Ryan tried hard to sleep, but it didn’t come. Nor an end to the restlessness. The fire he’d lit took the edge off the cold, but it didn’t do much for the sticky dampness that covered everything, or the smell of rot which seemed to grow worse with the heat, especially when it came to the sofa he was lying on. Some sort of near wetness started seeping through his pants and shirt through it too.
The smell of old dust, fabric cleaner, wood, rot and fire not mixing very well. This cabin might have been cleaned, but it wasn’t aired out very well.
He’d have to get all new furniture if he were to live here—which he wasn’t sure he wanted at all—and keep the fire and furnace going for at least a week straight to dry it out. In as much as he had any hope of doing that in the misty fall and the cold
