Short Story — Four steps up, four steps down.
“Four steps up, four steps down”
“Four steps up, four steps down.”
I keep chanting my favourite childhood rhyme, painting red boxes on the floor, hopping between them, and feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over me.
“How does it look?” I ask, glancing at Amy and Stuart reclining on the couch. They remain silent, their expressions blank. A flicker of irritation rises in me.
“Seriously, do you like it or not?” Still no response. The silence feels heavy, almost suffocating.
Amy, my ex-girlfriend, and Stuart, my childhood friend, used to be my closest companions. In college, we were inseparable — dubbed the Three Musketeers by some, and occasionally, the three losers. We loved this game, playing it whenever we could — on the streets, in my backyard, anywhere.
But things changed. They both did.
One night, years ago, I caught them kissing in my garage. I’d only stepped out for a moment to grab some paint. When I confronted them, Amy confessed that she’d never loved me — she only stayed with me because of my family’s wealth. Stuart admitted he was only around for the perks of being my friend.
They broke up with me that night — not just as a boyfriend but as a friend.
It took time, but I moved on. I built my own life and my own business and left them behind. Or so I thought.
Then, four years later, out of the blue, Stuart called. He invited me to dinner, and though I hesitated, curiosity got the better of me. When I arrived, I learned they’d married — something they hadn’t bothered to tell me about until that night.
Stuart finally revealed the real reason for the invitation as we ate: they were broke, deep in debt, and desperate for my financial help.
I agreed to help. After all, I had the money. But I also had something else in mind.
After dinner, I suggested we play the box game, for old times’ sake. They agreed, perhaps thinking it would ease the tension. We grabbed some beers and headed to the garage. I began painting the familiar red boxes while they sat quietly on the couch, watching.
“Come on, guys, say something,” I urge, walking towards them. I place my hands on their shoulders, leaning in close. “Do you like the boxes? Do you want to join me?”
I nudge them gently. Their heads loll forward, then drop to the ground with a sickening thud, like coconuts falling from a tree. Their eyes are wide open, staring into nothingness, and blood pools beneath them.
“I’ll take that as a no,” I murmur, wiping my hands on my pants. Calmly, I dip my fingers into the blood and continue painting. The red streaks blend seamlessly with the lines of my childhood game.
“You shouldn’t have invited me to dinner,” I say softly, finishing the last box. “You never knew how long I waited for this.”
I step back, admiring my work, then hop between the boxes again.
“Four steps up, four steps down. Four steps up, four steps down.”
