Relative Terror
I stood at the foot of the porch steps, gazing up towards the door. Twelve steps to the top. I had counted them long ago. Twelve steps to the top, eight steps to the door, then just knock. Wow, sounded really easy when I thought about it. So, why wouldn’t my feet move? Eleven years later and I still dreaded this place. All the old signs were there. My heart was racing, my palms were sweaty and I was stuck at the bottom of the stairs. Ah, home sweet home. ‘Buck up, Nicolai, this isn’t going to...