My feet were completely silent as I took deliberate steps down the spiral staircase.
The railings were wrought in iron, crusted at its crevasses, browned and corroded and rough. My hands clutched the cold metal nonetheless, as every other step down the staircase was missing. It was hard to tell if it was poorly designed, or simply made for something with a larger stride.Â
I wasnât quite sure how long I had been traversing this tedious spiral, and I wasnât particularly sure where I was going either. The steps themselves were padded and soft, carpeted in a red that was probably rich underneath the grime.
It was hard to see where the stairs ended, and when I squinted through the large gaps in front of me, I only saw more of the same red steps darkening into eternity. My body was tense as my thoughts looped into themselves, avoiding what I wouldnât like to admit. I kept my mind focused on the small things, the microactions.Â
Thinking about anything, except for the blunt weight on my chest and the subtle shake in my legs.
I glance down once, in the gap of the missing stair.
I glance back up, eyes trained in front.Â
My hand slides down the rusty rail, my fingers clutching the metal.
Then my front foot comes forth, back foot follows.Â
I glance down. Look back up. Slide my hand down. Step forth once. Repeat.
I glance down, the darkness looks the same. I look back up. My hand slides down. One more step. Repeat.
Look down, hand slide, step, pause, look, glance, hand, step, pause, look. Look, slide, step, look, step, step, slide down.
Look down, hand slide, glance, hand, pause, smile.
My steps were never silent.Â
I do not take another step, as I watch from the gap as a giant bunny figure in yellow begins to skip up the stairs. Towards me.Â
I turn on my heel, my right hand now clutching the rail. My heart pounds hard in my chest. Itâs there, she sees me. Oh, she sees me, sheâs coming towards me, sheâs going to find me, she knows where I am.
I hope my steps are silent.
I donât glance down, I slide my hand up, front foot first, back foot follows. Repeat.Â
I canât glance down, hand up, step forward. Repeat.Â
I wonât glance down, hand, foot, slide. Hand, step, step, step, step, step, step.
Hand slide, step forward. Step forward, step, repeat. I canât glance down. My steps are silent, theyâre silent. She canât hear me, theyâre silent. I canât look.
Peering up with the same, toothless smile, inches from my heel. A smile twisted past where a mouth could be, and where teeth couldnât exist.
A shriek escapes my lips, and my heart screams out of my body, the steps under me beginning to tilt, teetering, pushing me towards her. A rubber hand lops around my face, and the pressure of the plastic prints are hard enough to bruise my cheekbones. I let out a breathy grunt, as the air is knocked out of my lungs and I am pushed onto the dirty, carpeted stairs.Â
I donât even realize I am crying until I taste salt in my mouth. She holds me down by just my head, and my body flails uselessly against my neck.Â
My hands rush to try to push her off, but her grip is absolute. The room shifts, vibrating softly as if amused by my predicament. I hear the rustle of her bright yellow garb as she moves her other, red rubbery hand. It grabs one of my arms by its wrist, prying it away with little effort.
I choke hard. âStop! Pleas--â I donât even understand what she is doing. Does she even understand what she is doing? My body shakes, it braces for what it dreads. And she continues to pull my arm away from my body.Â
I feel my shoulder dislodge. I shriek loudly, tasting the must of the carpet as the rest of me shakes hard. Itâs sharp, itâs stark, itâs violently seizing my senses. I can feel it, but it doesnât end.
First, I feel the ligament. I feel it snap-- I hear my scream before I feel it. Then, I feel the muscle, the fibers pulling away from the pressure. Then, it tears my skin, ripping away like paper. And then she stops, and drops my arm before tearing it away from me completely.Â
It clings onto my body by a threadbare piece of nerve, or tissue, or skin. Blood erupts from the shredded joint, drowning the bare skin of my arm before dripping off my limp fingertips into the void.Â
She releases her grip on my head, but I do not move from where I am. Bile forces itself out of my lips, acrid and yellow. My body trembles so hard I canât move away from her hunkering frame. I feel a deep churning in my shaking body, and my brain feels fuzzy. A faint buzzing permeates my ears, and black spots cloud my vision rapidly. I gasp loudly into the ground, but no air enters my lungs. I canât feel my arm. I canât feel either of them. I try to stand up, but my body is shaking too intensely.Â
There is nothing left in my brain, just the violent, rapid shaking. Just the numb, the burning fear, the buzzing. My eyes close shut, as I feel her hands flip me over, forcing me to face her as I seize helplessly on the floor.
I feel her shadow looming over me.
Her face is twisted, in the same eerie grin. There is no emotion behind her wide, unblinking eyes. Her hands cover her mouth, in mock pity. But her face is frozen in its delirious, uncaring smile.
I hate her. I hate her so much.Â
I canât stop shaking, I canât stop crying.
Will she ever leave me alone?
When I wake up, my heart is beating in my ears. I do not hesitate to turn on the light of my lamp, illuminating my room with its soft yellow light. Sweat beads at my brow, running down in dollops. My heart is so loud in my ears, I canât hear my heavy breaths escaping my throat. The face of that-- thing. It has haunted me for the past week. I-- I canât do this anymore.
Tears well in my eyes. I donât care if itâs pathetic.
My hand brushes over my shoulder, the one that she ripped apart in my dream. My hands are trembling, but itâs fine. Itâs intact. Itâs not real.
I sit at the edge of my bed, hands in my hair, eyes trained down. I donât want to close my eyes. Her smile is carved into my vision.Â
Her lifeless, inhumane eyes burned into my memory.
Itâs still unbearably loud.
So loud, I didnât hear the creak of the door. Opening gently.
So loud, I didnât see her red, rubbery fingers, grasping around its frame.
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