The Stairwell

As you stand there, pondering what to do next, you hear what seems to be a creaking of the floor above you, as though someone were walking across it.
"Hello?" You shout, just noticing then how lonely you've become over the past hours.
No one answers; nor do you hear the sound again. But someone (or something) had to have made it. You decide it couldn't have been your imagination. Couldn't have been.
You rush toward the stairs, not thinking that any of them might be weak, or broken as you climb them. As you near the top step, the frailty of the steps becomes all too real.