What Walks Up

The neighbor girl lived. Sophie. That's her name.

Her mother came to my door this morning to tell me. Eight AM. I was still at the kitchen table. Haven't really moved from here since yesterday.

"She's going to be okay," she said. Still looked exhausted. "They're keeping her another day but she's going to be okay."

"That's good."

"The doctor said if you hadn't kept her still, if you'd moved her wrong..." She didn't finish. Just stood there crying. "Thank you."

I nodded. She left.

I sat back down.

Kept thinking about Henley's scream. The one I heard three weeks ago that was too long. The one that sounded worse than what actually happened.

Sophie got that scream instead.

But I don't know why. Don't know how. Just know that Henley fell and got a scraped knee and Sophie fell and cracked her skull and they both made the same sound.

Elisa would say I'm connecting things that aren't connected. That I'm losing it.

Maybe.

It's 11 AM now. House is empty. Still no word from Elisa.

I keep staring at the basement door.

Still closed. Still has the chair shoved under the handle from when I locked it at 2 AM.

I'd heard footsteps coming up. When I was alone. Counted to eight and they started for real and I ran out of the house like a fucking coward.

Haven't been able to stop thinking about it.

About the fact that I heard them twice. Echo and real. Which means someone walked up those stairs.

But I was alone.

My phone keeps buzzing. Elisa's brother checking in. Couple of work emails I'm ignoring. A text from Henley that just says "dad when are you coming to get us."

I don't know how to answer that.

Don't know how to explain that I can't leave the house because I'm waiting for something. Don't even know what I'm waiting for. Just that I heard my own voice from the basement days ago telling someone not to go down there and I still haven't said those words yet.

So they're still coming.

The washing machine is still full of wet clothes down there. Been sitting for days. Probably moldy by now.

I should deal with it. Should just go down there and deal with it.

But I can't make myself open that door.

Keep thinking about the footsteps. About counting to eight. About running.

It's getting dark.

I haven't eaten today. Should probably eat something.

But I can't move from this chair.

The basement door is right there. Six feet away. Chair still shoved under the handle.

And I keep hearing it in my head. My own voice. That desperate "please."

Don't go down there.

Please.

Don't go down there.

I tried calling Elisa again at 6 PM. She didn't answer. Called Henley instead.

"Hey bug."

"Dad, when are we coming home?"

"Soon."

"Mom says you're sick."

"Yeah. Kind of."

"Are you going to be okay?"

I looked at the basement door while she asked me that. At the chair. At the crack of darkness underneath.

"I don't know, bug."

She was quiet for a second. Then: "I miss you."

"Miss you too."

We hung up.

It's 9 PM.

I got up to use the bathroom. Came back. Sat down at the table.

The chair I'd shoved under the basement door handle is gone.

I know I put it there. Know I locked that door and shoved a chair under the handle at 2 AM because I was too scared to leave it open.

But the chair is back at the table now. Like it never moved.

And the basement door is open.

Just a crack. Maybe three inches.

I'm sitting here trying to remember if I moved the chair. If I opened the door at some point today and forgot.

But I didn't. I know I didn't.

Which means someone else did.

But I'm alone in the house.

The door has been open for twenty minutes now. I've been watching it. Waiting for it to move. For it to open wider or close.

It's not moving.

Just that three inch crack. Just that strip of darkness.

I can't see the stairs from here. Can't see anything down there.

Just dark.

I should close it. Should get up and close it and shove the chair back under the handle and maybe shove the whole fucking table against it too.

But I can't move.

Because I keep thinking about the footsteps. About how I heard them coming up and I ran.

About how I was supposed to be here for whatever came up those stairs.

It's 10 PM.

The door is still open that same three inches.

I'm still sitting here.

My legs are asleep. Pins and needles. Haven't moved in over an hour.

Can't stop staring at that crack of darkness.

I heard something.

From downstairs.

Not footsteps. Something else. A sound I can't place. Like fabric moving. Or breathing.

No. Not breathing.

Just air moving. Like something displaced it.

Counted to five. Nothing.

No echo this time.

The smell is getting worse. That mildew smell from the washing machine. It's stronger now. Reaching up from the basement. Filling the kitchen.

Makes me want to gag.

Should close the door just to keep the smell out.

But I still can't move.

It's 11:30.

The door is open wider now.

I didn't see it move. Was looking right at it and it was three inches and I blinked and now it's six inches.

Can see the top step now. The way it drops down into nothing.

My phone buzzed. Text from Elisa's brother again.

"You're scaring her. Call Elisa. Fix this."

I stared at it for five minutes.

Then I turned off my phone.

Midnight.

The door is open a foot now.

Definitely didn't see it move. But it's wider. Much wider.

I can see the top three steps now. The railing. The light switch on the wall that doesn't work.

And I can hear something.

Not footsteps.

Something else.

Like weight shifting on wood. Like something settling into position.

It's waiting.

I haven't moved in three hours.

Can't feel my legs at all now. Bladder is screaming at me. Mouth is dry.

But I can't look away from that door.

It's open two feet now. Almost halfway.

Can see the first five steps.

And I can see something else.

At the bottom of the stairs.

Can't make out what it is. Too dark down there. But there's something. A shape.

It's standing at the bottom looking up.

I blinked.

The shape is on the third step now.

Didn't see it move. Didn't hear anything. But it's closer.

Still can't make out what it is. Just a dark shape. Taller than it should be. Wrong proportions.

It's not moving. Just standing there on that third step.

Looking up at me.

The door is three quarters open now.

The shape is on the seventh step.

Almost halfway up.

I should run. Should get up and run like I did before. Out the front door. Down the street. Anywhere.

But I can't move.

And I don't think I'm supposed to.

1 AM.

It's on the tenth step.

I can see it better now. Can see enough to know it's not a person.

Don't know what it is. Can't describe it. My brain won't let me look directly at it. Keeps sliding off. Keeps refusing to process what I'm seeing.

But it's on the tenth step.

And there are only thirteen steps total.

The basement door is fully open now.

The shape is on the twelfth step.

One more.

I can't breathe. Chest is tight. Heart hammering so hard it hurts.

But I can't move. Can't scream. Can't do anything but sit here and watch.

It's at the top of the stairs.

Standing in the doorway.

I can't look at it directly. Can't make my eyes focus on it. But I know it's there. Know it's looking at me.

And I know what I'm supposed to do.

What I was always supposed to do.

My mouth is opening.

I can feel the words coming. Can feel them rising up from somewhere deep. From that echo I heard days ago.

And I'm saying them.

"Don't go down there."

But I'm not saying them to the shape.

I'm saying them to the front door.

Where Elisa just walked in.

Where she's standing in the entryway with her keys in her hand looking at me.

"Please," I say.

And the shape turns.

Looks at her.

"Don't go down there."

But she's not going down there.

She's going toward the kitchen. Toward me. Toward the basement door that's wide open behind me.

And I understand.

The echo wasn't wrong.

I'm not warning someone about going into the basement.

I'm warning someone about something coming up.

Elisa drops her keys.

Starts backing toward the front door.

Her eyes are locked on something behind me.

On the shape that's not in the basement doorway anymore.

That's behind me now.

That's getting closer.

And I still can't move.

Can't turn around.

Can only watch Elisa's face as she sees it.

As she backs into the wall.

As she opens her mouth to scream.

And I'm still saying it.

The only words I can say.

"Don't go down there. Please. Don't go down there."

Over and over.

Like a loop.

Like an echo that finally found its moment.

Elisa is screaming.

The shape is behind me.

And I'm still sitting at this table.

Still frozen.

Still saying words that don't mean anything anymore.

Because I got it wrong.

The echo wasn't about warning someone away.

It was about begging them to stay up here.

With me.

With whatever walked up those stairs.

The shape is close enough now that I can feel it.

Cold like basement air.

Wrong like a sound that arrives too early.

Elisa's scream is getting farther away.

Running.

Front door slamming.

Gone.

And I'm alone with it.

With whatever I was supposed to face five days ago when I heard the footsteps and ran.

It's right behind me now.

So close I should be able to hear it breathing.

But it's not breathing.

It's just there.

Waiting.

My phone is buzzing on the table. Face down. Can't see who it is.

Probably Elisa. Probably calling the cops.

Doesn't matter.

Because I'm starting to understand something.

The footsteps I heard coming up the stairs.

They weren't someone else's.

They were mine.

Five days from now.

Or five minutes.

Or five seconds.

I don't know anymore.

All I know is the basement door is open and there's something behind me and I can't move and I'm so fucking tired.

So tired of listening.

Of waiting.

Of being three seconds ahead of my own life.

The shape is touching my shoulder now.

Cold.

Wrong.

And I'm thinking about Henley. About Elisa. About Sophie in the hospital.

About all the sounds I've heard that didn't match.

About all the echoes that showed different endings.

And I'm wondering if this is one of those times.

If somewhere, five seconds ago, I heard myself scream.

If somewhere ahead, reality is catching up.

The clock on the wall says 1:47 AM.

The shape is pulling me up from the chair.

My legs don't work. Haven't moved in hours.

It's dragging me toward the basement door.

Toward the stairs.

And I can't fight it.

Can't even scream.

Can only think about Elisa's face as she ran.

About how she finally saw what I've been afraid of.

About how she didn't even try to help me.

The shape is at the top of the stairs now.

Pulling me toward the first step.

And I'm wondering if this is what I heard five days ago.

If these are the footsteps coming up.

If I'm about to walk down these stairs and then back up them and then down again in some kind of loop.

An echo that keeps repeating.

Getting longer each time.

My foot is on the first step.

The wood creaks.

Same sound as before.

The shape pulls me down another step.

And another.

And I'm thinking about my voice. About that desperate "please."

About how I said it to Elisa but I should have been saying it to myself.

Don't go down there.

Please.

Don't go down there.

But I'm already going.

Already halfway down.

The darkness is complete now.

Can't see anything.

Just feel the shape pulling me deeper.

Step after step after step.

The smell is overwhelming. Mildew and something else. Something wrong.

We're at the bottom now.

The concrete is cold under my feet.

The shape lets go of my shoulder.

And I'm standing alone in the darkness.

Waiting.

For what, I don't know.

Maybe for the sound of footsteps coming down behind me.

Maybe for the echo of my own breathing.

Maybe for nothing.

The washing machine is humming somewhere to my left.

Still going. Still running.

Like it never stopped.

And I'm wondering if this is where I've been all along.

If everything else was the echo.

If I've been down here for days and I just didn't know it.

The darkness presses against me.

Thick.

Wrong.

And somewhere above me, I hear a door close.

The basement door.

Locked from the other side.

And I'm alone down here.

With whatever came up those stairs.

Or whatever never left.

I can't tell anymore.

All I know is I'm not at the kitchen table.

I'm not waiting.

I'm here.

And I don't think I'm getting out.