But what would she say? That a man bought too many wet wipes?
It sounded ridiculous.
She needed proof.
Using the shadows for cover, Emily slowly approached the house. The yard was overgrown with weeds, and the cracked driveway led to a massive wooden door with peeling paint.
She carefully walked around the building until she reached the back.
One window—possibly the kitchen—looked slightly open.
Emily hesitated before gently pushing it.
The window creaked open.
Immediately the smell hit her.
The same metallic scent from the pharmacy—but stronger now, mixed with something stale and sickening that made her stomach turn.
Fighting nausea, Emily leaned closer and shined the faint light from her phone inside.
The kitchen was a disaster. Dirty dishes filled the sink, and newspapers covered the floor.
Beyond it stretched a dark hallway.
At the end of the hallway, a door stood slightly open. A dim yellow light glowed from inside.
Then she heard something.
A weak sound.
A faint moan.
Emily’s skin went cold.
Someone else was inside that house.
Her heart racing, she climbed through the window.