negatory odour/no woman no smell

I was awoken by the jolt of the car as it stopped in front of the house. I must have dozed off on the way there. My partner always had a heavy foot. There was no order between the gas and brake pedals. Just stump until something happens was the driving attitude. As I stepped out of the car, I remember that the night was cool and the house looked as if it was condemned to be flattened at some point. There were other crime scene investigators already there as I walk up to and through the house and they were working proficiently as only they knew how. I felt like I was in a David Fincher movie; a scavenger waddling through the detritus looking for scraps to feed on in shadowy corners. The interior was just as dilapidated as the exterior decayed, but what I found odd was that I couldn’t smell that scent of a mouldy and decomposed wooded core as you usually would in such an old place. I couldn’t smell anything. The layers of paint bubbled and swelled and there were cracks everywhere. And as I proceeded inward over the creeky flooring, you can almost hear the screams and screeches of horror emitting from the walls. Years of terror and disgust soaked into the hallways and corridors solidified in some kind of suspended animation ready to be torn down or burnt to the ground. The washroom was just ahead of me and I can already see the cast iron tub that was filled with some kind of shimmering red soup. I reached up and touched my bead necklace for that instant of audacity; for a flash of mysticism. When I entered the washroom I noticed that the tub was filled with what looked like fermented meat products floating in some bloody sap. Above the tub hung a pillow sized crimson looking cocoon or some sort of giant vein encompassed larvae that I could not distinguish but I could tell that it was alive. It huge suspended from thick silk translucent webs and was feeding off of the rotten tub cocktail through what seemed to be a small intestinal hose slowly pumping bits of flesh and gloop. I was mesmerized by the whole sight of it but was then bitten with a joggle of adrenaline when I noticed a severed woman’s leg surfacing to the top of the red bog like stew. My hands gripped so hard into fists that I must have cracked every knuckle. The room should have smelled sickening but again, I could smell nothing. God I would have given anything just to smell my surroundings. I would have probably thrown-up all over my shoes but it would have been worth a little inconvenience. A little extra perception goes a long way but I guess I could exonerate this fact that not all your senses work the way you ever want them to in the realms of the dream world.