Dream home

  The house of their dream.  A Brownstone on Manhattan's Upper East side.  Small yard and garden inclusive.
   Just recently on the market.  The owner, a world-class  brain surgeon dead of, as of yet, unknown causes, the widow having shortly thereafter packed her bags and gone back to the Montana of her youth. She left everything behind.  As if she'd been in great hurry to get out of there.
   Indeed, the dinner table was still elegantly set for two.
   Mystery or not, Leonard and Bianca were not about to pass on such a wonderful opportunity.
   The deal was done, they moved in, their belongings placed in storage while they decided what was to be kept of what was in the house, such as the marvelous mahogany dinner table and six chairs. Or, in the living-room, the elegant sofa  and Queen Anne chairs.  Everything in the house was Vintage and Class.   It took them  a while, days, to get used to their new surroundings, clear spaces here and there while making plans to redecorate here, tear down a wall there to make more breathing room.
   It is while doing this that they decided to bring to the attic  a good deal of the smaller items cluttering the place,
   Even the attic they found to be cluttered. Used to order and discipline they found a way to make a semblance of order.  And on their path was a  sort of Victorian era travelling trunk, with stamps and stickers from all over the world.
   No key to be found, but curiosity being what it is, Leonard went to get a crowbar and forced the lock.
   Opening the trunk they saw the remains of  what at one time could have been cute babies barely a few weeks old.
   And that is when their Dream House turned to a house of horrors.