On the Balcony

I live alone in a three-room apartment I inherited from my late grandmother. It's just an apartment, no suspicious noises, no one creeping down the hallway at night or reflected in the mirror behind me. When I moved in, the first thing I did was replace the old, rotten frames with double-glazed windows—the windows faced a busy highway, and the traffic noise was constant, day and night.

So, there are three rooms in the apartment. I don't use the smallest one, the door to which is on the left side of the hallway. In the living room, I have a TV, a sofa, and bookshelves. From the living room, you can enter the third room—my bedroom. I specifically chose this room for my bedroom because it offers access to the balcony, which is very convenient for me, as I smoke. So, ever since I moved into this apartment, having a smoke around two in the morning was no longer a big deal—I'd crawl out of bed and, within moments, be inhaling nicotine, admiring the starry sky.

That night, I felt the urge to smoke closer to dawn. I headed out to the balcony as usual, popping a cigarette into my mouth as I went. From the tenth floor, I silently watched the cars scurrying below, now visible only by the light of their headlights. The balcony door slammed softly behind me, shutting out the draft. I continued peering into the darkness when I heard a rustling sound to my left. At first, I thought I was imagining it—something rustling outside the window—but who would be crawling around 25 meters up in the air, especially in pitch darkness? But the rustling grew louder. I froze, forgetting the cigarette smoldering in my hand. Someone or something was literally a few meters away from me, outside, and judging by the sounds, it was approaching. The balcony was open, and it would be easy for it to jump right in, since it had managed to climb so high. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and instinctively turned my head. The next moment, I laughed with relief as I saw a bag fluttering in the wind nearby, caught on a clothesline, probably blown off the neighboring balcony. I tossed my cigarette into the ashtray and pushed the balcony door. The door didn't budge. It took me several more fruitless attempts to realize it was locked—a plastic door with a stiff latch that could only be activated by pushing firmly. Locked from THE OTHER SIDE.

It was already dawn, and to pass the time, I was typing this text online from my phone. Yes, I could have knocked out the balcony window long ago with the hammer lying nearby. No problem. The problem was, the door couldn't close itself. Which meant someone had locked it. And that someone might be in my apartment right now. Or maybe they've always been in my apartment—hiding somewhere I've never gotten around to before, and now they've crawled out and locked me out on the balcony...