I made my way up the steps, the marble surface gleaming before me. Looking back one last time, Pacifica still stood by Mabel awkwardly.

I wish I didn't have to put her in Mabel's hands considering Mabel was crazy, but I really did need a bath. Blushing slightly, I viewed the hem of my shirt, unraveling and noticeably ripped. 

"...Ugh..." I groaned, taking a second to just imagine what Paz thought when she saw me ripped to shreds. I didn't want to know.

Turning the corner, I headed down the hallway to my bedroom, located at the farthest end of the house. Twelve doors stood before me, one on either side of the hall, just before reaching the room.  

In between each wooden door hung several images of Grunkle Stan, staring down at me with a menacing glare each time. A grin, stretched and knowing, pulled over his lips as his eyes bulged. Unflattering lights cast a shadow over his eyes, the camera supposedly positioned in such a way that he'd appear to be looking down on everyone. It was a wonder why Stan found the pictures so charming. 

I shivered, focusing on the floor's checkered pattern instead. The black squares were always set between the white squares, and vice versa. I had since counted the number of squares that sat between me and my bedroom. Setting my feet on the first black square, I began to count down in my head.  

'Twenty nine.' I started, taking brisk strides as I made my way across. The hallway was dark, growing darker still as I advanced towards my room. Stan's eyes persisted. 

'Twenty three. Twenty two. Twenty one. Twenty.' I felt my footsteps in tempo with my numbers, picking up the pace with each one. 

'Seventeen. Sixteen. Fifteen. Fourteen.' Stan's face grew warped in the darkness, dissolved figures seeming to dance in the background of each photo. Never have I stopped to study them, nor do I ever intend to. I tried to focus on the door ahead of me, only for it to appear as a gaping black hole. 

'Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.' His face melted, each grin now drooping and devilish in the shaded hallways. His skin seemed deathly pale, his eyes burrowing into my skull with each glance I gave them. Yellow teeth became a sickly mustard-brown as the lighting sank farther still.

'Six. Five. Four.' I felt as though I heard footsteps bounding towards me, quick and calculated. They came from behind, the weightiness of Stan's gut apparent with each slam his black dress shoes made against the tiles. Though not looking, I knew his fist was raised at me.

'Three. Two. One.' I felt his hands hover around my neck, slow to capture and choke me. My hairs stood on end, knowing he still wore that monstrous grin on his face.

I opened my bedroom door, light spilling out as I waltzed in.