Hand on the doorframe, Maurice leaned in curiously. He kept an ear open both for Heather and for anything (like angry possums) that might be inside the old house. The front door opened into what looked like a den or a living room and only a few pieces of furniture were left--an old table, a couch that had already been rendered down to a frame and springs, and what was left of a cabinet. The room was full of dead leaves and dirt.

"I guess we found who left all that garbage..." Maurice sniffed the air. No fresh blood...no dead animals. An old woody sourness hung in the little house though. Something told him that it was moonshine but he'd given up the memory of how to make the stuff years ago. He could no longer recall how it smelled in certain stages.

"Kinda stinks in here..."