We were crossing a ridge when Corgan was lifted off the ground by something. "Shoot it! Shoot the tyrannosaur!" he screamed as blood streamed from the puncture wounds that had opened up in belly. I fired into the empty space above him to no effect. Then Corgan's ragged corpse dropped to the forest floor, and I was alone. Utterly alone. There was no dinosaur. There was nothing.
Thieve's House or thier main front: All the floors are designed to squeak when stepped upon or to sag or bend sending a small shake along the beam, somewhat like a spiders web, to alert those inside.