Höstdrama. W En novell. Finns i bokhandeln.

 Chapter ONE

"What a racket!" Edward thought, after standing in the hallway and listening for a well over a few minutes. Quickly, he then took the four steps to the front door and opened it, halfway only, peeking out. People with red faces were running up and down the stairs. Some wore shoes, other did not. Some of them were crying, others were screaming, right out.
"What's going on?!" Edward shouted.
"Somebody has been MURDERED. In the laundry room!"  a barefoot girl unbeknownst to Edward hollered to him, with her stiffened purple hair protruding in a little tuft towards the sky, tightly holding the sleeves of her modern dark blue duffel with both hands.
"Murdered?? Someone..."
"Yes," she said. She had stopped at his floor, because she had hurt a toe a little. "It's probably best if you stay inside," she said dismissively and cruelly, and Edward thought he must look ghastly, as he often thought himself nowadays, when he look at himself in the mirror, and that she was treating him like a nobody. Perhaps that's why Edward quickly grabbed his keys from inside the apartment and sprang out into the hallway, locked his door, and, in pushing the purple – or rather violet - girl aside, went over to knock on the neighbor Castor's door, right in the midst of the wild frenzy of mainly young people wearing peculiar designer clothes, racing up and down the stairs. The elevator was jerking violently between two floors with a lone police officer banging on the gate and walls inside. Castor opened his door just a crack. He looked scared. The cruel girl disappeared downstairs, where a door soon slammed shut, indicating that she after all lived in the lower regions of the building, which had a total of seven floors and was built in 1940.