The Stairs

He lumbers up the creaky wooden stairs, nimbly avoiding the gaping hole in the sixth step. He shouldn't be in here, hasn't been since he was a boy. He runs his fingers through his thinning hair, looks out the broken window, sees lightning send spiderweb cracks through the sky. Thunder crashes. Rain starts to fall through a hole in the ceiling above him; fat, languid drops that plop onto his knit sweater and snake their way down into the patterns of the wool. He sees the door at the top of the staircase now, barely. A flash of lightning illuminates it like the Holy Grail. Then, above the din of the storm, he hears it.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

A heartbeat.

But where is it coming from? He pauses on the rickety steps, trying to listen. He hears nothing more, starts making his way up again. Then he hears the unmistakable wailing cry of a newborn baby and a woman shrieking, "HELP!" He stops again. The yelling and the crying cease. He shrugs. All he wants to do is get in and get out. He only came for one thing. The thought of finally getting his hands on the treasure at the top of the stairs makes his mouth water.

He starts climbing again, faster and faster. The wailing of the baby starts up, the shrieking of the woman, the heartbeat. It's not real, he thinks, they don't want me to have it, I can't let them win.

He looks up, sees that he only has four more stairs. I'm not stopping now. As he bounds up, his right foot lands on a rotted piece of step. The last thing he sees is the brass doorknob, shining like a promise, before he plummets down to eternal darkness.