The darkness of the stairs lay there waiting for him, like a vast open void. Not a sound could be heard from down below. “Mommy!” He regretted shouting the moment he heard his own terror in the brief, harsh echo. For now it knew, too. The darkness. There was no answer. Jonas swallowed. Then he began to tiptoe down the stairs. On the third step down he felt something wet under his feet. The same on the sixth. And the eighth. As if someone had been walking with wet shoes. Or wet feet. In the living room the light was on, but there was no Mommy.
there was no mommy
