Narrator: Niamh C. | Dublin, Ireland
I wasn’t drunk. I had driven to the party, and my friends are tiresome enough about checking who is driving that several people can confirm it.
The downstairs toilet had a light on a pull cord. I pulled it, shut the door, then noticed another cord hanging beside the mirror. Same brown wooden end. I assumed it worked a fan.
When I pulled that one, the light stayed on but the sound from the party stopped. Completely. No music through the wall, no footsteps overhead.
Someone began pulling the door handle down from outside. Carefully, all the way, then letting it rise. The lock was a flimsy little bolt. I watched it bend.
I pulled the second cord again. The music came back so loudly I flinched. The handle stopped moving.
My friend was outside holding a stack of cups. She said I’d been in there for ages. We looked for the second cord together. There was only the light pull and a faint circular mark in the ceiling where something had been removed.
I slept badly for weeks, mostly because of the way that handle rose between attempts. Whoever was outside had all the time in the world.
