Contacting neighbors
The couple walked quickly down the cracked pavement, their shoes crunching against loose gravel. About 300 feet down, they spotted the first house—a weathered Victorian, smaller than theirs but equally worn. Its peeling shutters and leaning fence made it look abandoned too, yet faint smoke curled from the chimney. They exchanged a nervous glance before ringing the doorbell together, hoping desperately that someone was inside and willing to talk.
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