At the top of the stairs was a brown door that locked with a skeleton key. That was the door to our apartment. I spent a lot of time behind that door for the three days that my parents were out of town.
My first night was the worst. I was so afraid to be up there all by myself. All I could think about was that man in the funeral home. Could he come back for me, and who would be there to protect me? I knew the rules - I was not allowed to go downstairs unless I was asked to, so I spent many hours sitting next to the door hoping someone would come and let me play with my cousins. During this time I kept seeing what I thought was my dead uncle - or was it the other dead guy? I would turn my head and he would just pass by really fast, like he was hiding from me. Uncle Frank always played games with me, like making his fingers disappear (it turns out he really was missing two fingers). I always thought he was fooling with me again, so I would look the apartment over thinking that if I moved my head fast enough, I would get a glimpse of him going around the corner, but I would never see him. I was always scared doing this because what if it was the dead guy from the funeral home? However, I just couldn't resist. .
For three whole days I was scared to death, but I never said anything to Aunt Carol when she came to get me for meals. It felt so good to be with my aunt, uncle, and cousins during meals, but we were not allowed to talk or drink anything until the meal was finished. Then, shortly after we were done, my aunt would say, "Michael, it's time to go back upstairs," and reluctantly, I would go, knowing the fear I was going to experience again. I had chills up my back as I walked up the stairs to my lonely apartment. I turned back, said goodnight to my aunt, and closed the door behind me.
Most of my time upstairs was spent sitting next to the door that led to the downstairs so I could be ready when someone came to get me.