The Thing
on the Stairs
By
Steve
Sheppard
I can feel the room growing darker as I write, a storm is
gathering in the distance, rumbling low and ominous in a twilight that has
become somewhat premature, and here I sit, I know not how long I may have
before the thing on the stairs becomes, the thing in my room, but I will
continue to breathe, write and explain for as long as I possibly can.
It started on my way home from a much needed holiday, I
pushed the door open to find the stairs to my upper chamber completely covered
with every single pair of shoes I had, including an old pair of tired worn out
slippers, and a pair of wellington boots used for memorable fishing trips. Some
of these items I hadn’t seen for years, some I thought I had thrown away, but
here they were, all cast asunder upon my stairs from first step to last;
needless to say my first thought was a burglary, but my first instincts were
not to call the local constabulary, but to pick up the nearest heavy object and
go a hunting for interlopers.
Of course none were to be found and the next two hours were
spent tidying up this sea of errant footwear from my stairway, only then to fall
into a soft arm chair, exhausted and holding tightly a very large whiskey. Glancing
outside I could see the texture of the light of this late October day change
palpably, what was once bright and sunny, happy and soothing, now began to take
on a more oppressive and sombre mood, a storm was coming, however I had no idea
at that point the severity and intensity of that on coming rage.
I reached for my remote thinking that some music may lift my
mood and raise my spirits, with a sip of my single malt I pressed a playlist,
magical new age tunes volume one, however to my surprise Billy Joel and Storm
Front blared from the speakers, which was particularly strange as I did not
have a digital copy of that album yet, but here it was.
In the distance I thought I saw a flash streak across the
violently waving corn field, a distant rumble signified the storm front that Mr
Joel purported to earlier sing about, was indeed a comin’!
I took both my beverage and my laptop upstairs to my bed
room, a place where I was more than used to spending time with myself, through
the window the sound of the wind rattled, just gently at first, just enough to
whisper the portent of impending doom into my mind.
Opening the lid of the laptop I sat in my soft and malleable
chair, I pressed a key that dismissed the Stonehenge wallpaper on my desktop,
and sought solace in my music once more, I actioned playlist 2 and again to my
confusion this time, I heard Andy Rogers and Halloween, a very intense dramatic
offering that set the scene redolent of the subject matter with consummate
ease, and then the electronic refrains of David Wright and Walking With Ghosts,
which was quickly followed by non-other than Medwyn Goodall and Demons, quickly
I pulled the plug from its socket, drained my glass, and reached for solace
from mister Glenfiddich.
I had never been one to have ever thought of anything about
Halloween other than it being a childish waste of time, based merely on
superstition and tall tales, but here was I literally living inside one. It was
at this point that I heard the first full crash of thunder, it rattled like a
thousand sabres before battle commenced, the vibration shook my very soul, and
the static in the air crackled like a hundred frying eggs.
Then time seemed to stop, each breath I inhaled felt cold,
each one exhaled drifted across the room like fog on a November afternoon in
eighteen century London, and then the first step on the bottom of the stairs. I
discounted it to begin with, thinking that It was nothing more than my over
active imagination, I laughed expecting to see either Kings Clown wanting some
Candy, or Barkers Pinhead wanting something more than my dead lights!
However the second, third and fourth steps changed this
cavalier attitude, each step was so heavy, so intense, so very vast, and if a step
can be, so dark. The whiskey no longer held any false sanctuary for me, and as
I sit, unable to move, I can sense the thing on the stairs behind me now, its
black eyes burying into my still beating heart. Its grin, an ear to ear macabre
sight that would be impossible to achieve with any normal human mouth, but its
stench, oh it’s disgusting violent repulsive stench was just too much to bear,
it hovered behind me now like a thousand dead bodies riddled with a multitude
of eager, hungry maggots, and like Stephen Kings Langoliers, I swear I can hear
them saying “We’re coming to eat you all up, because you’ve been a bad, bad,
boy”
As the last clap of thunder raged across this pitch black
landscape, my laptop started playing with only the power of the storm as its
source, and the very last song I heard from its speakers would be more
terrifying than anything I was about to face, more evil than Black Sabbath, far
more scary that any song by Iron Maiden and Metallica would never be able to
reach the sheer depths of fear created by my last listen ever on planet Earth,
and now as my hands slip from the keyboard, and I can feel my eyes close, and my heart
slowly ceases to beat, that last demonic devilish song, the last utterance of
humanity I would ever hear, would be my own pit and pendulum, those two last
words, sung with such an evil intent……………………..Baby Shark!
