Margen
She climbed counting, as she used to as a girl to keep the fear away. On the eightieth step, the landing bulb blew out with a snap. On the ninetieth, she heard footsteps below her: someone was climbing too, at the same pace, one floor down.
Una stopped. The footsteps stopped.
She set off again. The footsteps followed her.
She reached the top with her heart in her throat and her hand on the lantern switch. Below, the voice from the radio now sounded without any radio, rising up the stairwell, closer and closer:
—Thank you, Una. I’m almost home.