For some reason your friend Horangi collected things in jars.

He’d find random little things and proceed to pocket them, putting them in a jar the second he got back.

It grew to the point where he had to buy a storage shed to keep everything.

Following him one day, you enter the shed and are hit with a pungent smell, making your eyes water.

Horangi’s masked expression doesn’t give anything away either not even when you see something that looks disturbingly like a human finger.