My good friends, a young family, told me this story. They lived with their newborn child in a small one-room apartment. Their upstairs neighbor was a woman of about forty, named Marina. She lived alone, had no children, and had been separated from her husband for a long time. Occasionally, roommates would show up, but no one stayed for more than a year. Marina was an exemplary neighbor—she didn't make noise in the evenings, didn't flood the apartment with water. As for changing men, that was her business.
In February, Marina's latest boyfriend moved out. After he left, the woman went berserk. Sometimes music would blast throughout the building in the evenings, sometimes furniture would be moved in the middle of the night, and sometimes there would be clanking metal and banging sounds. The neighbors tried to reason with Marina, but she wouldn't open the door. They even called the chairman of the homeowners' association and turned off the electricity meter in the entryway—all to no avail. Little by little, Marina's colleagues started showing up (she hadn't been to work for a long time). They pounded on the door, called every phone—again, nothing. And the chaos in the apartment continued. Rumors spread that Marina had gone away to work on a rotational basis and rented the apartment to illegal immigrants, so they wouldn't open the door...
So, Marina's colleagues and the neighbors, driven to their wits' end, got together and went to the police. It took a week for them to get the apartment opened (they weren't relatives, after all).
They broke into the apartment. It turned out Marina had been lying dead on the balcony for two months. A heart attack. A fair amount of dust had already accumulated in her comfortably furnished apartment, and it was clear there hadn't been, nor could there have been, any nighttime chaos.
The neighbors are still perplexed: what was it they were hearing every night?
Brak komentarzy:
Prześlij komentarz