Pick a Penny

Staircase To Nowhere

Authors Note - please be kind, I'm not a professional writer I do this as a hobby - Leave a vote/comment if you enjoy as every little bit helps

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Staircase To Nowhere

For the past three days I've paced the same stretch of walkway. It starts as I descend the last few branches of the staircase I'd thought to have just left. The jagged corners of each step outreach that of the last as crooked teeth. Their wood is worn, a distorted mix of aged roughness and the elegance of something worthy. A small layer of carpet follows the odd angles like a mother clinging to their child. The fabric doesn't quite cover it though, with the last two or three inches being the bare cracking wood that has, for me, become synonymous with the nature this place. I wish I could explain what's happening but I really can't. The steps lead to a mezzanine, a small area only a few square feet. It's become both my prison and the isle of my reprieve. I had passed this area on my way up and thought nothing more of it. My name is Cassey and if you've found this then it means one of two things. You're either in the same predicament as I am or you're looking for me and God only knows I hope you find me.

I wouldn't say I'm an important person. I may never cure cancer, beat Usain Bolt in a race or paint the next great masterpiece. I'm just me, a student. I mean, Christ, I study trigonometry at UCL, the worst I'm gonna do is bore someone to death with the intricacies of angles.

But how did I end up here? I met a guy and he seemed nice, which is something of a rarity in my experiences. He just seemed...normal. When he invited me to his place, I never expected to find myself here. This old mansion is unbelievable, the bits I can remember seeing anyway. I've been staring at the same staircase and balcony for three days so the details are a little foggy.

He led me up these stairs and as we reached the spot where I am now I looked around me. On the wall was a window that looked out into the front courtyard. A myriad of expensive cars parked in neat rows beside the grass that begun the seemingly endless garden that led the way to the back of the building. To the other side, looking into the mansion itself, were three sets of staircases each a metre apart and each leading to the same point at their end. Both the one I'm on now and I think the other at the far end had windows to the outside as well as a small end table beneath the glass with some sort of decretive antique on it. I don't remember what was on the other side but this one has a vase, some expensive looking ceramic for all I can say. We reached the top of the stairs and went into a sitting room. He made a few moves, I wasn't too keen so decided to leave. Things only got stranger from there. He sat, frozen, legs at right angles. His head shook slightly as if a surge of electricity was running from his neck to scalp. In a jolt his head thrust back and his eyes rolled until they were nothing but white. I tried to help, honest I did. I ran back to him but didn't know what to do. Pulling at him I tried to bring his head down, tried to calm him, tried to stop the way he was being thrown about the sofa. It was like something had hold of him. There was a loud crack and he fell limply on me. He wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot and blistered. I don't think they rolled forward again. So I sat there in shock, looking into the backs of his eyes and wondering what the hell just happened.

The room felt suddenly stale, like the air was old, forgotten. The only movement came from my panicked breaths.When at last I too had calmed, the room was silent. After a moment there was something there. I could feel it. It was a whisper amongst the silence. Shadows fell on me. Then, clear as day, it spoke to me. It called my name. It was loud and cold and sounded so close that I could feel the icy indents of its words smack against my neck. I ran.

Flying down the stairs I couldn't hear anything anymore, say for the pounding of my thumping heart. Jumping to the mezzanine and down the next flight of stairs I heard a crash behind me, the vase falling from its stand I assume. I reached the final step, the front door in sight, but I tripped like I'd thought there to be one stair too many. Stumbling I caught myself on the bannister, my legs kept going but with my hand firmly gripped on the railing I swung to a stop. It took a moment to get myself lucid but when I had the room was damn near empty. What had been a grand hall was now nothing but blackness. It hasn't changed in the three days I've been here. It's as if I'm floating, directionless, in a void. I'm too scared to close my eyes because when I do I can feel the world spinning me around, I start to lose all sense of gravity.'I could float away' I start to think and with nothing to tether me here who's to say if I'd come back? What's curious is that the window is still here, the walls are gone but not the window. It remains fixed in place as if attached to the mezzanine by an unobtainable force. Several times now I've run my hands along the sides and behind the panes of glass only to find nothing, absolutely nothing. I know it's an odd thing to focus on but I can't help fixate on this detail. Whatever brought me here left the window but took the walls, why? That's all this place is, questions. Each time I reach the bottom of the stairs I start back at the top again. I've put my feet out beyond the last step and it just dangles there, nothing firm to place my foot on, there's nothing there. But if I take that last step forward then I'm back at the top. I've thrown the vase of the side of the banister once or twice just to see what happens. It keeps falling until it fades from view. On my next loop it'll be back again, facing the same direction it started. Staring out into the black I've searched for a sign of anything amongst the darkness but there is truly nothing there. Looking into something that is completely black with not a blemishorshade or change in sight is maddening.

I hope that whatever use you get out of this is worth it, whether it's to find me or to help yourself if you're now stuck here in this unexplainable mess. I'm going to take a risk and it could end badly. I'm going to jump and there's no guarantee that I'll land. For all I know I'll keep falling or I could loop round and be right back where I started. All I know for sure is that if I don't do something I'll go crazy waiting.

The note stops there. It's tattered, old and the paper smells musty like it's been hidden from sight for far too long... much like the house I found it in. I could see what Cassey had been describing in her letter but only as a mist of past imaginings. The stairs she had detailed were all but collapsed on my arrival, of the three only the left most remains. At the bottom of this, imprinted in the thick layer of dust, was a footprint. I'd thought nothing of it at first but having found the note it means infinitely more. Perhaps she escaped. Maybe she landed after all. If curiosity hadn't waved me up the stairs I could have left, I should have left. But I didn't. Dragging my feet up each creaking step only adds to the ambiance of mystery. With every thud of my shoes a new cloud of dust breaks free and is flung into the air. Breathing it in is to have a fog of needles pricking the corners of your throat. I pause, cough and begin the cycle again. 'Notice the broken pot. That'll have to go' I can remember thinking to myself as I reached the half way mark.

From the second floor came a peculiar sound, a mix between a growl, roar and yell. It was both animalistic and human at the same time. I called out, stupid really, and that was the almost the last thing I can remember. There was a breath on my neck, acoldhush that forced the hair to prickle and the skin the pucker.

"Hello, Dawn," it said before my knees buckled and consciousness escaped me.

I found the note on my second day. It was tucked behind thetable and I nudged it free by accident while re-checking every inch of the mezzanine. I was both terrified and relived to find that maybe I was not so alone in this. Keeping it beside me is a comfort. I've not been brave these last few days. I've not even experienced the loop as Cassey described. Getting to the last step I look down at the waiting abyss and recede back to the mezzanine again. I've been waiting for help for so long now. I mark the hours on my watch like a doctor checking for a pulse, but what am I waiting for? The flat-line?

Flipping over the page I pull a pen from my pocket.

My name is Dawn. I'm a real estate agent and I woke up here 5 days ago...