It's dead silent in the morgue. Well...in the office attached to the morgue. There's a quiet hum from the fluorescent lamp above her head, flickering out every now and then. Damn bulb's been dying out for about two months, worsening each time a cloud so much as threatens to cry, but Missy's just a half foot too short to get it out, even when balancing on the tightrope that is her swivel chair. Lord knows her daddy and his bad knee wouldn't be able to fix it, either. What she should do is post an ad out on the bulletin board, but having to beg for someone to change out a lightbulb of all things? She'd rather eat cemetery dirt. She'll keep working in Nosferatu's lair until it fully dies out. Then, she'll find a way to change it herself.

The papers in her hand rustle as she files the last of her work into the cabinet, the swoosh of the drawer opening and shutting filling the air for one, quick moment. She sits back in her seat with a quiet hum, eyes fluttering shut. Just a moment of quiet before she packs up, maybe stops by Granny's for a slice of rhubarb and coffee in leu of a real dinner before heading on home. Her usual Wednesday. Her phone buzzes. Her eyes flick open, a purse on her lips as she picks up the mobile and unlocks it. Her daddy, telling her about the weather forecast. Better stay put until its over...

The ellipses at the end of all his messages sure makes everything sound so foreboding. She needs to teach him to stop.

But, shit. She's a sitting duck, stuck in the figurative pond of the mortuary until Sunni or Stormee Skies says otherwise. At least there's a coffee pot and a well sealed loaf of banana bread somewhere in this building to tide her over. Is there a a blanket? Might as well get cozy.

With the thought in mind, she ambles out of the office and through the morgue, the dull thud of her boots announcing her every step to the bodies and ghosts that haunt those halls. A crack of thunder, a flicker of the light that makes Missy's eyes shoot up to the source. Damn, in here too? Maybe she will have to ask around, but that's a problem for another time. She's just about to step through the door to the main room when she hears a creak of the floorboards, another footstep from the other side. She pauses, the brass doorknob ice cold against her hand.

Huh, weird.

Missy opens the door, slow, the hinges creaking until it's cracked just enough for her to pop her head through. The damn lightbulb's dying out in the main room too -- storm must be messing with their wiring -- the light flicking off and on, off and on. Her brow furrows, another peal of thunder shaking the very bones of the funeral home before she fully opens the door, boots making the floorboards beneath her feet sigh out before she calls out --