The Resurrection Men - 500 Word Fiction Challenge

​William Hare fancied himself a most reasonable man. He ran a simple lodging house in Edinburgh with his wife and packed guests into rooms in exchange for a couple of coins. But the house was always in need of repairs and the scotch tax was ever-rising so when one of his lodgers, Mr Burke, approached Hare with a scheme, he'd found it difficult to resist.

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“How much did you make?” Hare asked carefully.

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Mr Burke grinned. “Seven pounds, ten shillings.”

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Hare could only gape in return. But the plan itself… well the thought of it made him rather sick in the stomach. He absently dabbed at his sweating brow.

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“Come now, Mr Hare. It’s mighty good pay and we can split it between the both of us. I’ll do the poisoning and you’ll do the selling and we’ll be right peart.”

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And William Hare also fancied himself a brave man which is precisely how he ended up in the anatomy room at the Royal College of Surgeons waiting for Dr Knox. He paced between shelves filled with jars, pickled pieces of people and unidentifiable bones, his top hat clutched in both hands. He gulped as his eyes moved from the skeleton hanging in the corner to a preserved head with bulging eyes on the desk and finally to Dr Knox as he strolled through the door.

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“Poisoned, you say?” Knox mused idly, tapping his walking cane as he approached the lifeless body on the centremost table.

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“Yes, Doctor. Found her like this in her room. She was a lodger of mine.”

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Knox pulled at the pallid woman’s eyelids as if they revealed yet another one of those secrets only trained physicians understood before glancing at Mr Hare with his angular, slender face. His scarred cheeks were sunken from some long-ago illness, echoing the features of the skulls behind him. “Murdered?” Knox inquired casually. 

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Mr Hare shook his head quickly, pulling at his cravat as he desperately searched for a story.

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“I certainly hope not,” Hare eventually decided. “Murders are no good for business.”

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“Who was she then?” The doctor gazed longingly at the body. “An escapee from a poorhouse? A widow perhaps?”

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“I don’t see why that matters.”

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“The law doesn’t appreciate when we dissect just anyone. They’re meant to be prisoners or orphans or suicide victims.”

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“Oh.” A stone sunk in Hare’s stomach.

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“But you needn’t worry,” Knox smirked. “It isn’t so hard to write a note.”

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“A note?”

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“Yes, exactly.” He crossed to the desk and returned with paper, a pen and ink before handing it over to Hare. “A suicide note should be all I need. Unless you’d like for me to notify the authorities?”

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“No-no, that shouldn’t be necessary.” And Mr Hare scrambled to dip the pen and scribble out a note next to the dead woman’s hand.

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“I trust I’ll be seeing you again, Mr Hare?” Knox presumed as he handed over a full eight pounds.

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“That’s a very reasonable assumption, Dr Knox.”