I stepped out of my room and peeped over the edge of the banister. I could no longer hear the screaming and shouting and a rock seemed to have planted itself over my chest. There was a ringing sensation all over my body like it was telling me to not go down. The staircase loomed out of the darkness like a wall stopping my descent, but my stubborn streak revved up and I took a step and jumped at the little creak the floorboard made under my petite frame. I waited with out breathing for several seconds then let it out slowly as my head felt like it would pop. There was still no sound from below and I daringly took another step with a hand on the wall to guide me down the broad staircase. Halfway down, I felt something wet on my fingers and I pulled my hand away and wiped them on my pyjama bottoms. I knew what it was, but my mind refused to think about it in that moment and I continued down the steps with the copper smell getting stronger and stronger. As I stepped on the last step, my socks felt wet and I jumped off and ran into the kitchen. I wish I didn’t. I wish I had stayed in my room or gone to any other room. Even if I had just sat on the staircase, waiting for someone to come get me, it would have been better than seeing the scene from a horror movie all around me. There was red streaks and splatters around the walls of our small kitchen. There was a pool of it getting bigger from behind the table and reaching down the legs of whoever was laying on the floor. I stood in absolute terror, frozen, till a sound from the backdoor got me moving out of my trance and I began to run back upstairs. My wet socks slid across the shiny floor and I fell forward. The hands on my ankles made me scream and I curled up waiting for the plunge, knowing this was the end. I would die on this staircase and look like the body in the kitchen. My screams became muffled as the hands tried to pick me up and I grabbed on to the rails, fighting till the end. After several seconds the voice penetrated through my fear and I deflated in a fit of sobs, whilst my mom held onto me. We stayed like that, bloodied and sobbing on the staircase till the police came and whisked us out of that hell. We were taken to the hospital and then the questions began, but I could only remember the staircase. I was able to describe the smooth floor, the colour and pattern in the runner, the grooves in the banister and the creaky top step, but everything else was blank. After an hour, the doctor made everyone leave and I fell into a dark slumber from the medication. It wasn’t until several days later when we walked back into the house and I saw the staircase, that it all came rushing back and I ran out screaming. I never went back there physically, but the staircase always crept in to my nightmares for years after.