The old woman buying sixty kilos of beef every morning unsettled everyone. It wasn’t just the quantity—it was the way she clutched the bags tightly, her eyes constantly scanning the street as if she were hiding something terrible.
By the fourth day, the butcher couldn’t ignore the growing unease in his chest. Something about her routine felt wrong, almost frightening, and it lingered with him long after she left.
Eventually, the police were called. When they forced open the warehouse door she had been visiting, the stench hit them first—thick, sour, and overwhelming.
Inside, there were no bodies, no horrors like people had imagined. Instead, there were rows of rusted cages, each holding frightened, starving dogs.
