The Frozen Food of Red Hill

The front door was unlocked. The TV cabinet in the lounge was wide open. curtains weren't drawn in the bedrooms. Nothing winterized like they left in a hurry. I walked to the freezer and yanked against the long steel handle, preparing myself for another wave of pungent odor. A glimpsed molding vegetables, rancid meat, obscure plastic wrappings dotted with black mold. Bill stood at my shoulder, watching with a wary hand over his nose and mouth as the door's hinge creaked. He frowned. That doesn't make sense. They would have cleaned everything out before closing the place up for the season. But it wasn't closed up. My voice was shaking.