From the Top of the Stairs

Flashfiction Scene

Every Picture Tells a Story

With each step, the walls became more stained and worn, wooden treads more splintered and scored. A reversal of efforts in past remodeling and modernization. The cold followed, it always did. The malevolence that possessed not just the home and its occupant—there had been many—but the soil and stone beneath, cast off bitter radiation.

She—as if gender mattered—enjoyed the chill and the aroma of decay, the eventual state of things that die. Stopping half-way down, she set her doll—the girl’s when she had lived—Betty at her feet. She heard the new people moving in below and looked forward to playing with other… things. Before Timmy, there was Susan, the thing at the top of the stairs. The unnatural was eternal, and it liked the young. They were such fine vessels.


This little piece is now incorporated into my short fiction story TIMMY (told in Halloween episodes each year).


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