Invasion

My little brother told me it was an invasion as soon as we saw the abandoned poppet on the stairwell to our grandmother’s old flat. She lived in the flat above us and sometimes Mum and Dad would pay her rent (though they avoided telling us, and we found out from the crack under the door and through the keyhole to their room).

I told my little brother that one poppet was not enough, there needed to be more. “Strength in numbers,” I reminded him. He looked at the poppet so long I thought perhaps he would take it to his room, treat it kindly, offer it tea at four o’clock. But he left it there and retreated to him room poppet-less.

The next day there was another. Then the day after that there were four. I didn’t admit to my brother that I might be wrong but he gave me a look. They multiplied and now there are hundreds crammed on the stairs, none putting a single toe over the bottom step. And I felt safe.

This morning though one of them was at least three inches away from the bottom of the stairs. Now I’m worried.

Text by Lucie MacAulay