It's 4 in the morning as we make our way through a living room lit only by the streams of our flashlights. Every surface of the room is covered in a creeping mold, even the dozens of discarded beer cans that litter the floor and an eccentric ashtray on the coffee table. Moving into the kitchen, we restrict the sweep of our flashlights; there are some things we just don't want to see. The floor, the kitchen counter, every surface is covered in the rotting remains of small animals, each more horrific than the last. Turning down the …