At The Bottom Of The Stairs Poem by John F. McCullagh

They found her in the darkness

at the bottom of the stairs

She had, for some time, lived alone

-three days she had lain there.

Her skin was clammy to the touch,

pulse irregular and weak.

In and out of consciousness

She’d drift, but could not speak.

The nine eleven call was made

And the paramedics. arrived

Hours later we got the call:

Granny Jo had not survived.



I’m staying at her house now

As we sort things out for sale.

I’ve kept busy painting rooms.

and I’ve installed a new hand rail.

Some strange things have been happening;

my cat hissing at unseen specters.

of whom I'm unaware.

a door that opens of itself

a slowly rocking chair.

At night this old house whispers and moans,

Pipes bang and stair treads creak.

Especially on a rainy night

I find it hard to sleep.

Staying here at night alone

There’s one place I won’t go.

I avoid the basement steps.

where Dad found Granny Jo.

Sometime when I pass that door

I hear faint muttering there

Evil waits in the darkness

at the bottom of the stairs….