You step into the house.
Despite the warm summer sun shining outside, a cold trickles down your spine, causing you to shiver involuntarily and hug yourself tighter. None of that gold light out there pierces the windows inside, caked in dust and grime from decades of disrepair. In the dim light, you can see you're standing in what was once a grand entryway - there's a rotten cabinet to the right, under some old, dusty family pictures hung on the wall. Past these is a set of glass double-doors, though you can't quite see through them from this angle. Further down the hallway is a stairway, leading up to darkness, and on your right is an old lamp, its lampshade yellow with age. On the ground next to its stand is a musty-smelling ottoman, with some abandoned shoes and debris scattered here.
The air smells unpleasant, and you scrunch your nose up as the party fans out into the hall. Vince heads up the stairs, presumably looking for the real estate agent that should be here. You decide to linger in this entryway for a second.