The owner of an antique shop came to me with a job: help him transport a batch of aged wine.
The wine had been hidden away in a deserted village for sixty years, sealed in massive jars, each one half as tall as a man.
On the day the cellar was opened, the fragrance carried for miles. Even the workers moving the jars felt light-headed from it.
But the young man selling the wine looked deathly pale. The moment he took the owner’s money, he refused to stay even one minute longer and hurried off.
That night, one of the workers secretly opened a jar.
When he was found the next day, his head was stuffed inside the wine jar. By the time they dragged him out, he was already dead.