Day 31

The chirping crickets, though initially comforting because they reminded Stacy of childhood summers, had begun to feel relentless and feverish with their incessant calls, growing louder and faster as more and more joined in the chorus. She clamped the pillow over her ears and rolled over in her sleeping bag to try to find a better position, but that seemed impossible in the small tent she had setup in the backyard of her late mother's home. She had never wanted to camp in the yard as a child. Even when her friends returned from family camping trips and described the cookouts, hikes, biking, rafting, and every other form of excitement, the idea of sleeping outside with the mosquitos and wildlife and irritating plants was enough to keep her home.

But here she was, tossing and turning in a tiny tent surrounded by overgrown grass, probably full of ticks. But although she was miserable, the alternative—sleeping inside the house—was a much more frightening and uncomfortable option.

Stacy had arrived at the house that afternoon after meeting with her mother's lawyer. The house and everything within it had become hers when her mother passed away, and the lawyer had readily handed her the key and wished her luck. Dave, Stacy's boyfriend of two years, had accompanied her to the house, expressing his support and willingness to do whatever she needed. But that was before they had seen the inside.

The first thing they noticed when they opened the door was the smell—a mixture of urine, kitty litter, mold, and something Stacy couldn't quite identify. It swept over them like a wave, pushing them backwards through the doorway. A few minutes later, when they had recovered enough to pinch their noses shut and look inside again, they saw that it was more than a rotten smell they would have to deal with. Piles and piles of trash lay inches from the doorway and continued in every visible direction. Newspapers, clothing, boxes of cereal, bags of cat food, and more were all stacked in floor-to-ceiling piles that hovered over the visitors. Just to the right of the doorway appeared to be the only way to enter deeper into the house—a small tunnel that led into darkness.

"Do you think it's safe to go through that?" Stacy asked, trying to look as deep into the tunnel as she could without stepping closer.

"What? No!" Dave said, his voice high-pitched and nasally as he continued to pinch his nose shut. "That looks completely unsafe and horrible."

"But then how will I know what's inside?" she said.

Dave shrugged, not unsympathetically. They returned to their car, parked in the driveway, to breathe fresh air and consider their options.

"I have to work in the morning," Dave said. "I can't stay here tonight. But neither should you."

They argued for a bit, but eventually the plan was hatched for Stacy to camp out in the yard. Neither was entirely happy with the solution, but it seemed the only way for Stacy to stay with the house, which she insisted on doing, while Dave left in their only car for the three-hour drive back to their apartment. They went out for a fast-food dinner, then found an outdoor store where they bought Stacy a basic tent, sleeping bag, and provisions for the night. Then after everything had been setup, Dave reluctantly left, and Stacy began tossing and turning as she tried to sleep.

In the morning, a tired Stacy folded up the tent and sleeping bag, ate a bowl of dry granola, and put on working gloves as headed toward the house. She wrapped a scarf around her face to try to block the smell and pushed open the front door.