You can’t say they didn’t warn me.
I’ve talked at length before about how going to estate sales feels more or less like you’re looting a stranger’s home. Everything in the house is basically set up the way they were before the people died; except for the occasional price tag and the herd of re-sellers literally elbowing you out of the way so they can be the first ones to get to Grandma’s fine jewelry, you’d hardly even know that something horrible happened here not too long ago and everyone’s probably really sad about it.
If you look closely you can start to get an idea of the people who lived there—you see a few books on invasive medical procedures and a pair of scissors that looks like you could carve someone up with it, and—OH GOD, what’s that?! Continue reading