At school they always warn you: do not go down the stairs. Whenever I ask why no answer comes back. Anyone would think there’s a joke going on. But the lack of speech when people mention those stairs is evidence that the matter is serious. They are afraid. Why? That’s what I don’t understand. Like silence, the truth is only apparent when its missing.
My friend Simmy says people are afraid of those stairs because a cousin of the step-sister of a friend of a classmate once got through that door, and he never came back. To this day authorities are looking for him, but no one dares go to the no return place.
Some whisper that Reddy Burk, a high school boy, once put his hand through that door, then retreat it and the nail of his pinky finger was missing. Now everyone calls him Nailless Burk.
But none of these stories surpass mine. It wasn’t on purpose, though if it was, I would have seemed cool and brave, or stupid, depends on the person reading. I was looking for the bathroom, it was an emergency, and as nature was calling me, I opened the first door I found. But there were no toilets, which was a disappointment. Only stairs, and how many of them! Grey and simple, but somehow enthralling.
I started counting and my body decided, at the same time, to walk. I wondered where they led. And then I got stuck. Imagine: I was about to pee myself, my mind was still into enjoying the architecture and my body just could not find the right direction forward. I am still here, like that friend of a classmate, waiting for someone to come. Wondering if the authorities will appear, if Simmy will know I’m lost, if someone will lead me to a toilet.
By: Daniela Minotti