Thin Walls

Echo Lane Hostel was all creaky floors and shared courtyards, the kind of old Vienna building that vibrated with every footstep. The walls were thin enough to hear a whisper, a curse, a cough. Oliver liked that in the daylight. At night, it made him feel like he was living inside other people's lives.

He woke to a thud next door, then a muffled argument. At first he rolled over, annoyed. Then he heard a sharp cry and the sound of something heavy dragged across the floor. Oliver sat up, heart thudding. He checked the time, 2:12 a.m., and reached for his phone. Mina in the bunk across from him had earbuds in, asleep. He couldn't ignore it.

He stepped into the hall and pressed his ear to the wall. The argument had shifted to a low hiss. He heard a man's voice and a woman's sob. He pulled back, trembling, and dialed the local emergency number. His voice sounded small as he described the room number and the noises. The dispatcher told him to stay inside. He said he would.

Oliver returned to his room and locked the door. His breathing was fast. He sat on his bunk, watching the doorknob, listening. The hallway was quiet, then footsteps approached. He heard a knock. He held his breath. The knock came again, firmer, then a voice: "Open up."

He thumbed the emergency number again, but the call failed. The Wi-Fi icon blinked out. He realized the hallway was the only exit and the only danger at once.

In the next room, Mina pulled out her earbuds and listened, unsure if she should intervene or hide. The hostel's "quiet hours" sign felt like a joke.

The silence was louder than the voices.

Oliver swallowed hard.

His hands shook.

He didn't move. The lock rattled. The doorknob turned. The door wasn't the kind of door that held. It gave after a second push. Viktor stepped in with a calm smile and a knuckle already bruised. Oliver backed into the wall, his phone still in his hand.

"You called someone," Viktor said. It was a statement. Oliver tried to speak, to explain, to apologize. He saw a flash of the woman from next door, her face bruised, eyes empty. He heard the sound of sirens, still far away. He thought about the safe feeling he had at the hostel, the sense of community he had posted about earlier. @HostelReaper had commented on his post, "Thin walls cut both ways." He hadn't understood it.

The attack was quick and quiet. Mina woke to a muffled struggle and then silence. She waited, heart pounding, until the sirens came. The police arrived to find Oliver still on the floor, the door ajar, the wall stained. The criminals were gone.

Greta told guests the next day that they were safe. She installed new locks and added a policy about late-night noise complaints. The review board filled with warnings about the thin walls. @HostelReaper replied, "Thin walls cut both ways."