The whole of the backroom was dimly lit, with poured concrete floors and cutting tables greased with blood and fat. Several of the tables hosted dirty processing equipment like cleavers, meat saws, and grinders. John found himself a bit unnerved by the whole atmosphere, and the sour stench that permeated through the room was enough to make anyone lose their appetite for meat. He was cautious, and even beyond Sherlock's warning, it was obvious that he felt something was out of place.
"Not at all," Sam said with a smile. "He hasn't taken too kindly to visitors lately, but since it's important, I think he'll spare the time for you."
A rush of cold air swirled towards them as Sam unlocked the iron door, prying it open. The fridge room was no more dark that the main-room, but the walls were overwhelmingly white. Well, yellowish-white, with a lot of frothy bits of red and orange that had hardened onto the tile. Inside there were stacked up boxes littering the floor, and hanging from the ceiling were rows and rows of raw, stripped sides of beef, lamb, pig, as well as an assortment of other cuts. John was hesitant to venture in, but ultimately decided to trail along once Sam took the lead.
Not until he started toward back-end of the cooler did John realize exactly what was amiss here. He noticed that the bits of pork, sparingly hung along the lines of veal strips and drying beef, were increasingly looking less and less like pork as he made his descent into the freezer. When he reached the end of the meat locker, after shouldering through veils of naked carcasses and weaving through towers of packed entrails and bargain cuts, John saw it. Three human corpses lined up. He was shocked silent.
All three corpses were hung from the neck, dangling down in a perfect line with the other products, as if they were no different than a flank of cattle. They were even skinned, and all but one hollowed out and detached below the rib cage. There was just an open cavity where a chest should be, surrounded by a neatly shaved strips of ribs. Part of the spinal cord dangled below, but there was nothing connected to it. The legs had been salvaged, most of the arms as well. No doubt they were the smaller cuts of pork that were windowed at the front of the store and hung throughout the locker.
"Oh god," John withdrew, a frosty cloud puffing up from his lips as he exhaled. He backed into a shoulder a beef, turning in distraction, his glance just missing Sam pluck out a machete that had been stuck by its point into one of the human carcasses.
And then, with impeccably late (and perhaps somewhat amusing if they were in a different situation) timing, both Sherlock and John received a text:
no subject
"Not at all," Sam said with a smile. "He hasn't taken too kindly to visitors lately, but since it's important, I think he'll spare the time for you."
A rush of cold air swirled towards them as Sam unlocked the iron door, prying it open. The fridge room was no more dark that the main-room, but the walls were overwhelmingly white. Well, yellowish-white, with a lot of frothy bits of red and orange that had hardened onto the tile. Inside there were stacked up boxes littering the floor, and hanging from the ceiling were rows and rows of raw, stripped sides of beef, lamb, pig, as well as an assortment of other cuts. John was hesitant to venture in, but ultimately decided to trail along once Sam took the lead.
Not until he started toward back-end of the cooler did John realize exactly what was amiss here. He noticed that the bits of pork, sparingly hung along the lines of veal strips and drying beef, were increasingly looking less and less like pork as he made his descent into the freezer. When he reached the end of the meat locker, after shouldering through veils of naked carcasses and weaving through towers of packed entrails and bargain cuts, John saw it. Three human corpses lined up. He was shocked silent.
All three corpses were hung from the neck, dangling down in a perfect line with the other products, as if they were no different than a flank of cattle. They were even skinned, and all but one hollowed out and detached below the rib cage. There was just an open cavity where a chest should be, surrounded by a neatly shaved strips of ribs. Part of the spinal cord dangled below, but there was nothing connected to it. The legs had been salvaged, most of the arms as well. No doubt they were the smaller cuts of pork that were windowed at the front of the store and hung throughout the locker.
"Oh god," John withdrew, a frosty cloud puffing up from his lips as he exhaled. He backed into a shoulder a beef, turning in distraction, his glance just missing Sam pluck out a machete that had been stuck by its point into one of the human carcasses.
And then, with impeccably late (and perhaps somewhat amusing if they were in a different situation) timing, both Sherlock and John received a text:
These people haven't been eating Pork -GL