Part 6/7:
As we split up to explore, my heart sank. The master bedroom was a shocking sight, marred by black stains on the walls and carpet, exuding a rancid odor that felt almost hazardous. Was this some sort of twisted art installation or simply a reflection of the previous tenants’ calamity?
In the kitchen, an unholy Jenga stack of dirty dishes awaited me, but it was the fridge that truly took the cake. A vibrant explosion of red liquid lined the interior, rivalling a horror movie's depiction of a slaughterhouse. As the fridge’s contents wafted a stench so foul it would linger in our nostrils, I found myself wishing for the hazy imagination the tour guide had suggested employing.