The Swing.

by Nerissa
(Lititz, PA, USA)

I've lived in the same house, same town, in the same state, my whole life.

As a Child, My Mother always took me and my siblings to a neighborhood friend of the family's house to talk and play.

She and My Mother always sat on the porch swing while I and the rest of my siblings would pay on a big rock in her house.

A while ago, The friend of our family was murdered by her ex-boyfriend in the basement of that home.

The day of the funeral, it was gloomy and rainy. It was very depressing.

As the friends of the woman began talking about her and sharing sweet stories. The sun came out from the clouds, the whole room lit up and everyone got a chill. They knew she was there.

I was not at the funeral at this time, because I was only a child. But my Mother still talks about it.

And sometimes, when I walk past her house, I feel a strange presence. Like she's still there. Watching me. And sometimes on very calm nights when I walk by, the very swing that my Mother and her used to sit on, rocks back and forth...