I was petrified, not knowing what to do. Call the police? They would think I was crazy. Go over to the flat? It would not be difficult to find; it was on the upper floor of a 30´s style building on the street, in the corner with my own street. But the idea terrified me, especially when I remembered the sour-faced creature that I had seen in the market a few days ago taking my neighbour away, grabbing her by the arm.

Finally I made a decision. I got dressed in a hurry and went to talk to my neighbour downstairs. While I was banging on his door, instead of thinking about the disturbing events I had witnessed, I reflected upon how shabby I must look, since I had not even combed my hair!.

My neighbour eventually opened his door, looking dazed and sleepy, and after a few moments I realized, from his grimaces (sometimes he resembled a fish and sometimes a Tasmanian devil) that he had no idea what I was talking about and believed I was mad. It turned out that the messages were not intended for him. It took an enormous effort on my part to inform him about what was going on and to convince him to come with me to the house opposite.