log
Forty-seven days. I've started writing the knocks down. It feels stupid, but I write other people's sentences down all day, so this is nothing.
wed 28 nov 11:32 thu 29 nov 11:32 fri 30 nov 11:33 sat 1 dec 11:33 sun 2 dec 11:34 mon 3 dec 11:34 tue 4 dec 11:34 wed 5 dec 11:35
Always three knocks. Always nobody. I've been standing right behind the door at twenty-five past, and it still comes, and I open it, and there's the staircase, blue.
It's drifting. A minute every two days, roughly. Whoever it is, they're getting lazier.
I tried leaving the phone on the windowsill pointed at the stairs to film it. The battery died at minus six before half eleven. Phones don't like it here.
Page 140. The grandmother has had another baby.