When the dead came back, they all came back.
Every last thing that could move, did move and we weren't prepared for the full extent of it.
I was at the Hunterian Museum in London at the time and everything began to wake up.
The sound of shattering glass and screams came from outside and like a tidal wave approached us.
First the ones by the entrance began to twitch, thin slices of humans waving and groping limply.
Sheets of human skin moved like worms, writhing and engulfing whatever poor soul was closest.
Even the preserved and deformed foetuses blinked their hardly-developed eyes and screamed.
You just can't forget the sound of tiny lungs crying in formaldehyde.
It sounds muffled and echoey, makes it easier for them to crawl up behind you and attack.
I saw one wrestle a grown man to the ground, its umbilical cord whipping about like a snake.
Even the preserved limbs rattled in their liquid prisons, eager to meet the outside world again.
The skeletons remained dead.
There was a stampede of tourists trying to get to the fire exits, trampling anyone in their wake.
Some escaped I think... I didn't and that's okay - we're all okay now.
But there are so many babies out there now, all crying out in hunger.
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