The Uninvited Party
Margaret Whitmore adjusted her third outfit of the evening in front of the mirror when the first notes of music drifted through the wall from the flat next door. She frowned, set aside a blue blouse, and listened. The clock showed half past seven—too early to complain, though her neighbour Vera hardly ever hosted rowdy gatherings.
“Maybe it’s someone’s birthday,” Margaret muttered, pulling on a grey cardigan. “Still, she could’ve warned me.”
The music grew louder, mingling with laughter and chatter. Margaret pressed her ear against the shared wall. There were far more voices than just two or three.
The doorbell rang. Still in her slippers, Margaret peered through the peephole. It was Dorothy, the neighbour from downstairs, wearing a strained, polite expression.
“Evening,” Dorothy began before the door was fully open. “Do you know what’s going on at Vera’s? The whole building can hear the noise.”
“No idea,” Margaret admitted. “It’s odd—she’s usually so quiet.”
“Maybe she isn’t even there,” Dorothy whispered. “Could be strangers inside. These days, you never know…”
The women exchanged glances. Vera lived alone, worked at the library, and kept to herself. No one had ever known her to throw parties.
“Let’s go up together and ask,” Margaret suggested. “If something’s wrong, we’ll call the police.”
They climbed the stairs. Music poured from under Vera’s door, punctuated by shouts and booming laughter. Margaret rang the bell.
The door swung open almost instantly. Vera stood there—but a different Vera. Hair tousled, cheeks flushed, clutching a glass of something sparkling. She wore a vibrant red dress Margaret had never seen before.
“Oh!” Vera beamed. “My lovely neighbours! Come in, come in! We’re celebrating!”
“What’s the occasion?” Margaret asked cautiously, peering past her into the flat.
A crowd filled the room—at least eight people, maybe more. Men and women of all ages, dressed smartly, glasses in hand. A towering cake dominated the table, surrounded by snacks and bottles of champagne.
“Who cares?” Vera waved dismissively. “Life’s worth celebrating! Come, join us!”
“But Vera, who are these people?” Dorothy pressed. “Where did they come from?”
“Friends!” Vera declared. “Old, dear friends! We’re celebrating our bond!”
A man’s voice called from inside: “Vera! Come here—we’re giving a toast!”
“Coming!” she called back. “Girls, really, do stay! Or I’ll pop by later and tell you all about it!”
The door shut. The neighbours lingered on the landing, stunned.
“Something’s off,” Dorothy muttered. “Our Vera, with that lot? And one of those men looked downright shady.”
“Maybe she’s in love,” Margaret offered. “Love changes people.”
“At fifty-five? Don’t be daft!”
Margaret wanted to argue that fifty-five wasn’t the end, but the music surged, drowning out conversation.
By morning, silence rang through the flat—an eerie, unfamiliar quiet. Margaret had fallen asleep to the party’s din, which had faded only around 3 a.m. Now, the wall was as still as a grave.
On her way to work, she ran into Dorothy in the lobby.
“Sleep well?” Dorothy quipped. “I barely shut my eye. And this morning, fancy cars were parked outside. Gone now.”
“Guests must’ve left.”
“Exactly. But who were they? And what got into Vera?”
At lunch, Margaret stopped by the grocers. There stood Vera—back in her usual grey coat and dark scarf—buying bread, milk, and cheap sausages.
“Vera!” Margaret called. “How was last night’s party?”
Vera turned. Margaret gasped. Her neighbour’s face was ashen, eyes red-rimmed like she’d wept for hours.
“What party?” Vera whispered.
“The one at your place—music, guests…”
“Oh, that.” Vera turned back to the till. “They got the wrong flat.”
“Wrong flat? You invited us in!”
“Don’t remember,” Vera said, shaking her head. “Must’ve been a dream.”
She paid and hurried out, leaving Margaret baffled.
That evening, Margaret knocked on Vera’s door. It took ages for her to answer.
“Can I come in?” Margaret asked.
“Best not,” Vera hedged. “It’s… messy after cleaning.”
“Vera, what’s wrong? You’ve been strange all day.”
Vera hesitated, then relented. “Fine. Come in.”
The flat looked post-party: plastic cups littered the floor, a shattered glass glittered among crumbs of cake. Strangest of all—it smelled of strangers: perfumes and cigarettes Vera never touched.
“What happened here?”
Vera sank into an armchair, clutching her head.
“I don’t know how to explain. Yesterday morning, I left for work as usual. When I came back… they were already here.”
“Who?”
“People. Strangers. Eating at my table, drinking, playing music. A man in a smart suit said, ‘Vera! We’ve been waiting!’”
Margaret perched on the sofa’s edge.
“What did you do?”
“What could I do? I thought maybe I’d forgotten inviting them. They were so kind—said they’d always wanted to meet me. One woman, so elegant, claimed she’d been a librarian too. We talked for hours.”
“But you’d never seen them before?”
“Never! Yet they knew things—my job, my parents, even my cat Toby, who died last year.”
“Friends of friends, maybe?”
“Who? I’ve no one but coworkers. Then I thought… what if they’re angels?”
“What?”
“Mum always said angels could take human form. Maybe this was a gift? I’ve been alone so long…”
Margaret eyed the wrecked flat, Vera’s tear-streaked face.
“And this morning?”
“Gone. Only this mess… and a note.”
“What note?”
Vera fetched a crumpled slip from the table.
“Here. ‘Thanks for your hospitality. We’ll return.’”
The handwriting was neat, feminine. The paper expensive.
“Did they take anything?”
“Nothing. Left more—fancy food in my fridge, and money. So much money.”
“How much?”
“About fifteen hundred quid. And here I was counting pennies till payday.”
Silence fell. Outside, children shrieked; a dog barked—ordinary sounds. Inside, the air hummed with unease.
“Margaret,” Vera said suddenly. “What if they really come back?”
“Do you want them to?”
Vera stared out the window, silent for a long moment.
“Last night… I felt wanted. Important. They listened, laughed at my jokes. No one’s done that in years. We even danced. When was the last time I danced?”
“But they’re strangers. Who knows what they want?”
“What have I got left to lose?” Vera smiled bitterly. “This flat? Old furniture? Books? Let them take it. For one night, I was happy.”
Margaret opened her mouth—then the doorbell chimed. A melodic, unfamiliar tone. Vera flinched.
“They’re back,” she whispered, bolting up.
“Wait!” Margaret grabbed her arm. “Look through the peephole first.”
But Vera was already at the door, fumbling with locks. A gasp: “God—you came!”
The elegant woman from before stepped in, followed by the suited man and others.
“Darling Vera!” The woman embraced her. “We promised we’d return. And who’s this?” She nodded at Margaret.
“My neighbour, Margaret. A dear friend.”
“Lovely!” The man smiled. “We hoped to meet Vera’s neighbours.”
“How do you know her?” Margaret demanded.
“Oh, we go way back,” the woman said mysteriously. “Don’t we, Vera?”
Vera nodded, though doubt flickered in her eyes.
“What exactly do you do?” Margaret pressed.
“We help people,” the man replied. “Those needing… companionship. Understanding. A little aid. Vera’s just such a person.”
“What kind of aid?”
“Sometimes just a chat. Sometimes more.”
Margaret’s unease swelled. These people were too charming, too knowing. How did they grasp Vera’s loneliness?
“Vera,” she urged, “let’s discuss this—”
“Discuss what?” Vera cried. “They’re here! For me! Come in, all of you!”
The party reignited. Music, laughter, warmth. This time, Margaret watched up close.
The guests were mesmerizing—attentive, asking just the right questions. Vera blossomed, sharing stories that suddenly seemed thrilling under their gaze.
“Remember,” the woman said, “how you dreamed of being a ballerina?”
Vera startled. “How did you know? I’ve never told anyone.”
“You told us last night. Don’t you remember?”
“I… suppose.”
But Margaret knew—As Margaret locked eyes with the suited man, she realized with a chill that his smile didn’t reach his hollow, depthless gaze, and she knew—whatever they truly were, they’d never let Vera go now.
