I shame to wear a heart so white.

  Oh, I don’t really think our ruckus is quite so dignified. I may be from the… posh side of town, but my flatmates certainly aren’t; they’ve taught me a thing or two about the “peasant” lifestyle and I’d be foolish to say I’ve not participated in as many raucous events as I have formal ones. Typically the gatherings being held in our penthouse are not of the elegant nature.   It’s never too late to move, you know. You would, of course, have to get in touch with Mr. Minola, which, as we previously discussed, is not easy to do.

  I'll leave him a note in a time capsule. He'll unearth it eventually.

Katie McGrath for InStyle (2013).

  The wood flooring is lovely in this building, it’d be such a shame to rip those up just to find nothing — assuming, of course, that there is nothing. That would be quite the surprise, wouldn’t it? Though, I can assure you: if you do happen to find a dismembered body hidden beneath your floorboards, I certainly wasn’t the one to put it there. Unless, of course, you meant a nasty surprise in regards to me… in which case, I’m unable to quell your worries. I don’t think there’s such a twist about me.

  Well you're certainly not beneath our floorboards, that's for sure; you're a good few floors above us. I think anyone who lives in any penthouse has an unspoken writ to make all the noise they wish, given that it's usually classy. Glasses clinking, pheasants being shot and plucked, rowdy artsy types contemplating life.   I knew we should have looked into one. Perhaps I can coerce Mr Macbeth into stretching a little further towards the heavens. He's worth it. 

  I hardly think foresight’s got anything to do with it, I just know that I’d be going bloody mental after a few hours of hearing the dripping nonstop. Think The Tell-tale Heart… or, maybe you shouldn’t. The last thing you’d need with an over-active imagination is thinking there’s a beating heart in the floorboards.

  And thank you for fueling my paranoia. I'll add it to my task list tomorrow: check all floors for festering organs. You might be a veteran, but we're still fairly fresh. I'm still waiting for some nasty surprise.

 I’ve got two gremlins of my own, really, but they’re technically my flatmates. It’s amazing really, their capability to rarely ever show their faces yet make such a mess of things around the house. And I wouldn’t even entertain the thought of feeding them after midnight. That’s just asking for trouble.

  Right again, two for two. Clearly you've been blessed with the gift of foresight, and I really am going mad. Everything appear to be in working order, except my wild and fanciful imagination. 

  Actually, now that I think about it… I don’t think Gemma, the secretary, gets in until ten. Perhaps that’s why you’ve not got an answer. And, I don’t think the building is crumbling to bits at the moment; hopefully you don’t have to set the Gremlin traps for a while yet.

  Ha! Contact! Finally. You were right. Apparently someone's going to look at it "between 11 and 4". Good thing 'Nothing' cancelled on me for the day, and I can spend it all listening to the bloody dripping.   Too bad, really. Gremlins might've been nice company. Like children you never see, because they're candid about taking and breaking things.

 Perhaps it’s a leak instead of a faulty tap. They do sound similar sometimes, and it makes sense that a leak is a possibility if you’ve checked all the faucets already.

  And I've rung about a dozen times downstairs, but I'm not getting any answer. First the plumbing, then the phone; next it'll be the heating, or the oven, and I'll have to resign myself to setting Gremlin traps. 

  I don't believe I caught your name, did I?

I’ve said it a million times, and I’ll say it a million again. Bad girls have way more fun.