Why I Can't Climb Up the Stairs

because I know what’s up there.

My room is in the second floor, next to the bathroom with the stained glass

and the peppermint flavored candles.

My favorite toys wait for me on the window sill

I don’t want to go up there.

My favorite toys: Mr. Teddy is a soft bear plushie on the brink of discoloration

Brown once, but hugged so many times

Mr. Teddy is very nice

He showers me with compliments

and watches my favorite movies with me

and dances with me to my favorite songs.

There is also Mrs. Witch: looks as new as the day it was bought

Not because she doesn’t deserve hugs but because she scares me.

Mrs. Witch can be very nice too. I know she loves me.

But then she brews a potion in her big, filthy cauldron

-she does this everyday-

And she drinks it, fast, like a thirsty stray mutt

-like the one we saw breaking into the neighbor’s backyard to chase her cat-

I don’t know what the potion is, honest.

All I know is

It changes Mrs. Witch, and she is just not nice anymore.

She attacks Mr. Teddy, stumbling around in the haze of her potion

She screams and waves her arms around hoping they find her target

She attacks me.

-I’m afraid she might kill us one day-

Mr. Teddy says he can’t protect me

Mr. Teddy says he’s afraid of hurting Mrs. Witch.

So I always stay downstairs when I hear the clinking of her spoon in the cauldron.

I tell Mr. Teddy that one day I will take him and run.

I don’t want to go up there.