The Stairs in the Woods

Chapter 7-Now

The paper of the printed-out article feels soft in my hands.

Like leather or cotton, something worn and used. There are deep creases in the paper from being folded and unfolded so many times. I hold it like a lifeline as I stride purposefully towards the field station.

Please, please, please. I need this.

The field station is busy. I push past a group of visitors and rangers, some of whom look at me with concern as I walk by. I ignore it. I'm fine.

I'm better than fine, actually, because I am so, so close.

One of the park rangers approaches me tentatively. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be on—"

I shake my head. "Nope. No, I'm not. I need. I need. I need to." I shake my head again, suddenly trembling. "Is Stella here?"

"You sure you're okay?" The ranger asks, concerned. I scowled at them. "Fine, never mind. Um. Yeah, Stella's in her office. Should I tell her you're... here?"

"Nah," I reply, already walking away from them and heading towards the office.

The printed-out article. My old sketchbook. My phone. Three pieces of evidence. I knock on Stella's door, feeling sick with anxiety and anticipation and hope.

The door swings open, and the moment she sees me, Stella's dark brown eyes narrow. "Thought I told you you're suspended, Reddings."

I push past her and into her office, where I set my materials down on her desk. She follows me reluctantly and closes the office door before sitting back down.

"Yeah, you did," I reply, words flying out of my mouth almost too fast to be understood. I do my best to reign myself in. "Which was a mistake. But. I'm back. And I have proof that there's something going on, and that I know a bunch about it, so you really shouldn't have suspended me, and I should have my job back."

Stella's jaw tightens. I can see her fighting back the urge to argue. I ignore her anger and spread everything out on her organized desk. My old sketchbook from when I was seventeen first, pages visible. Then my phone, the screen opened to the photo app. And lastly, a printed-out article from an online journal dated two days ago.

All of these items have one thing in common: a picture of the same staircase in the middle of the woods.

Stella's eyes trace over everything. "Alright, Reddings, I'll bite," she concedes after a long moment. "What exactly is it that you're trying to prove here?"

My fingers tap anxiously against my knee. "That sketchbook," I begin quietly. "It's from when I was younger. From when—the drawings in there are from the year after Alice disappeared." Stella sighs when I say Alice's name. I wince slightly but continue. "I drew the staircase over and over again. Couldn't stop, at first. Pages of records. Dated, too. And that's my artist's signature." I point at the cursive JR in the corner.

"Very pretty," Stella says with a clearly forced smile. She glances at the phone. "And what's this?"

My throat goes dry when I pick up my phone and zoom in on the picture. There it is: a fully intact concrete staircase, slightly mossy but otherwise completely clean, ten or fifteen steps stretching up towards the tree line. It doesn't make any sense for the stairs to be there. They just are. Like someone cut them out of a subway and pasted them into the middle of the woods. The picture on my phone matches the stairs in the drawings perfectly. "This is a picture I took of the stairs when Aja and I found—found that boy."

For the first time, Stella's expression starts to slip, betraying the slightest glimpse of genuine intrigue. "Huh," she mutters.

"And the article," I continue, newly emboldened as I point at the picture on it, "Is from earlier this week." I read out the title of the article. "'Stairways to hell? Amidst increased tourist disappearances, hikers reporting mysterious staircase sightings in woods.'"

There, right under the headline. A professional-looking picture of concrete stairs in the middle of the woods that match my sketches and photograph.

It's an unmistakable correlation. Not even Stella could deny that.

Stella skims the first paragraph or two of the article. "What are you trying to show me here?" She asks, looking up at me.

Her long black hair is twisted into a sleek bun, but a few strands have slipped loose. I find it distracting.

I jolt slightly when she speaks to me. "Oh! Um. Something is... is... is here. It's back. Those things that stir in the woods. You know. The sounds, and the things people report they see sometimes, and the stairs. They're... worse, right now, for some reason. Something is really wrong, the way something was really wrong when Alice went missing. So there's nothing off with me, and this is all like an actual problem and not me falling apart, and actually the most important thing for me right now is to be working like usual and trying to figure this out. Because this isn't safe for anyone. And people are already getting hurt."

Stella sighs and looks me up and down. I squirm, suddenly self-conscious. I realize what a mess I must look—I haven't washed my short black hair in days, and my clothes are probably wrinkled and somewhat stained. Plus I haven't quite felt myself in the past few days, and when I looked in the mirror this morning, the feral look in my eyes scared me. I've been running on desperation, longing, and pathetically flimsy hope. It won't last me indefinitely, but it's gotten me this far.

"Julia," Stella says softly, pushing her glasses up her nose, "You really think you're suited to come back to work right now?"

I watch numbly as she gathers up everything I brought it. "Um," I say. "Uh. Yeah."

She shuffles it into a neat little stack. "I'm giving you another week off." Stella's voice is infuriatingly gentle. "Something is definitely wrong, and you know what can happen if your head's not in the right place when you go into those woods." She shakes her head. "Whatever's in there, it's like it can smell it. We'll handle it. And if anything relating to the Alice case turns up, we'll be sure to let you know."

I stand there, stunned, as Stella shoves everything into my arms. "Wait," I say slowly. "Wait. Wait. I'm suspended again? That's not—I can't—Stella, I need to—"

"You need to look after yourself." She stands up and walks towards the door, holding it open. "Another two weeks paid suspension. Keep arguing and I'll pull the paid part. Same thing'll happen if I see you around here again before the suspension is up."

I stare at the wide-open door numbly. "This is bullshit," I mutter, not caring to filter out the swearing in front of my no-nonsense boss.

"Call if you need anything, Julia," Stella says. "But for God's sake, stay away from here for awhile. Nothing good'll come from you showing up again."

There's not much else to say. I make my way out of Stella's office, deflated and drained. Another two weeks off. But I had—I had proof. I'm not going crazy. It's all real. And those stairs are still there. They don't seem to be going anywhere.

They don't seem to be going anywhere. As I leave the field station, despair and need and anguish solidify into something ruthless and driven in the pit of my stomach. I became a park ranger so I could keep an eye on the woods, but if my job won't help me, that's fine. I'll do this myself.

I know my way through the woods. And I have a feeling I'll stumble upon those stairs again. I begin the trek to my car, listening to crickets chirp and birds sing all around me. The air smells like earth and promise.

One way or another, I'll find you, Alice.

I swear I will.