And out fly the maggots. Not the tiny little white maggots, like you find in cowpiles, but big honkin' fat bastards at least an inch long, bloated and white. They fly through the air, fall to the floor, sounding like a plateful of wet spaghetti sliding off the table. Something in my mind snaps. Reality wobbles about me, and begins crashing down around my ears.
Sanity takes a sudden leave of absence.
Bob yells, rushing in. Inside the freezer is a scene that would have made Dante step outside to take a breather. There is no white left visible in here. Thick, black foulness covers the entire interior, a glistening, oozing mass of putrescence. Bob, go get the spray.