As a newcomer to the funeral home, I was assigned to take care of an unknown female body alone at midnight.
Senior warned: "No matter what she says, don't respond."
At three o'clock in the morning, she suddenly sat up and handed me a blood-stained note: "Run away, they are not human."
I trembled and looked at the surveillance camera. The entire funeral home staff was holding a dinner party around the body.
The next day, the curator smiled and asked me if everything was okay last night.
I pretended to be calm and nodded, but found that the work ID card he handed over had a photo of my ex who had passed away three years ago.
