Icosahunter

Scalpel

Sometimes I wonder what lies beneath my skin. You never get to see your own heart pounding or your lungs breathing, are they really there? Three months ago I received something in the mail. When I got up that morning, as I was brewing my coffee, I noticed the flag on my mailbox was up. Which was weird because I didn’t usually get mail that day. I walked outside and opened the mailbox to find a large envelope, and inside a cassette tape. I went back in the house to inspect it but there was no letter or note in the package. The label on the outside definitely showed my name and address so it wasn’t a mistake. I had a cassette player in my car so I figured I’d see what was on it. I walked to my car, coffee in hand, sat down, popped in the cassette, and listened. On the tape, a man started talking. It had a dated documentary feel to it. It started something like this:

“The human body is a marvel. A self repairing, carefully sealed machine. So much so that often a body’s organs never see the light of day. We can of course use this incredible fact to our advantage. By selecting only the healthiest individuals for the program we ca—”

—and then the tape just stopped. I tried rewinding it and starting again, but that was all there was. And with that strange interaction, I went back inside and went on with my day.

That night I didn’t sleep well, though I didn’t really know why at the time. I got up earlier than usual and when I went downstairs I saw the envelope on the table. I walked over and looked at it for a moment. Then I noticed the return address, I recognized the street name and it wasn’t that far from here. On a whim I decided to check it out. I got dressed, grabbed the envelope and tape, got in my car, and headed off. As I drove up to the building, a 4 or 5 story brick building with lots of large windows, I noticed there were no cars in the parking lot. I thought maybe it hadn’t opened yet, but I could see the lights through the glass doors, so I went ahead and parked. It was pretty early, maybe 6 or 7 and it was cold and wet out, making the air a bit foggy and thick. I walked up to the door; it didn’t look like there was anyone at the front desk but the door was unlocked so I tentatively stepped inside. It wasn’t much warmer behind the doors. “Hello? Anyone here?” I asked. But there was no reply. I heard a noise and turned in time to see a door closing towards the end of a long, dimly lit, corridor. I walked cautiously down the hallway. The plastic white tiling on the floor, and the old failing fluorescents above gave it an unsettling aura. I found what I thought was the door I’d seen close and tried the handle, but it was locked. I was then surprised to see a light turn on behind a large window to the right of the door. It looked like some sort of one-way mirror looking into a surgical room. There were a handful of surgeons standing around a woman lying on the surgical table. If I were in my right mind I would have turned around and bolted for the door right then, but instead I was riveted to the scene before me. The surgeons were wearing what looked like some sort of gas mask over their faces. Some of them set up medical instruments, and then, after a few seconds, one of them picked up a scalpel and began making an incision along the woman's abdomen. I held my breath as they continued their work. I watched as the surgeon opened the incision wider to reveal, not a cavity filled with organs, but what looked like a dense mass of membranous tissue that stuck to the skin as he peeled it away. He then handed the scalpel to one of the other surgeons, turned back to the body, and reached both hands into the cobweb-like membranes. When he lifted them back out, he was holding a huge beating heart about the size of a basketball. The surgeons were all standing around the body now, looking at the still beating heart. I could feel the blood in my veins at that moment. Then one of the surgeons turned and looked straight at me. He raised his hand to his mask and pulled it off, revealing a faceless visage. There was nothing there, no eyes, no mouth, just a smooth plateau of skin. I bolted down the hallway.

I was breathing so hard, thinking so fast, I didn’t even notice which way I was going. I pushed open the double swinging doors and it was pitch black. I fumbled around at the wall until I found the light switch and flipped them all on. One at a time fluorescents hummed to life. I looked around to see I was in a huge tall ceilinged room, filled with rows upon rows of surgical beds. On each one was a body with a large membranous cavity in its abdomen. I looked back and forth and darted for a locker by the wall. I opened the locker, stepped inside, and stifled my breath as best I could. I waited for what seemed like hours before several of the surgeons came in, wheeling in the body I’d seen them operating on. One of them looked around the room a little, and then they turned off the lights and left.

I waited until I was sure they were gone and then carefully stepped outside the locker. I sat there, kneeling on the floor, catching my breath for a few seconds. Then I was gripped with a horrible feeling. I put my hand to my stomach. I felt sick. I pulled out my phone light and looked around, there was a small countertop by the locker with a lamp and papers. I turned on the lamp, it’s warm light filled my little corner of the great dark room, illuminating the dusty air. I quickly rifled through the drawers in the counter until I found what I was looking for. I picked up the scalpel, my hand was shaking. I got down on the floor, pulled up my shirt, and carefully pressed the blade against my sternum. With a deep breath I made the cut. It was painful, but not as painful as I expected, probably from all the adrenaline. I slowly brought the scalpel all the way down just passed my belly button. I didn’t notice it then, but there was surprisingly little blood. With body and mind quivering, I carefully reached my fingers inside the cut and pulled the skin away. As I did, I saw it, a thick wet lattice of cobweb-like tissue. I carefully pulled some of it back to see beneath, and there, almost hovering at my core, was what looked like a huge closed eye. Just a sphere with eyelids. I choked a little, and then the eye opened and looked right at me. I jolted back, breathing frantically. When I opened my eyes and looked down, there was no cut anymore. I looked up and I was in my car, with an empty cup in my hand and coffee spilled all over me.

The next morning, while I was brewing a cup of coffee, I saw the flag was up on my mailbox. I remembered the envelope, the building… the scalpel… and I wondered what was beneath my own skin.