Alyssa

The house we pull up to hours later actually looks... normal.

Not some abandoned, half-collapsed shithole like I'd pictured. No broken windows. No graffiti. No front door hanging off the hinges. 

Just a small, weathered house tucked in the woods, its cracked driveway swallowed by weeds, a wraparound porch sagging a little but still holding steady.

It looks like a real family lived here once. 

Like kids ran barefoot across the porch.

Like someone ...