Thin Man Stairs

The man almost seemed to rock in his wheelchair when he said the word, as if some special meaning to it became more pointed with his whole body backing the syllables.

Brewster eyed the staircase. An inch of dust and mold covered them and even when he was half his age, his width still would have been an issue.

"Yes. Yes, I can get up them if they hold together. But I wanted...rather, need to know about the..."

"All your answers are up there." The old man said, pointing with a flesh covered bony finger. "BOY!" he added.

He sighed and chose to dismiss the ancient half-man and his words. After all, he was in the house that had plagued his psyche all these years. He had to finish what he started.

Or rather what the house had started.

He looked back toward the front door. Through the meager light that the drawn curtains let in, he could see only a few pieces of antique furniture populated the room and the old man point upwards.

He wanted to leave. The feeling tried to steal his courage away, but even that few yards that separated him from the outside world, the doorway looked impossible to reach.

His only exit was up.

"Alright. Let's get this over with."

When his foot touched the first step, he suddenly realized how hot it was in the house. Tiny balls of sweat formed on his half-bald head and tumbled down the rolls on the back of his neck like miniature roller-coaster cars.

"No air conditioning in here huh?" he jokingly asked the old man, who began cackling with a hideous laugh at his plight.

He took a second step and had to turn sideways in order to continue. Obviously the stairs had been built in a time when men where all smaller, he thought.

With each step that passed behind him, the temperature increased. By the time he ascended the thirteen steps to the landing of the second floor, his white polo shirt was soaked with sweat. He turned and looked down at the old man, but the wheelchair and its owner where gone.

There were three doors leading off of the landing, all of them closed, as well as more stairs that lead to the upper level of the house. The window that had tormented him as a child was up there. He knew what he was after was in the attic, the third floor.

He made his way on the sagging floorboards to the foot of the last set of stairs. The heat was intolerable, and he wondered if the man had the furnace turned on in the middle of summer. His legs were wet, and he was glad he chose to wear shorts today. Even his black flip-flops were drenched. They seemed to stick to the dusty floor with each step he took.

The staircase that lead to the third floor ended at a single doorway. He turned sideways and took the first tentative steps toward it. The air was filling up with humidity, heat, and the acrid stench of rot. He choked back a dry heave and continued.

Three steps toward the door and he congratulated himself for coming this far. The courage he had garnered had served him well and for the first time in his adult life, he was not completely afraid. It was as if the house, these stairs, even the name calling man had...

His thoughts drifted off.

"They all had wanted me here. Pushed me..."

His balance wavered at the thought. He pushed against the stairway wall till he steadied himself. In the process he managed to take two more steps upward.

This shook him more than the insufferable heat did.

"No....that's enough..." he said quietly.

He tried to take a step down and found his raised foot would not move. He turned as best he could and placed his foot on the only spot in the narrow stairs where it would be allowed to rest. The next stair up.

"Oh Jesus." he said.

"Jebus won't help you now Brewster BOY!" came the half-man's unseen holler. It was followed by that nasty laughter again.

He took a full step up toward the third floor and the sound of movement began. A reddish tinted light appeared from under the door above him.

"Oh Jesus." he said.

Deep, animalistic noises and growls billowed from under the worn oak door and down the few remaining steps to the fat man packed in the stairway.

"I'm done here!" he yelled. "I've seen and heard all I want! Let me go!" His yelling crossed quickly into panicked screaming.

The sound of scraping claws on the wooden floor became more rapid and impatient, as the red glow steadily increased until it framed the entire door.

"I'm not going in there!" he screamed.

"Jebus says you are Brewster BOY!" the laughter from downstairs carried up to him. "You took awhile to get back here...we were gettin' hungry!"

Brewster tried to turn back, flailing his arms in the little space he had, throwing his considerable mass against the unseen wall that forced him upwards.

"We had to get by with your old momma till you came back....we can get em so far away...takes em longer to drain out...but we got her...."

"Mom?" Brewster thought.

"Now it's time for BOY Brewster to come home!"

The red-lined door at the top of the stairs opened inward with a sudden jolt. Searing heat leapt over him as he tried desperately to pull away.

A figure of a man formed of molten copper, fresh blood, and a sticky purple ooze filled the doorway. Brewster instantly knew the beast's deformed face, as it reached out its long taloned arms down the stairs.

"Welcome home Junior."