Don't come down

Mommy never lets me past the staircase; says it is too dangerous for a little girl, too risky for the bits and pieces made of glass. 

The staircase oversees the entrance door. It is covered in a red, silky ribbon for Christmas and gold decorative lights. Right next to the door, we put up our Christmas tree. I helped Mommy decorate it. The front entrance looks like it’s covered in snow, white marble covering the entire room and a grand fir tree standing tall and proud in the corner. I love my house. 

Mommy likes to paint. At most times, you can find her locked-up in her little atelier, the one room on the ground floor which she turned into her creative nook. Her paintings are magical. They transport you to places far far away, with seas and rivers and woods and forests, with palettes of orange and blue mixing into each other. Mommy creates new worlds, all with one stroke of a brush. 

Papa rarely goes into Mommy’s atelier. He is barely in any room of the house, except his own. He comes home late from work, pours himself a glass of a brown grown-up liquid and goes to sleep. Papa is good friends with our housekeeper, Ms. Harrelson. I can often hear them laughing and enjoying themselves when Ms. Harrelson is in the kitchen or when she brings Papa his food in the living room. 

One night, when Ms. Harrelson was fixing Papa his drink, I headed into the kitchen for my usual, late-night shenanigans. Ms. Harrelson was alarmed when she saw me, her blue, almond eyes popping out by surprise. She put her finger to her mouth, as if to shush me to keep quiet. ‘I am not here’, she spelled out with her lips, as she offered me a piece of chocolate. I did not understand why she wanted to keep her presence a secret, but I nodded positively, smiling at her as she looked at me with her pretty smile and her tight, blonde curls. After that, I often saw Ms. Harrelson late in the evenings. Ms. Harrelson is nice, but Mommy does not like her a lot. 

Mommy told me to stay in my room tonight. She told me to try and get some sleep, to ignore the noise. I do not listen.

At 9 pm sharp, I go down the grand staircase, past the fir tree which is still waiting to be filled with Christmas gifts. 

Our pink and white kitchen is my favorite. I love it because it always smells of orange zest and cinnamon bread. I find no fault in our kitchen, but Papa does. He doesn’t like its color, says it's too girly and preppy. I think we will repaint it, but that makes me sad. I carefully pick an orange from the fruit basket and head into the living room. 

My television show is nearly over, when suddenly, I hear a noise from the pool room. I become curious, reckon I should take a look. 

The transparent glass door reveals two shadows, standing side by side. The lights are neither low nor bright, rather they are a pale dim yellow, just enough to distinguish shapes and figures. The shadows look tall and slim, laughing and talking in a muffled noise. 

I cough, and suddenly their heads turn to me. I gasp, quickly get away from the door, but one of the figures approaches the door. The door opens and to my surprise, it is Papa. 

‘Peggy, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you asleep?’

Papa is playing pool with his friend, Mr. Smith. As he speaks, his mustache turns to the side, and a confused frowning look forms on his face. 

‘I was just watching tv Papa.’

He pats me on the back and guides me towards the corridor.

‘Now, now… go to sleep young lady. This is not a time for you to be awake’.

I nod in agreement and tell Papa that I will do as he wishes.

The door closes, and I stand there, wondering if this is the noise Mommy was talking about. 

At 10 pm, I start falling asleep on the mustard sofa. I  bury myself in the silky white blanket, my eyes popping out like a ghoul in disguise. 

In about 5-10 minutes, a voice calls me. 

“Peggy?”

I have not seen Mommy tonight. It must be her.

“Mommy? Is that you?”

“My little girl, go back to sleep . . .” 

The voice is sweet but blurred, a familiar note of warmth and comfort. It must be her. 

“Mommy, I cannot see you. Are you there?”

I look to my right. It looks like the corridor is dimly lit. Mommy must have been in her atelier. I sit up to make my way to her. 

“It’s okay darling. Don’t stand up. I am coming to you.”

I sit back down on the couch, my body trembling from the cold as I let the blanket fall onto the sofa. Two pale hands cover me back with the blanket, stroking my hair as my body relaxes.

Suddenly, I see Mommy clearly. I hug and squeeze her like I haven’t seen her in months. 

“Mommy! Are you painting?”

Mommy smiles, her smile as wide as always. 

“I was darling. But what are you doing at a time like this?”

“Just going to sleep now Mommy. I will not stay in the living room, don’t worry.”

Mommy is still smiling, but her expression changes slightly. 

“Did your father not put you to bed? Where is your father?”

“Oh he is just in the pool room with a friend. He did tell me to go to bed.”

Mommy’s face drops as I say that. 

“A friend? Who?”

“I think Mr. Smith. They are playing pool now.”

Mommy nods to say she understands, and goes on to tell me about her new painting. 

We are bonding and talking like we always did, when suddenly, the pool room door opens abruptly. 

Papa storms out, his eyes as wide as ever, his eyebrows raised to the roof. 

“Peggy!  Who are you talking to?”

I look at him startled, surprised by his question. 

“Mommy is here Papa. Look!”

I touch Mommy, hug her in excitement, as we are both sitting on the mustard sofa, the blanket heavy on my legs. 

Papa is terrified, his body unable to move, his face paler than our marble floor. 

“Peggy darling . . . we discussed this…”

“Discuss what? I don’t understand.”

I turn to Mommy’s side, look into her eyes to confirm that she is listening. But Mommy is not smiling anymore. Mommy’s kind brown eyes have now turned black, her stare fixated on Papa with a smile I am deeply unfamiliar with. 

I suddenly grow apprehensive, my heart beats fast and my excitement seizes. 

Papa does not reply. He simply stares into oblivion, his startled face unrecognizable now.  

I plead to both of them, but nobody replies. I start to cry, unable to put my feelings into words.

All of a sudden, Mommy stands up. Her gaze remains on Papa, a deep black gaze that haunts me. Her smile turns into a continuous cackle, a shrieking laugh that shocks me. 

Mommy approaches Papa, her body now facing him. She races through Papa’s body, surpassing his whole being like liquid.

I stand there astounded, my cries becoming louder, my tears running down my face in despair, unaware of what is happening, whilst Papa stares into the horizon, and never at Mommy. 

As Mommy passes through his body, his once tall and sturdy figure now shakes with fear, as he screams and pleads, feeling a cold breeze from his head to his toes. 

“Please stop Mary! Please!!! I’ll be good!”

Papa cries and screams, as he feels the sensation. When Mommy passes through him, her whole existence disappears. I look around the room, searching for her face again. 

“Mommy??? Mommy, where are you?! Please, come back!”

Papa looks at me, his face filled with disgust and wickedness.

“Your mom is not coming back Peggy. Not today, and not EVER. For the last time, GO TO YOUR ROOM!”

And with that, I ran up to my room, regretting that I did not listen to Mommy in the first place.