The End of it All

Before you lose your nerve, you grab the cool metal handle of your parent's front door and swing it inward. The door moves without resistance, and you find yourself in a dark, cold house. It is January, and maybe your parents are gone, but why would the door be unlocked? Does locking a door even work against transdemensional intruders? You aren't sure, but something seems off here. You go to flip on the light in the familiar living room that still smells of your father's tobacco and your mother's perfume, only to find that it doesn't work.
It's then that your eyes adjust to the darkness enough to notice that there is nothing but cardboard and trash in the living room, and that the familiar smells are obviously your imagination because the room reeks of death.