by Matt Krizan

Tara loves when Andrew zips her up.

He takes his time, caressing her neck and shoulder with his free hand. His kisses linger, and he nibbles her ear, leaving her trembling in anticipation.

When he’s finished, Tara inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of her own perfume—lavender and orange blossom and musk—mingling with the lingering odour of formaldehyde and rot.

Her friends don’t get it. They can’t understand how she can date someone who works in a morgue.

“If only they knew,” she thinks.

Tara moans as Andrew touches her through the thick plastic of the body bag.

Matt Krizan

Matt Krizan is a former certified public accountant who writes from his home in Royal Oak, Michigan. His short fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in various publications, including Daily Science Fiction, Martian Magazine, and, previously, in Dark Moments. Find him online at mattkrizan.com and on Twitter as @MattKrizan.