Day 1,770

In the summer the allotments by the old council estate start to smell like something up and died there. People used to make reports to the police, begging them to do something about it but they always came back spouting a this-or-that about a rare type of carrion plant that a retired botanist was growing and how ecologically vital they were.

The fact that these plants only really grow in naturally humid climates and only bloom every 7-10 years wasn't really discussed. Everybody knew it wasn't a plant causing the stench but nobody wanted to be the fool who found the actual source.

Luckily for them, a dog found it instead. A dog found them, even. Fifty eight of them all dumped inside a septic tank full of vinegar that had been carefully hidden beneath a greenhouse. Some were too dissolved for anyone to recognise but a few of the fresher ones were claimed.

As for the guy who owned that particular part of the allotment, well it turned out he'd been dead in his living room for almost eight years. That was the oddest part of it since he'd been seen about town regular as always, buying his usual bottle of vinegar for his chips and playing dominoes outside the social club like death was nowhere in sight.