Upstairs a door slammed. Then another, and another, until finally the cast iron monstrosity at the top of the stairs shuddered open.
‘Quickly now grab me a jar!’ The jumped the last three steps. Ellsmore jolted awake and darted for the draining board.
He fumbled with the jars but turned in time. The surgeon eased his hands over the open mouth and opened them slowly.
It thunked against the glass.
‘Real bad ‘un this one,’ said the surgeon and wiped his hands on his trousers.
Ellsmore closed the jar. The thing shivered.
‘What is it?’
The surgeon scowled. ‘There are moments caught between heart beats. They make us, us. This one, made a very, very, bad man.’
Ellsmore swallowed thickly.
‘If you cut it out, does that make him a good man?’
‘Well that depends.’
‘On the moments I didn’t cut out.’