Where Did the Party Go? by Lesley Whyte

I stumbled out of the bathroom. The doorway was a lot narrower than when I'd gone inside and I whacked my shoulder as I left. Actually, I hit my shoulder and bounced, thereby smacking the opposite elbow against the frame. More bruises to add to my ever-growing collection. I headed back down the stairs, gripping the stairs in case one of them moved again - I don't care what anyone says, sometimes they move.

The music was quieter now. In fact, I couldn't hear it at all. I could still hear the clinking of glasses and bottles, the hum of voices, but no music. Weird. Maybe someone was changing the track. The whole house stunk of sweat and sex and spilt drinks. There was a fug of smoke clinging to everything as well.

I went into the living room, tripping on the torn edge of the carpet - I really ought to fix that - and found my guests sitting on the furniture or standing in the corners, grim-faced. None of them were drinking or dancing - though there was still no music - and they weren't exactly dressed for a good time.

"Hey, where did the party go?" I cackled and made to put on some music, but someone caught my arm. I looked up and found my mother, grey and tired.

"Honey, this is an intervention."