Halfway Down the Stairs

Halfway down the stairs is a stair where I sit
There isn't any other stair quite like it
I'm not at the bottom, I'm not at the top
So this is the stair where I always stop.
Sweet air filled my lungs as I stepped off of the bus. It had just finished raining and the slick, black pavement was filled with stars. My phone said it was around two in the morning, and I was wasted. As I stumbled back to my apartment, I thought about the conversation I had with my friends while we were out bar hopping earlier.
?You gotta move out of that place, dude.?
?Yeah, it gives me the creeps.?
I laughed at the time and told them that they were just a couple of spoiled rich kids. As someone with a long history of dingy, shared apartments that seemed like something out of ?The Young Ones?, I assured them that my current place was by far the nicest. Sure, the wood creaked and the piping groaned whenever anyone else in the complex had a shower, but it was a small price to pay for the serenity of my own place. As much as I loved my friends, I don?t know if a couple of extroverts like them could ever really understand how much I valued being able to come home and not have to deal with the presence of another person.
There was one thing that bothered me though.
Every night, at exactly one thirty-three in the morning, the music would start.
It was a song I recognised from my childhood. ?Halfway Down the Stairs?, based on a poem by A.A Milne. If any of you have watched the Muppet Show, you might remember one moment where Kermit?s nephew, Robin, sings a cute little song while sitting on a staircase. Ever since I was a kid, I loved that song but for some reason, it always made me a little sad.
Every night, at exactly one thirty-three in the morning, someone in the apartment complex would play that song. I didn?t recognise the singer. One night, I stayed up until dawn trying to find the version they were playing, but I found no matches for the strange voice that haunted the complex. The voice was light and lilting, and clearly belonged to a child. It was actually a pretty cute version of the song, except for the last line.
?So this is the stair where I always stop.?
This would be spoken by another person. Their voice was low, guttural, whispering. I don?t think of myself as somebody who scares easily, but whenever I was awake to hear the end of that song, I turned back into a child shivering in their bed, not daring to let a single limb fall out of my sheets in case some monster were to grab hold and drag me under the bed with them.
I?ve asked a couple of my neighbouring tenants about it, only to be met with angry looks and averted gazes. No one?s denied hearing it, though.
Figuring there wasn?t much to be done about the situation, I?ve dealt with it by falling asleep while listening to podcasts (thank God for the McElroys) or, if I were to have a late night, coming back home after the music would stop. Wherever the music was coming from, I didn?t want to be wandering up the stairs while it was playing.
I was in front of my complex now, much to my relief. As I fumbled with the keys, I groaned, remembering the multiple flights of steps I?d have to make my way up. I?m gonna have buns of steel after living here for another few months, I thought. Few things ruin the magic of a city skyline more than having to drunkenly clamber up the Endless Staircase from Mario 64. With a determined chin, and an even more determined bladder, I made my ascent.
When the music started, it turns out the latter was less determined than I had originally thought.
That familiar, soft piano music traveled down the staircase, turning my blood to ice.
Halfway down the stairs is a stair where I sit.
I had no idea where it was coming from.
There isn?t any other stair quite like it.
It didn?t make sense, it was way past one thirty. I pulled out my phone.
I?m not at the bottom, I?m not at the top.
Two thirty-three. Daylight savings. I forgot to set the time back.
So this is the stair where I always stop.
Fifth floor. I had to make it to the fifth floor. I was already on the second.
Halfway up the stairs isn't up and isn't down
It isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town.
With all the strength my wobbly legs could muster, I started to make my way up as fast as I could, all the while that voice seemed to change position, from all around, to right behind me.
And all sorts of funny thoughts run 'round my head
It isn't really anywhere, it's somewhere else instead.
Panting and heaving, I thought I was going to throw up. I stopped for just a moment so I wouldn?t hurl all over the steps. The voice seemed to be right in my ear now.
Halfway down the stairs is a stair where I sit.
I yelped, I was almost at my floor now.
There isn't any other stair quite like it.
I jammed my keys into the hole.
I?m not at the bottom, I?m not at the top.
Throwing myself through the entryway, I slammed the door shut and locked it behind me. I barricaded it with my body as I caught my breath. The music stopped for a moment. It had never stopped before.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
I felt something ram against my door, like someone huge was running towards it with full force. More silence for a moment. Then that familiar, guttural voice finished the song like it always did.
SO THIS IS THE STAIR WHERE I ALWAYS STOP.
-
This happened a year ago, and every night since then, whoever, or whatever, is singing that song, now always knocks three times on my door before singing the last line. Again, no one else in the building will talk to me about it. I stay at my friends? houses as often as I can, and I?ve been looking for other apartments, but I wouldn?t be able to afford to live in any of the available ones at the moment. I tried to go back to falling asleep to podcasts the way I used to, and it was starting to work. Until last night. Last night, whatever this thing was, didn?t knock on my door.
It tapped on my bedroom window.


Source.