Step at the edge of the stair

At the edges, and all of the foot at once. Nine separate conversations say to step near the walls or the banister rather than the middle of the tread, because the board is fixed to its supports at the edges and can flex — and squeak — in the middle; one account adds to avoid the centres of the very top and bottom steps. Five conversations say how to land: the whole foot down together, or rolled gently from the outside edge inward, rather than a heel strike or a tiptoe, because a point of pressure bends the board more than spread weight. The accounts argue the detail across two conversations on one side and three on the other, two accounts to three: whole-foot and flat against landing on the ball of the foot first and sliding; the accounts’ own decider is how your particular floor is built and whether you want silence or just safety. Single accounts add: the outer edge of each foot, moving slowly and upright; socks, which soften a creak and let a foot slide rather than grip — and which the safety line above says are also a slip; and crawling up on hands and feet, which spreads weight across four points, with one caution that a person found crawling up the stairs at night can be taken for something else.

Five separate conversations say a floor near heavy furniture or a wall is already pressed down or reinforced, so it has less room to move under you; one account puts it as the floor cannot move much when furniture is already standing on it. One exchange, one account each way, says it works and says it does not, and the honest caution is that some boards creak whatever you do — one account tried the furniture route and hit a loud panel anyway, and accounts in one conversation say their stairs are loud regardless of technique and silence is not possible in their house. The accounts’ own decider is the construction and wear of your particular floor. So the people here make a map: remember which boards and which steps are loud and route around them; count the stairs so you can take them without a light; lift the door handle as you open and close a door that squeaks, one account says; and mask the sound with something already running, another says — the air conditioning — or make a noise somewhere else. What to do about carpet against wood, and how to fix the creak for good, are gaps in these conversations, and this page does not fill them.

The accounts think so, in one exchange two accounts to two: if the aim is not to wake someone and the house will not allow it, make ordinary noise, say what you are doing — getting water — and let the household learn that the sound is you. One account learned the whole technique at sixteen for coming in late without waking parents, which is where one correction places the tip’s origin. One account makes a related point about other people’s fear: if you are walking behind someone who might feel vulnerable, make small periodic sounds so they know where you are. This page carries none of the strand about intruders that some of these conversations turned into; that is a different subject, and the accounts’ own contributions to it were largely jokes and weapons.

Keep a hand near it at least, the people here say, and the argument they have about germs comes down on the side of the rail. In one conversation three accounts to two, and in another three to two again, one side says public handrails are too dirty to touch — hover a hand over, sanitise, pull a sleeve down — and the other says a fall is far more dangerous than anything on a rail, and that your phone and every door handle carry the same. One correction, two accounts behind it, says germs do not jump: contact is needed, and washing your hands afterwards is the whole precaution; another correction unpicks a story about someone said to have fallen ill from bathing, offered as a hygiene warning: the illness was unrelated, and the person was 94. Two cautions say wash or sanitise after using a public rail, and one notes the paradox that the sanitiser bottle and the tap are not clean either. The accounts’ own decider is your tolerance for germs against your fear of falling, and the four accounts who have fallen or watched a fall, and the two who name neighbours or acquaintances killed by one, say the rail. Stairs with no rail, and stairs for people with balance problems or who cannot change how they walk, are gaps in these conversations; this page’s tricks are for people who can take a staircase safely already.