuck to his back, and they weren't. I breathed a sigh of relief. That most likely meant he was the killer.
Next, photographs are taken, and detailed notes are made regarding the condition of the body, clothing, and any external objects found with the body. I snapped some pictures and kept going.
I was beginning to sweat, and couldn't understand why. I mean, the window had been open this whole time - it was a small window, really high, close to the ceiling, which corresponded to ground level.
I turned to check, and found out the window was closed.
I could have sworn I felt a breeze on my neck.
Moving on to the internal examination, and nothing was out of place. Absolutely nothing. No signs of drowning, poisoning, heart attack, anything. I felt as if I was examining someone still alive. In all my years of practice, I have never, and I mean never, not been able to find a cause of death.
I heard a sound in the hallway, distant, but piercing in the deafening silence. I felt a knot in my chest. I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. And again. And again.
Then, I stretched for a bit, and got back to work.
It was tedious, and the more I examined, the more I realized how utterly wrong it was. His body was perfect, and, apart from his broken fingernails and bleeding fingertips - which I assumed were what the chief saw that made him think he'd crawled into the well - nothing was out of place.
By the time I had finished the reconstitution, sunlight had begun to creep though the tiny window. I started filling out the report, but stopped halfway to check the pictures I'd taken, just to get the details right.
The first one felt like a punch in the gut. My body stayed still, but a wave of sheer terror washed over me, and my head became overwhelmingly light. I looked back at Keith, but could not bear to look back at the camera. My hands were shaking like crazy, and I could barely see two feet in front of me. My eyes widened, and, scarcely breathing, I took the clipboard with me, my phone, camera and car keys, and got the fuck out of that basement.
I didn't even lock the room, and left him on that table. I prayed no one would go inside. For their own good.
I locked the car and, there, I started filling out the autopsy report. My pen loomed over the Cause of death column. Suicide I wrote down, pressing hard into the paper.
After that, I called the chief. I was so dizzy, for the shock hadn't fully left my body.
"Anything out of order?"
"I wrote down suicide."
A break followed, then Ralph spoke softly. "Simmons, I trust you. Did you feel it was necessary for you to write that down?"
"I never said I lied."
"So that's how he died?"
"For now, yes."
"What do you mean, for now?"
My glassy eyes were fixated on the center of the steering wheel. Just start the car, take your wife and your kid and move out of this state. You don't have to tell him. You can just leave it like that.
"You said he looked like he'd crawled into the well." I said.
...
Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1fbfdnn/this_autopsy_keeps_getting_weirder/
