There’s someone in the loft

My siblings moved out yesterday. Half an hour after they left, my sister sent these messages to my Dad’s phone:

He jumped up and stood over me, grinning. “Paul, are you coming? They’re saying someone’s in the loft!” He was happier than I had seen him for a long time.

I knew there was no-one in the loft, but I decided to come anyway for something to do.

“It’s probably a Bulgarian”, my Dad said, as we left. “Fucking Bulgarians! Stealing our jobs.” In the street he gleefully shouted, “You bastards!” to himself.

We arrived at their building and went inside. Adam and Lisa were standing at the entrance of their apartment, giggling nervously. I could see they were enjoying the situation almost as much as my Dad was.

I went into the loft with a torch. The loft was quite big. I walked around for about ten minutes, making sure to look in all the corners. There was nothing there. No sign of anyone.

“Why did you think someone was there?” I asked.

My sister replied, “Because Adam took a picture, and when it flashed he could see a figure crouched down. And we kept hearing moans like there was a man there… until Dad scared him off just now.”

I sighed.

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