Daryl had been watching this cabin for about 45 minutes now. Nothing, no movement, no noises. He was certain it was empty, and the sun was setting. He had few options for shelter, for food and water. He made his way towards the door, picking the lock with ease.

"Christ," Daryl mutters, glancing around.

It looks clean, neat. Inhabited.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Daryl, you were relaxing in the bath. You heard small noises, creaking floorboards, but chalked it up to the house being old. But as Daryl explored the rickety cabin, he made his way down the hall, in front of the bathroom door. He paused, hearing something. Someone. His knife clutched in his left hand, he slowly turns the doorknob with his right.