Short short story: Malmesbury Jane

The detective’s report said her body had been found behind the Malmesbury grain silos. When the workers complained about a smell, they’d discovered her, naked and rotting, in a black bag. Thus far, the cause of death was unknown. The yellow tag on her toe said “Malmesbury Jane”. Nobody had reported her missing and it would seem maggots had made a feast of her features; she reminded him of a shrunken head he’d seen on a trip to Ecuador. His wife Laney had been fascinated: she’d even updated her Facebook cover photo with a whole row of them. He shuddered and adjusted his goggles. Her body, apart from the obvious decay, was intact. That was surprising. No trauma to the skull. No obvious bruising and no sign of self-defence. He positioned foam blocks under her pelvis and strapped her legs into the stirrups. The smell reminded him of a description he’d read in The Physician’s Guide to Venereal Diseases in Victorian England. The doctor recalled needing laudanum to dull his senses after spending his days treating “commoners afflicted with ailments that foamed green and yeasty, leaving putrid trails in the surgery”. Malmesbury Jane was a textbook case. He flicked on his headlamp and leant forward to inspect her vagina. Forceps widened the entryway. He jumped back. He could’ve sworn there had been two eyes reflecting in the lamplight. His breathing matched his pulse. Berating himself, he stepped away from the examination table and went to have a sip of water from the bottle on his desk. Eyes? He’d been reading too many novels. That was all. The cold water tickled his throat and made him cough. He lifted his goggles. There was a strange buzz. He looked at the overhead light and made a mental note to have maintenance come and fix the noise. He returned his attention to Malmesbury Jane and lowered his goggles. The buzz became a hiss. He stepped closer. Her pelvis was moving. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Two tentacles emerged from her vagina. Everything went black.