Shadows spilled onto the ground even during midday. This neighborhood wasn’t one he’d chance at night unless armed with a flamethrower and a dozen hunters at his back. Conor paused with his hand on the door frame as he listened. Apart from the dog’s thick breaths, he didn’t hear any other movement or sudden noises. The place smelled like peat moss, and a slight scent of tinny blood tickled his nose. He slunk inside with cautious steps, and his senses reeled in overdrive.
The whine sounded again, coming from the right. He flicked on his keychain flashlight and shone it around the place. Broken dishes cluttered a rotting table, and piles of withered leaves and crumpled papers matted together to gum the corners.
Droplets of blood littered the carpet.