The first few times Jim watched Pam dart up the outer staircase to his apartment, he thought it was odd. She hurriedly took the steps two at a time, never looking down at the concrete below. Finally, after what seemed like weeks of this pattern – Pam rushing up the stairs and breathlessly waiting for him at his front door, Jim reaching her moments later – he asked her why she always seemed to be racing. Pam’s face turned bright red and Jim knew he was going to find her answer incredibly entertaining.
“Promise you won’t laugh?” she’d asked.
“Oh c’mon, I can’t promise, especially with a look like that…” But Jim did tried, really truly; he just couldn’t help it when the story came spilling out.
“When I was little my grandparents lived in this house that had an open staircase coming up from the basement. It was just this wooden staircase that I was terrified of because one time my grandma was carrying the laundry up and one of the boards broke. And the basement was always so dim, no matter what time of day, or if the lights were on. We played down there sometimes but it was spooky, and then my cousin told me that there was a monster hiding there that you couldn’t see until he grabbed your ankles and dragged you under the stairs and ate you…” Pam trailed off when she looked at Jim’s face, the corners of his mouth fighting desperately to not turn into a grin.
“Pam, how old were you at the time?” he ventured cautiously.
“I knew you’d laugh!” Pam tried to sound hurt, but she was laughing too. “You don’t understand the psychological trauma of being told there are monsters in your grandparents’ basement and feeling the urge to run quickly up flights of stairs for so long, that it becomes a habit!”
“You’re right Beesly, I don’t. Just don’t pass along the insanity to any future generations, okay?”
Pam grinned. “I can’t promise that…”
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© 2006-2023 More Than That | Skin created by Kali