I remember being very small while growing up in a large house that seemed to get bigger with each passing day. I would explore as much of the house as I could in one day, climbing over mountainous furniture to see out a high window or stalking monstrous tabby cats in an attempt to play with them.
However, my adventures usually came to an end when I reached the darkest and most disturbing part of the building: the stairs. Those stairs in our house, carpeted in a dirty brown material, always startled me for some reason or another. I'm not sure if it was because there was no source of light along the stairwell, making the hike up to the next level unbearable; or if it was the paintings that hung on the walls, the horrific pictures frightening me in every way possible; or perhaps it was because of the mountain-like trudge to the second floor, something that just very intimidating to a small toddler such as myself at the time.
But, for whatever reason, I always avoided that stairwell as if my two-year old life depended on it.