Stairwell

In the middle of town there is a large apartment building, heavily populated like many of the surrounding buildings. The street on which it stands is busy, as is this entire section of the city. The door to apartment 313, superficially old and lacerated with marks, is always kept locked. A small room, furnished with an old roll top desk, books, and a single bulb lamp, lays behind if the door were to open. A slim young woman sits at the desk, staring into the gems set into her ring, that she had chosen so long ago. It holds two bright gems and the young woman’s demons were dancing in them, just like every other aspect of her life. 

As the sun sets, the single bulb that illuminates the room becomes ever more necessary. The light that it gives off is not comforting though, but only seems to illuminate more and more of the black demons that plague her life. They are not always bothersome, sometimes they are just a fact that is there, but, on restless nights like tonight, they always seem to make sure that she notices them. The Restlessness seems to show up more and more these days often. As she tries to rest for the night her brain will scream at her, “Get up! Do something! Get out of this cramped apartment and go for a walk!” The only problem she has with this is these suggestions are they typically come at 2 AM and the weather is in the teens. 

To satiate this lust for the outside that her head has, she will typically pop in her ear buds, grab her keys, and take a good walk through the long halls of her apartment building. The building has five floors that hold residents, plus the basement. She will walk every floor, unnoticed by those that live around her. As she leaves her room and starts her walk (on the 3rd floor), she presses play on her smartphone to start the Twenty One Pilots album. It will take her about forty-five minutes to make it through the entire album, she typically makes it all the way through three times. On the third lap of the building, she begins to become bored of the same sights, but her body won’t allow her to return to her small box of regrets. 

The music starts to fade into the background and emotions cloud her judgment, she shakes her head in defiance. Not wanting to allow ‘them’ to get ahold of her, she changes the album she’s listening to and starts to head to the other end of the basement. As she walks down the hallway, something catches in the corner of her eye. She turns her head quickly to catch it but moves too slow. Her chest starts to tighten and her pace quickens. There it is again. I can see it moving in the light fixtures; just waiting to escape. Her breath starts to catch in her throat. The light fixtures begin to crack. It’s Panic mounting an attack again. Before he can break out and get ahold of her, she crashes into the stairwell. 

Taking in a long, deep breath, she makes an attempt to calm herself. After a few moments her heart slows and breathing returns to normal. Rightfully shaken, she starts her arduous climb. The stairwell is made strictly of concrete and steel. It feels safe, but dangerous at the same time. She makes it up three flights of stairs. Now on her own floor, she stands staring at the door that opens to the hallway of her room. Deciding that she is not ready to return to her darkened bread box, she makes a seat on the steps. Since the building has an abundance of elevators no one ever uses the stairs, so she can claim them as her own little sanctuary. 

Taking her seat four steps above the level of her door, she changes to a different album, hoping to change her mood along with it. As she sits there, music buzzing through her ear buds, she chooses a crack in the concrete floor and stares at it blankly for what seems like an eternity. After a while her visions starts to blur from the concentration on the one spot. Her mind starts to shift to the chill that is creeping into her rear, until something above the door catches her attention. There hangs a simple, twisted light bulb, so graciously illuminating my previous focal point. As her attention drifts away to a new thought, something pulls her back in. A movement. That’s what pulled her back in. A movement within the light. She stares intently, trying to find it again. She can’t find it, but she feels it burrowing into the back of her mind. Sorrow.

She allows her eyes to drift down again, that’s when Sorrow chooses to strike. She just catches the movement in her peripherals, just as it overcomes her and turns her world black. 

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She feels a sharp, cold pain in her temple as she comes too. Her eyes open to a blurry, gray area. It’s the stairwell. She’s still in the stairwell. She lifts her head up off the harsh metal handrail, she can almost taste it. Slightly confused she looks around to find no one else. She checks her phone to see that she hasn’t lost any time and she is still in the middle of the same song. A ball of Dread wells in her core as she tries to rationalize what she believes to have just happened. 

Continually telling herself everything is okay, she steadies her breathing while her eyes dart all around the stairwell. Nothing of note jumps out at her, but her Dread will not recede. She starts to fiddle with her ring to distract any thoughts that will aggravate her condition. The soft skin of her left ring finger is violently pulled as she constantly turns her ring around her finger. Her peripherals just barley pick up the movement. The curled, iron hand rail that her head had been laying against was unfurled into a snake. Before her mind can even fabricate the idea of running away from it, the Dread takes hold. The snake coils itself for attack and then strikes. Once again her world turns black.

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Now at the bottom of the steps, she comes back to her senses. The room is now sharp and bright, causing more pain in her head than before. A vague memory haunts her as she looks back up at the curled iron handrail. Shakily she checks her phone. No time has been lost and she is still in the middle of the same song. Trying not to hyperventilate, she slowly gets up with the intention of leaving the stairwell. The ring on her left hand lightly clinks against the metal of the handle as she grips it. A light tug confirms her fears. It does not open. Piercing Paranoia enters her. Her hand starts to shake as the Paranoia zips up her spine. Unwillingly, she turns back to see what may be lurking. Black figures surround her: Sorrow, Dread, Paranoia, and (the largest one of all) Anxiety. 

Sinking to the floor, she feels utterly defeated. The figures slowly close in, encompassing her entire world. The cold overtakes her and the world turns black one, final, time. 

About the Author

Abigail Lodeweges is a Junior Accounting major, originally from Texas. She enjoys reading, writing, listening to music, and painting miniatures used in playing table top war games.