He set his toolbox on the bench and lay his torch on the floor so it illuminated the area by the base of the freezer. Expecting some form of leakage, he had brought an old towel from downstairs, and laid it out now over the puddle. It’d also come in handy to soak up most of what would no doubt spill out when he opened the door. There was a token resistance when he tugged at the handle, but it opened with somewhere between a cracking and a sucking noise as the seal gave up its grip. He watched the miniature waterfall trickle over the interior edge and soak into the towel. Not as much as he’d feared, but then again most of it was downstairs now. He was less prepared for the cloying stench that made him screw his eyes closed, flinching away as surely as if he’d been slapped across the face.

He pulled the neck of his sweater over his nose and mouth, bandit style, and looked back, still wincing, at the four identical compartments inside.

Eenie, meenie, miney …

He started at the top and worked his way down, a cursory scanning of soggy bricks of cardboard packaging, looking for the source of the smell. The drawers rattled open and closed in quick succession, until he reached the fourth one. Instead of closing it, he just stared, open-mouthed, as his brain caught up with his eyes, and finally told him what he was looking at.

The act of opening the drawer had caused the severed hand inside to rock gently. Its fingers were outstretched, ready to shake on a deal. Ragged shreds of grey skin clung around the edges of the severed wrist like dirty wet cloth.

He jerked upright and away in the same motion, stumbling back into the opposite kitchen bench.

‘What the fuck?’

The words slipped out before he could stop them. He quickly put a hand to his mouth, looking around. It occurred to him that although he’d called out when he came in, he hadn’t actually looked in any of the other rooms. What if he wasn’t alone in here? What if the owner of the hand was in here somewhere? More to the point, what if the person who removed it was, too?

He stumbled out of the kitchen and down the corridor, looking over his shoulder as he did, not stopping until he reached the safety of the hallway. He jogged to the lift and jabbed the button with one hand, pulling his phone out of his pocket with the other, and dialled 999. His eyes never left the doorway. He’d not even closed up behind himself. Had no intention of going back to do so. Whatever had happened here, it hadn’t ended well for someone.