“Holy mother…” I gagged as the smell hit my nostrils. The house was in horrible condition, but that putrid stench was the seller. Never had this pleasure been bestowed on me, and I had high hopes that it never would be again.
I got notice about the place just a day ago from Civil Protection. It was me, Scott, and his asshole friend Felix who came here—no clue what was wrong with the place until the smell hit us. Corpses. Probably leftovers from some narcos cleaning house. Never my field of interest, but the possibility of finding something worth documenting always drove these two dumbasses to follow me. They paid well, but I wasn’t in it for the money—I just had a morbid interest in the deceased.
You see, I’m a photographer. A very morbid one. I take pictures of the mutilated dead. I used to share my stash with Alarma magazine in Mexico City for chump change, but it was never about that. I just really, really loved seeing this kind of thing.
“Nice, just great,” Felix muttered, covering his nose. Scott gagged a couple of times, and I followed suit until I vomited my breakfast—mostly coffee and some still-unprocessed food. Maybe eggs and bread, but I wasn’t sure anymore. That asshole Scott laughed at me and left me behind. Felix lit up a cigarette and sighed.
“Having a great time, vato?”
“Go fuck yourself,” I muttered, throwing a second cannonade at the ground. When I finished puking, both of them had left me alone. No condolences. Just business. I had nothing but disgust for them—and for the breakfast I’d wasted my money on.
It took a while to move forward. The smell wasn’t just bad—it was hungry. It clung to my nostrils, clothes, and skin. I could only imagine the state of decomposition required for this kind of scent. Bodies. More than two, maybe three… how many? I wondered. I took my first step into the house, Nikon camera at the ready.
Inside, the light was dim. Most windows were covered with cloth and wood—makeshift blackout materials. Bars over the windows were standard in Tijuana. The doorframe had been torn out. Maybe two doors once stood here, now both gone. Too clean. Too silent.
“What is it?” I called out loudly—a mistake. Another wave of putrid air hit me. The heat inside was boiling, sweat rolling down my forehead and neck. I passed through the bare living room. Furniture had once stood here, its ghost outlined in stains across a brownish carpet.
At the other end of the room, I smelled cigarette smoke. Two silhouettes stood still. As I got closer, they became the hateful bastards I’d come with. The look on their faces—surprise and horror. They said nothing. That alone was telling.
The stench overwhelmed everything. Even my jacket over my mouth wasn’t enough. I kicked myself for never remembering to bring a gas mask. Always slipped my mind.
“That’s fucked up,” whispered one of them. Or maybe they spoke at normal volume—I couldn’t tell. Their words drove me closer. Over their shoulders, the scene came into full view.
It had no real description.
A decomposed mass of meat and rot. An arm here, a leg there. A few heads stacked against a wall. Broken skin, bloated and bruised. Purple. Green. Teeth. Broken bones. Balls of greasy hair. Rotten food. Urine. Excrement. The left side of the room held chains mounted on the wall, suspending half a figure torn at the waist, arms outstretched and still shackled.
“Shit…” I whispered, scanning the mess. Scott took a drag from his cigarette. I snatched it before he could finish—rare for me to smoke, but I figured tobacco might clear my throat enough to endure the next few minutes. These might be my best photos yet.
“There’s something wrong here,” Felix said.
I burst into cackling laughter.
Felix seemed disturbed, but Scott joined me. When we finished, I took another drag from the cigarette and exhaled toward Felix with another chuckle. That last laugh almost tore my throat open, but it was worth it.
“Can I talk now?”
“Could you ever talk to begin with?” I sneered, pushed him aside, and stepped forward to begin capturing the scene.
“This has been here for weeks or months,” Felix said as I took my first shot. The lighting, the angle—gritty perfection. I wiped the sweat from my forehead with a bandana, then tied it tightly around my head.
“This has remained untouched, but someone had the tenacity to bring down the front door and loot the place?”
“Who the fuck cares about that?” I aimed for the remains hanging from the chains. “People living in the canal don’t give a fuck.”
“Either way, someone definitely knew about this. Also, how did your contact in Civil Protection know about it?” Scott’s question slid past me without consequence. I didn’t care. I shrugged and took a photo of what looked like three heads stacked together—one missing a jaw, another with a melted eyeball.
“Don’t shrug this off. This place is just a block away from a Civil Court and two major roads. You can smell this from outside. Surprised firefighters haven’t been called.”
“Because no one rats on narcos. You know that.” I knelt to capture a thorax covered in rot. Something inside it pulsed. “Oh, that’s some gnarly shit.”
“Everything’s gnarly here.” Felix wandered off to check the rest of the house.
I felt two taps on my shoulder. Turned—Scott pointing toward the end of the room.
“What?”
“Get back. There’s something here.”
I smirked, but his dead-cold stare stopped me. His pupils had dilated. They swallowed his eyes.
“You need to come back to the living room. Now.”
Scott moved fast. Disappeared into the hallway. Something followed him, footsteps heavy. I snapped one final shot from the doorway and retreated.
Two other rooms sat to the right before reaching the living room. In one, someone was tied to a bedpost. Car batteries were wired to the ends of the bed. Nails had been driven through the legs. The jaw was nearly intact, pulled violently but still in place. I photographed it.
Next room: three axes in the middle. Bits of corpses at the far wall. Chopping marks all over the floor. The concrete had even cracked. I took a shot and returned to the living room.
Through the doorway, I saw Scott and Felix smoking again.
“What’s the big fucking deal? Are you done?”
“Get your ass here before I bring it out myself,” Scott shouted. I stepped into the light—vomit still cooking in the heat.
“What, what is the goddamn problem?”
Scott pointed his fingers at me, cigarette clenched between them.
“Get that shit away from me.”
“Listen to me. There’s bad shit going on here. Your Civil Protection friend is getting you involved in something ugly.”
I scoffed. Laughed it off. His face turned red. The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Get the fuck out of here. The worst thing that could happen is some placas show up. News flash—they take this route every day and never say a word. Last thing they want is to mess with narco leftovers.”
“This isn’t about that. We’re leaving, and so should you.”
Me? Leave this goldmine? I turned away from Scott without another word. Back into the house. Time to explore the rest.
“You’re going to regret it.”