The body parts are alive or at least they wanted to be alive. That’s what I learned in Floyd Templeton’s diary. Days went by before he could bring himself to go back to the aquarium. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to go back, but something was driving him, nudging him to walk back into that putrid place and find out more about the pile of body parts.
He inched his way up the stairs to the second level, walking as softly as he could. He had been practicing how to breathe quietly in order to make as little noise as possible, but once he reached the top step and saw the rows and rows of the piles, the fear took over. His quiet breathing turned into short hacking breaths that he was sure could be heard in every corner of the aquarium.
He was struck by a stale odor and realized that he wasn’t just looking at dead body parts. The air itself was dead. He wrote;
It’s hard to describe, but I felt as if the living angered the space I was entering. There was an overwhelming sense of envy. Those piles of body parts were jealous that I brought a beating heart into their habitat. And that’s exactly what it was, a habitat. These things were dead, but I could feel their desire to be alive. They hated me for being what they couldn’t be. It sounds crazy, I know, but anyone walking into their dwelling would feel the same way. There’s no way to deny it.
I don’t know why, but he didn’t leave. He talked about being drawn to the place. It was more than having to know what was happening. He felt the need to be among the piles of body parts. Before he knew it, he had walked more than half the length of the upper corridor. The piles stretched out in front of him and behind him. The “calling” as he named it, to be among the body parts had vanished. Suddenly, he didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to know why the piles were there. He had made a huge mistake. He said;
I wasn’t there to find out about them. I was brought there so they could find out about me. They were inspecting me. I had been called so they could size me up. Each pile was deciding which of my body parts would suit them.
He turned to leave, but stopped when he saw that the staircase had been blocked by a pile that had not been there before. In a panic, he turned and ran. Each step of the way seemed to produce more and more piles with the distance between them growing smaller and smaller. He couldn’t say for sure, but it almost appeared as if they were moving.
Rounding the corner, he saw an emergency exit and headed for it. Reaching it, he stopped, looked back and saw a disembodied adult human arm attach itself to what looked like the torso of a large dog. A child’s hand jumped off the pile and scooted across the floor to the awkward pairing and attaches itself to the wrist of the adult arm. The small hand reached into the nearby pile and pulled down another arm and continued the gruesome assembly.
Floyd exited before he saw anymore. He ended his entry with this;
They are piles of hungry gore.