The fingernails were split and bleeding, the hand ended at a severed wrist. Gradually it crawled across the floor, searching for something? Lifting the pretty throw draped across the sofa it scuttled underneath…

The camera panned out. The narrator whispering….. Now the female waits, it is mating season. She is a lone zombie hand, she can release pheromones….

Then… And here they are, five smaller hands, distinguished by not wearing nail varnish……

In the spring, the narrator said, there could be fingers…..