my tall wife

Up the stairs, holding the bannister. My breaths are shallow - I’m trying to make as little noise as possible - but the stairs won’t stop creaking. This house is built as inconveniently as possible - the upstairs lights are deep in the back of the hallway, and solid walls on either side block all vision until I’m already up there. Each step I take, I can see slightly further, but it’s like a dense fog - the darkness - I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it at all - this can’t be real. It has to be /her/ doing.
One step. Creak. One step at a time. One breath at a time - composure. My chest is numb - my ears hot, I can hear everything. /Everything/. The creaking - louder than anything. The nothing. The beating, drumming in my chest - the breathing, even when quiet - silent - I hear it all. I reach out to the top of the bannister - palms wet, shaking - and pull myself up the last step.

Muffled skittering - lurching away in one of the rooms, echoing bluntly through the walls - she’s awake. I stop - moving, breathing. Did she hear me?

DID SHE HEAR ME?