The Step Game

What was that?

I thought I heard a step creak. It must just be nerves, though. And too much imagination.

My grandfather died two days ago. My Poppy. I’m a mess. I partly miss him, and partly am glad the old bastard is gone.

I have lots of good memories of him—fishing, building me a treehouse, smells of Old Spice and Lucky Strikes-

I have bad memories of him, too. He delighted in scaring us kids—especially at night. Whenever I stayed at their house, he’d come to the bottom of the stairs after I was in bed, and say, in a deep voice, “Wendy, I’m on the FIRST step—and I’m coming to GET you!” A pause, then, “Wendy, I’m on the SECOND step—” you get the idea. When he reached the door to my room, he’d usually jump in, saying ,”BOO!”, or “GOTCHA!”—and cackle to hear me squeal. He never got tired of the game, but I hated it. .

I swear, I heard a step creak….God, my nerves are shot.

But in the daytime, he was a pretty good grandfather. I got sick of the Step Game, though. I’m fourteen now—too old for that crap. So I waited , just inside the door, and when he got to the top of the steps, I jumped out, and pushed him, hard as I could—it worked better than I thought.

He staggered backwards, with a shocked look, and down the stairs he tumbled, landing in a broken heap at the bottom. That was last week. He was taken to the hospital, but only lived for three days. His back and hips were shattered. I just told everybody he fell, and they believed me.

A creak, right outside my door—-I shouldn’t have pushed him….

The funeral is tomorrow. I’ll be so glad when he’s buried.

Is that a shadow, by my door?? I think I smell Old Spice…..

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Credits to: Queenofscots