There were shadows in the windows

Typically, whether by a sense of propriety or moral code or fear of breaking mortal or transcendental laws, I don't feel tempted to trespass. A man's house is his castle, and I don't want boiling oil, real or metaphorical, poured on my head.

So when I see caution tape roped around a building, and draped across the entrance, and the doors and windows are wide open...oh, why does it seem like the best idea in the world is to enter said building and poke around?

I didn't, because I have no spine. And because I wouldn't be able to write about the story here.

I'm reminded of that literature professor of mine in St. Petersburg, who had us stand in a snow drift for a half hour while she tried to pick the lock on the courtyard where the starushka in Crime and Punishment lived; that itch to jump, to fall, to be tempted, I suppose, is a universal. Hurray!