I was living on the worst street in town. I didn't like it. Horrible things would happen in my block of flats. I would hear these things happen in the hallway and hide under the bed covers in my flat. One night around 1AM I heard something happening, more horrible than previous things. Loud bangs. A dog going berserk. Shouting. Feet thundering on the main stairs. A police siren. Eventually, the commotion died down. Next morning I woke to the sound of the building's fire alarm. I crept into the hallway and was halfway down the stairs barefoot before I realised the floor was covered in dog poo. I whacked at the alarm panel until it stopped blaring. Then I rang my Mam and Dad. I tried the building's front door, but it was jammed. A man came down the stairs. He was very thin and had a terrible black eye. There was a Jack Russell with him. 'I can't get out the door,' I said. He said, 'The other bloke upstairs kicked my door in last night and attacked me. Charlie got scared and shat all down the stairs.’ That explained things. We both tried the door again. 'I'll get a knife,' he said, went upstairs and came back with a massive kitchen knife. He hacked at the door until it sprang open. My Mam was outside. She looked at the man and said, 'Oh dear, do you need medical assistance?' 'Nah,' he said, 'Yer alright,' and walked away.