The Staircase

By Jeriann Kelley

Feeling so lucky to move into such a grand home, the family excitedly looked forward to a new chapter in their lives that beautiful autumn season. After all, a home is a haven and a shelter from the storm, or is it? For one unsuspecting family, this house had a storm brewing on its inside. What or who exactly was dwelling in this house? Delve into their story of odd occurrences and a genuine desire for a peaceful existence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098065997

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The Staircase

Jeriann Kelley

Copyright © 2020 by Jeriann Kelley

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

The Man on the Stairs

Footsteps, Again

The Laundry Basket

The Little Boy

The Everyday

The Bride on the Stairs

The Smiling Lady

The Voice

Family

The Tumble

The Porch

The Grandmother’s Test

The People

The Windows

The Ice Storm

The Daytime

Mary in the Hallway

Blood Flow at Night

Merging onto I-84 east caused a bit of wonder. We, my husband and I, hadn’t been on I-84 in so long; it was like being back in time. All the long ago towns and street names passed by on green and white signs. It was a typical summer day for New England—warm and comfortable. Supposedly, there was a hotel right close coming up soon at our exit, though there were none at this location during our childhood. So onto the ramp, left at the light and there on the left, was a Hampton Inn. The lady at the check-in desk was friendly enough going through the motions. Once in our room, I sat and gave a sigh, grateful to have had a safe trip; a bit tired, we dozed off on the bed.

Awakening hunger sent us out as we headed for Queen Street; there were plenty of restaurants there, at least there used to be. To our contentment, we found even more than there were decades ago. It was so weird to be there—so surreal to drive around, to look at all the familiar places. Going home was so bittersweet—so much water under the bridge; so many years have passed. Some of the places seemed exactly the same, some different, some looked smaller than in my memory. West Street had changed in the way of tree growth; the trees had grown thick and tall and so numerous that they blocked the view of the houses to an extent. When I was a kid, the view of the houses were not blocked at all by the trees.

So we spent time driving to the homes we lived in as children; they were all still there. Especially so sweet was looking at the homes of the grandparents. As we sat for a few moments in the car, we pulled up to the curbs in front of their homes. You know, the grandparents…the Staples, so vibrant, so sanguine. Yes, Staples. It seemed as if they would always be around to an eighteen-year-old: always alive, cooking, cleaning, serving coffee, mowing the lawn, planting the garden each spring…confident, sure, pillars of faith. At eighteen, when I left Connecticut, their deaths were a long way off; the thought of it pushed far away. You know, it never even occurred to me that I would be missed by my grandparents. I didn’t grasp how my absence might cause them sadness, for being eighteen was exciting! An adventure! Going off to a new start, a new place…and time? I had all the time in the world! But now, decades later, I stand at their graves and talk to them. I thank them for everything, especially the example they set. They are in two separate cemeteries