Week 9: The Stairs (Prompt: A creepy story)
It wasn’t so much that the stairs were creaking. The stairs creaked all the time. It was an old house, that’s one of the things she loved so much about it. Old Victorian, bought it at a dirt cheap price when she and Rich first got married and patched it up with love and care.
No, the creaking stairs weren’t really the problem. She loved them, really. It was a way of telling each other they were home, the long work day was over, kind of their secret signal that the bed wouldn’t be cold for much longer.
The problem was that the stairs shouldn’t be creaking, because Rich wasn’t home. She knew he wasn’t because he wasn’t supposed to be and he always called when he left work early, and because the front door didn’t close properly unless you slammed it, and she hadn’t heard it slam.
It wasn’t the house settling, the house settling didn’t sound like that. She knew what that sounded like. This was like Rich had come home early and hadn’t slammed the door, but she knew that wasn’t right.
“Rich?” she called hesitantly.
The stairs only kept creaking.