Brother

by Michael Downing

There were fourteen stairs from the living room to the second floor – fifteen if she counted the landing where the staircase turned right as it continued upstairs – and late at night Opal would lay in bed, listening to the stairs creaking under his weight. The footsteps always continued down the hall and most times it was hard to tell if the sounds she heard were footsteps or the beating of her heart echoing in her head, crowding out all other thoughts. The bedroom door would open slowly, a sliver of light cutting across the darkness as he edged into the room, whispering her name until she finally responded. Hiding in silence only delayed the inevitable touch of his icy cold fingers against her skin, and even when she turned away he would slide between the sheets and press himself close to her, his hot breath on her neck and his hands moving along her body like he owned it. Night after night she would squeeze her eyes shut, praying for a quick end to the nightmare but God had given up on her and she decided that if God wasn’t going to answer her prayers she would have to solve her own problems. Opal listened for the sound of his footsteps on those fourteen stairs and curled her fingers tighter around the kitchen knife that was hidden under her pillow.

6S

Michael Downing is a writer of books, plays, and some occasional graffiti who lives in Georgia.