---------------------
Picks up the letter that’s lying there,
Standing alone at the top of the stairs
(She's Leaving Home - The Beatles)
Standing alone at the top of the stairs
(She's Leaving Home - The Beatles)
Shauna noticed the white square at her feet just as she was about to bound past it. Her heart thudding so loudly in her chest she was sure the sound must be audible from the large hall below the staircase, she stopped in her mad dash and began bending down to pick it up. Part of her knew she should not be doing this, that she should be rushing to the front door and out towards her car as fast as it was humanly possible, but another part of her could not help herself. What if this small piece of paper had some of the answers she so desperately needed?
She straightened up, unfolding it at the same time as she tried to steady her breathing. She felt almost like a walking paradox, really – seconds ago she didn’t care how much noise she was making as long as she managed to leave the house before whoever she had heard upstairs found her, but now that she had found the letter she suddenly felt the necessity to be absolutely silent so as not to be heard, escape or no escape. It didn’t make sense, even to her.
It was blank. Shauna was about to crumple it just as her face crumpled in disappointment when she realized there was nothing to find on it… except for a spot of what looked like blood. Or was it really a spot? It resembled a ring of sorts more, or, at a stretch, perhaps an “O”…
Oliver.
The thought hit her like a slap on the face.
What did this mean though? That whomever she had heard rummaging in her bedroom upstairs had her husband? Or was it meaningless, and it was just a bit of paper that fell out of Oliver’s briefcase on his way to work that morning?
Yes, that must be it. It was just a coincidence, and the substance probably wasn’t even blood, just red ink. She was sure Oliver only ever used black ink, but perhaps someone in his office used red, and he just ended up with this particular piece of paper in his briefcase. Surely, it did not mean anything was wrong.
And if this were true, then perhaps she had imagined the sounds she had thought she heard upstairs. The shadow she had been convinced that fell across the crack in the doorway to her office. That could have been a trick of the light – that, granted, she did not remember turning on, but she might have done it absent-mindedly. Things like that happened all the time.
Surely, there was no cause for worry. She was overreacting. She would turn back up the stairs, go to her office and see that it was just her imagination playing tricks on her. She would continue writing her latest article, and soon Oliver would come home and they would have dinner like they did every night. Everything would be fine, just like any other ordinary…
“Sha-una!” A mocking, high voice sounded directly next to her ear. The woman spun around, a scream on her lips as she faced her attacker, lost her balanced and plunged down the darkened stairs, falling into unconsciousness that would give way only to a nightmare.

