STAIRCASE

“Alone. Yes, that’s the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn’t hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym.” – Stephen King

Entombed in complete darkness. Alone. Pupils dilated. Eyes red, burned and blurred. Throat scratched. Paralyzed; the little voice desperately fought off the terror as her body thrashed. Voice muted – screams trapped; the little voice frantically gasped for breath as her lungs collapsed. Sweat dripped; sheets soaked. The little voice hysterically summed protection from the apparition she purposely provoked. Horrified. Repulsed. The little voice silently questioned, “who is this diabolical lady ghost?” Entranced; lured to the brink; the little voice’s feet were firmly planted on the carpeted floor before she could blink. Every note of the ethereal siren’s song beckoned her steps; in a matter of seconds she was staring into the staircase’s depths. Depths of darkness; depths of doom; it was in that darkness that her greatest fear loomed.

Transfixed; chilled to the core; the little voice apprehensively waited to see what the apparition had in store. Pulse accelerated; heart raced, as she terrifyingly felt the ghostly embrace. Tears seeped; her bottom lip uncontrollably quivered; the ghostly embrace made her entire body shiver. Drowned in darkness; the little voice desperately searched for light; stealthily summoning all of her strength for this ferocious fight; fight to finally attain freedom from the fright that terrorized her each night. Her hands trembled as she uttered the only words her mind could assemble, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” As the final “Amen” hesitantly dripped from her lips, she felt her body suddenly shift. Utterly shocked – her confidence violently rocked - as the connection between her mind and body was now blocked. Hysterical, the little voice cried out for the ghostly man; the shepherd; the one sworn to protect. In desperation, she screamed, “have you forsaken me? I just wanted to be free!”

Alarmed; the little voice desperately tried to control her mind. With feeling now returning, she desperately searched for anything she could find; anything that could rescue her from the darkness that had rendered her blind. Distressed; she aggressively clawed at the staircase wall as she desperately attempted to steady her shaking feet to prevent her fall. Frantic; with hands outstretched - with one last twitch, her little hands found the coveted light switch. With a great sigh of relief, she flipped the switch; grateful that her journey into the darkness had been brief.

The little voice free from the darkness now uncontrollably cried; but to her shock and horror, there stood the ghostly man, the shepherd – firmly planted right by her side.

Sonnet

By James Weldon Johnson

My heart be brave, and do not falter so,

Nor utter more that deep, despairing wail.

Thy way is very dark and drear I know,

But do not let thy strength and courage fail;

For certain as the raven-winged night

Is followed by the bright and blushing morn,

Thy coming morrow will be clear and bright;

‘Tis darkest when the night is furthest worn.

Look up, and out, beyond, surrounding clouds,

And do not in thine own gross darkness grope,

Rise up, and casting off thy hind’ring shrouds,

Cling, thou to this, and ever inspiring hope:

Tho’ thick the battle and tho’ fierce the fight,

There is a power making for the right.

Thank you for joining me on this journey! From my heart to yours.

Love,

-K