Home Invasion

For my partner and I, the procedure is routine. We case a one-storey house for several days to ensure that there's only one homeowner and few-to-no visitors. Somewhere rural, where the houses are a few minutes' drive from each other. This time, it's a middle-aged man. He leaves his house alone, and returns alone, for hours each night. He carries large containers which appear to be very heavy from his door to an old, poorly-maintained truck, and back again. It's during one of these trips that we start our work.

I sneak up behind him while he's on his way to the vehicle, and knock him out with a crowbar. The large cooler he's carrying spills onto the ground; in the country darkness, I can't see its contents, but they sound wet. My partner breaks a window and we climb inside. We turn on some lights and begin loading our bags with anything of value. Lots of women's jewelry. We split up to cover more ground; I find the stairs to the basement, and upon descending them, discover a large, locked metal door. Jackpot. I call for my partner to help me open it, but he doesn't answer. Whatever, we're running out of time. The guy outside will wake up soon. I'll do it myself.

I jimmy the crowbar into the crack, near the doorknob. It's taking a while to pry. We're running out of time. I pull harder, with my foot on the door. We're running out of time. I'm straining against the lock. Suddenly, the door gives, bursting inward, unleashing light from inside, illuminating the stairwell, revealing its horrifying interior.

Human arms and legs, heads, midsections. Hanging from the ceiling, suspended by meat hooks. I'm immediately aware of the footsteps behind me.

It doesn't sound like my partner.