MicroHorror

“What’s in the box?”

The black box sat on my coffee table.

“That’s where I keep my collection,” I said.

“Collection of what?”

“See for yourself.”

He lifted the lid and reached inside. “I don’t…” he began. Then he let out a yell. He pulled back a bloody stump.

“What the hell?”

“I collect human hands,” I explained. “One at a time.”