The door swings open as you knock, and the house large and silent. The air is still within- though you can't detect the scent of mold, or mildew, or rot. The house is nicer inside than the outside would suggest.

You want to take a moment to absorb the house around you, but you recall that this is someone else's home. It's even worse for you if they aren't here. You open your mouth to call out, but something about the stillness of the house stops you. You stand there in the foyer for a time, leaving the door open behind you just in case. The house remains quiet around you.

Part of your brain tells you this waiting is a fruitless venture- that you should simply hunker down for the night and hope light comes quickly. You valiantly resist for all of what can't be more than 30 minutes, before taking your first step further into the house. To your left, you see a small room, and it feels like a fair compromise between your desire to rest and your desire to leave the house relatively undisturbed. You head in, and...