Mr. Karl, since the summer began, has loaded up the morgue with tens of his employees because he believes customers will receive better service.
“I want my patients to have the due attention they need in prompt time,” he said after Dolly asked him why he was doing this thing.
“But you’re going to just use up all our funds for cremating and embalming the bodies we receive! And even that, you receive too much inventory for!”
Karl refused to hear her voice on a weekly basis, but Beverly had a few snarky comments to say to him.
“I’ll have you know that every time you spend money, a crow dies and gets eaten up by worms. And when worms feast, they multiply. And you know who absolutely just abhors worms? Your wife.”
Karl still did not dare to look her in the eye, but he had something from his bucket of a head to say.
“And your voice is as raspy as the buzzing of bees. It makes people sick when you sting them with your enticing words.”
“You’re being one heck of a manager. I should tell YOUR boss about your behavior, and then we’ll see who’s laughing in the end.”
Karl’s boss, Michael Diburgh, lived relatively close to the North Country Morgue but only visited on a yearly basis, for he was always busy tending to his garden of zombies. What he was raising them up for, no one knew. He doesn’t even know why he’s doing it except he feels led to raise zombies for none other than a non-nefarious purpose.
“You and I both know he doesn’t even care about this place, so I can do whatever I want to, and no one is going to stop me.”
Little did Karl and Beverly know that the man himself had set foot inside the morgue, peeking inside the cabinets lined with bodies ready for an autopsy by the head coroner, Haslia, and her assistant, Jones. For a zombie gardener, he was well-adorned with a blazing blue blazer, a crisp red bow tie, a well-ironed white dress shirt, moderately sleek blue trousers, and astonishing tan dress shoes that would make whimsical ladies fall to their faces before him… That is, if they had no clue of his reputation and were prepared to eat mashed brains for supper every day.
Michael was displeased with the cacophony he witnessed between Karl and Beverly.
“Karl, this is unacceptable. Why are you spending all my money?”
He walked into the office to check his black mini fridge that was appropriately decorated with incisions, spleens, and brains.
“And why is the rum gone?”
Karl, now paler than a full moon, was at a loss for words.
“This behavior of yours ends now, and-” he motions to Beverly “-keep this man in line for me, darling.”
He turns back to Karl. “Put on a reasonable number of staff here so it doesn’t look like a zoo, with everyone just standing around and not serving our patients with tender care and love. Because the more of them there are on, the more resources we don’t have for feeding families and generating autopsy reports.”
Michael exited the scene, leaving Beverly and Karl.
Karl, a now “changed” man, returned to the office to ameliorate the morgue staff scheduling, for the bettering of the patients and the morale of his employees.
North Country Morgue 
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