Every night the sisters crept from darkness, their sharp words raking the air like claws. They sang up sneering shadows, their taunting voices, cold as death. Sleepless, we cowered in corners. And then one night, they vanished, a cackling flurry down winding stairs. Their absence was all that remained.
We woke to ice on windows, glass cracking and contracting in wooden frames. Condensation dripped down frosty walls. Frigid air hung heavy … waiting. Furniture loomed slick and sheer, a solid glacial blue. A grating crunch, and we pried the door, running for the stairs … lost under thick drifts of snow.
For Sue’s photo prompt, The Stairs.