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?

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