The Stair Runner

I stepped back through the screen door into the quiet front hall. At the foot of the staircase, a solid brass rod held the heavy woven runner flat against the bottom riser. I approached with deliberate steps and knelt down on the floorboards. Placing both hands against the smooth metal cylinder, I pressed forward with steady weight. The rod shifted a fraction into its bracket with a dry, muted click, pulling the fabric taut against the wood. I sat back against the base of the newel post, watching the dark hallway settle into the night.