The Bradbury Chronicles

Wrong Door, Right Number

With every step, my feet scream in agony. Forget the lower back—just staying upright feels like a miracle.

My hands tremble as I dig for my keys, thoughts drifting to a hot shower, reheated Chinese, and a generous glass of wine. That’s the dream right about—

“SURPRISE!”

The hell?!

I nearly scream and slam the door shut in pure panic.

My heart rattles like a snare drum as I replay what I just saw.

Wait… this is my apartment, right?

Yes—the numbers still read 182.

For good measure, I pinch my arm and glance down the hall. Mrs. Combs’ Tesco bag sits outside her door, exactly where it always does. I’m definitely in The Hanover building.

So… who are these strangers in my living room?

They didn’t look threatening. A quick scan revealed five of them, but not a single face rang a bell.

“Eh… surprise…?”

The ringleader spoke up—a man who looked like he’d been carved straight out of marble. Seriously, a Greek god in a party hat.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” he stammered, signalling the others to pack away balloons, cake, and decorations. “My uncle owns the building. We thought this was my cousin’s flat. Clearly, it isn’t. We’ll cover the mess, the cleanup—everything.”

Hours later, nibbling on the cupcake they forgot in their scramble, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Oh, and yes—I did get his number.

A fair trade for the inconvenience, wouldn’t you agree?





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Word Count: 250
Prompt: YOU ENTER YOUR HOUSE AND EVERYONE YELLS, "SURPRISE!" But it's not your birthday. And you don't recognize a single person!
Written For: "WDC Birthday Carnival"