Stop, hey what's that sound?

I'm hiding in the bathroom. It's outside. The dizziness is still there.

I'm fully dressed - more than, actually. In particular, I'm wearing a sweater, my winter-coat and a hat. I've opened every window and door in the house. I'm writing this with my laptop on my lap. I'm waiting for it to go away.

[Approx. nine minutes before.]

*Pfhhhht. Pfhhhhhht... Pfhhhhhhht.*

Working in my cellar (in my new house - more on that another time). There's a sound somewhere in the cellar.

*Pfhhhhhhhhht. Pfhhhhhhhhht... Pfhhhhhhhhhhht.* *SLAM*

*[The sound of running]*

Lena and her friend, Stine, run past my cellar-room. Seconds later the smell hits me, choking me. They've been spray-painting something in the other room. They slammed the door shut to keep the smell inside. To no avail. The smell sieves through every crack and crevice in the old cellar, and permeates the room. In half a minute, I have to go upstairs. When I open the door to the main cellar, I can't breathe. It's not a smell. It's the sweet churning sensation of choking ... burning through the throat towards the stomach.

Lena and Stine smile somewhat perplexedly when I make it up the stairs. I slam the door shut to the cellar. "Eh... It's surprising how the smell drifts everywhere, right? Whoops..." "Yeah, well - you couldn't really know. It's ok. I'll just sit up here for a bit", I say. I storm down the stairs; disconnect my laptop and storm upstairs again.

Lena and Stine planned to go for a walk, so they do that. Just after they've left, I can feel the sensation. The cellar-door is by no means a tight-locking seal, and how is it with gas that is lighter than air? It tends to drift upwards... In a few minutes, it's a done deal. I have to open every window and door upstairs. I do it. Then I take a few deep breaths outside, leap downstairs, and open everything that can be opened downstairs, as well as setting the ventilation-system to ludicrous speed. I sprint upstairs again. It's freezing outside, so I have to put on extra clothes, my winter-coat and a hat. For a moment, I consider to also turn on the vacuum-cleaner, and put it in the door-way. After a moment, I decide not to. Having just moved to the place, this would prematurely condemn me to be viewed as a mad hatter amongst the neighbours.

Resignating, I take my laptop under the arm, and search for the room least permeated by the smell - the bathroom, it turns out - and try to seat myself comfortably on the loo. Before putting my fingers to the keyboard again, on a whim, I decide to set the little occupied-sign.