Down the Stairs

Chapter 1

She was walking along the road, with a slight limp in her left leg and her black skin shimmered against the red sky. Her hair looked as though it was a dying flame. It was cut short, and close to her head seemingly beautiful. She turned to look at me, with a smile on her lips. The sound of a gunshot was heard, her limp body fell to the ground following the sound. I tried to reach out for her, scream for her. I felt this urge to reach for her body which lay on the cold hard cement. She seemed so familiar, yet I have never seen her before.

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My eyes open in alarm. It's happening again, the sounds that is. The moaning, groaning, and screams that keep coming from the closet. They encompass someone being tortured in the worst possible way. The bone-chilling sounds are made by more than one thing, and they do not sound human.

They usually happen at nightfall but have never been as loud as tonight.

Grabbing my bat I head towards the noise. Slowly stalking towards the closet as the noises become more frantic and loud. Reaching for the knob, the noises continue screaming, pleading for life.

Opening the door, I find nothing. The sounds go quiet and I am met with my old closet. A metallic smell hits my nose. The darkness in my closet begins to disturb me so I turn on the lights for some consolation. In the middle of the small space there is something small in the middle of a puddle of what seems like blood.

This is different. Never have the noises left something behind. Usually there's never anything inside the closet but my usual cloths and shoes. These strange occurrences have been happening for the past week, but why, of all times, is this night different?

Walking towards the small box the blood like substance begins to soak into the black cardboard. Upon further observation, I notice a black and red ribbon wrapped around the cardboard. Inscribed on it is a japanese kanji character on it:

魂

Having knowledge of the dialect, I understand what it says. That specific kanji says "Tamashī", meaning "soul" in the English language.

Something whispers to me, but not out loud. "Open it, little one. For your journey is just beginning. You are going to need all the help you can get."

I decide to pick it up to test the waters. Nothing follows. Not wanting to dishevel it too much, I slowly take the box over to a shelf and set it down. Taking a further look I see that it is just a plain simple box. Black cardboard with a black and red ribbon wrapped in a little bow.

It was calling out to me, filling my mind with desperate noises and asking to be opened, almost as if human. It is shaking with anticipation, wanting to be opened desperately. I slowly unravel the bow that holds the box shut, and toss it aside. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that the ribbon is floating. It does not hit the floor, but just sits there in mid-fall. I reach for it, and as I grab it the kanji rubs into the palm of my hand, leaving a stain, an imprint.