THE ROCKING CHAIR

A Story by Brent Matthew Evesson

Around the far side of town resided an old lady and her shop. She sold antiques for a living. Most of them were items that were once owned by members of her family but were no longer a part of the living. The old lady collected these items to remind her of the time she spent with each family member but at the same time, she wanted to put these items to good use since they’re still usable. It was a difficult choice to make but she finally decided to sell them in appropriate prices. Not too cheap to honor the dead and not too expensive to attract the attention of the customers.

People who knew her call her Mrs. Nexus. She’s pretty sweet once you put time to get to know her. Many remember not only from her gratitude and angelic smile but also the twinkle in her eyes. That feature also helped her in selling her wares to her customers. Whenever they’d just skim through a few items on the counters, she’ll come close and converse with them. And when they exited the shop, they’ve always bought something from her.

But apart from antique grandfather clocks, carefully polished furniture and other knick knacks, there also stood a white rocking chair in the corner of the shop.

The rocking chair was far from being in a bad condition even though it’s one of the oldest items Mrs. Nexus has ever received. The wood was pretty old but still sturdy to support almost anyone. The white paint looked a little faded but you could barely notice unless you have a picture from when it was first built and comparing it with its state now. And what made it different from other rocking chairs was that it never creaks. Of course, people will find it a little weird but Mrs. Nexus has assured them that it never creaks on any surface at all.

They even made sure if Mrs. Nexus wasn’t deaf or something but apparently, she still has a great sense of hearing.

For years, Mrs. Nexus had been trying to sell that rocking chair to her customers but none seem interested in it. She tried lowering the cost but it was no good.

The rocking chair itself was pretty important to Mrs. Nexus but she’ll feel better if someone else were to use it. You see, that rocking chair belonged to her grandmother as far as she can remember. She remembered her mother telling her of her childhood. Her grandmother used that rocking chair to put her mother to sleep and never had it failed her. Then when the years passed by, it was her mother this time who used that chair to rock her to sleep. Again, it didn’t fail at all. Mrs. Nexus never had children of her own so she never got to rock a baby to sleep herself. But it was that thought alone that pushed her into selling the chair. It can no longer serve its purpose in Mrs. Nexus’ possession but it can still serve if it were to be given to a different family. The chair possesses a lot of sentimental value for Mrs. Nexus but she feels it is for the best if she sells to be in use rather than letting it rot in her storage room.

But selling that rocking chair to another family…

Turned out to be a bad idea…

Samantha heard a lot of stories about the antique shop in the far side of town. She’s, more or less, a collector of antiquity so this definitely peaked her interest. Though that may be the case, she had never visited the shop yet. Her job demanded a lot out of her free time leaving her with little or no time to drive all the way to the end of town. What kept her more from visiting the shop was because she lived on the other side of town.

But luckily, her job at that moment was no longer a factor as she’s been given a week vacation. Either it was because of her achievements or maybe her boss realized how much stress is piling up on her that she seriously needed some time off, it didn’t matter because she’s just glad when it was announced to her. And who would’ve guessed that on her first day of vacation she decided to pay Mrs. Nexus’ antique shop a visit.

When Samantha finally arrived at the shop, she took a moment to admire the exterior design. The whole shop looked fairly nice and normally sticks out since it’s squeezed between two towering buildings. The walls were painted in a beige color, almost fading from age but kept that glow on the shop to peak interests on passers-by. Samantha also had to admire the polished wooden entrance door greeting anyone that looks at it with a sort of “Come in and have a look around” feel. Initially, she’s drawn to the shop but it didn’t last long as her friend quickly smacked her out of her stare.

“Are you just gonna stand there and dawdle outside or are we gonna go in?” Hailey asked her. She had been friends with Samantha for a long time now but she still treats her like a little kid, even though Samantha is actually 4 years older than her.

Hailey first made sure to lock the doors of her brother’s old pickup truck. The reason why she didn’t use her new Ford to drive all the way to the other end of town was because of the glint she saw in her friend’s eyes. It’s a sign to her that says, “Be sure to get ready for a big load of crap”. She’d been through a lot of ‘Samantha’s antique collection shopping’ to realize that there’s a high chance she’ll buy something that won’t fit in a normal sedan so that left her with driving both of them with the old pickup truck. To Hailey, her friend’s antique collection can only be considered like crap to her but she accepted it all the same. But Samantha still has problems with Hailey calling her collection other than ‘crap’.

Samantha shook her head and nodded at her friend. They then entered the shop. Samantha would occasionally stop and browse through the many antique items and trinkets displayed everywhere in the shop. There were things as small as a baby’s finger and things as big as a master’s drawer. Though there were many Samantha can choose from, her eyes then fix into a particular object placed in one of the far corners of the shop.

“Wow!” Samantha gasped, completely mesmerized by the object. “Hailey, take a look at this!” she called out to her friend who’s at the moment reluctantly browsing through some old angel figurines in a shelf. Hailey got the message and made her way to the corner. She didn’t have the same enthusiasm that Samantha showed after seeing the object, however.

It was just a normal rocking chair after all.

“Uh…” Hailey tried to summon up a word, any word, to describe what she’s actually seeing in front of her. Of course, it’s a little hard to actually utter a word about the old rocking chair. Just what word can you actually describe it with other than ‘old’, ‘aged’, ‘antique-y’ (Her usual word for Samantha’s hobby) and ‘old’ (again)?

“Ma’am how old is this chair?” Samantha asked Mrs. Nexus, already forgetting about Hailey’s lack of participation in her shopping.

Mrs. Nexus slowly walked from between the shelves holding odder antiquities to the corner of the room where the rocking chair laid out. She showed a passive smile to her customers as they mentioned for her to evaluate the item they selected though on the inside, she’s gleaming with hope that the rocking chair will no longer be with her. She’s determined to sell it no matter what.

“It dates back to my grandmother around a century ago,” she answered the young woman. She then touches the chair and began rocking it. “It’s very old but amazingly withstanding the test of time.” She giggled a bit from the thought. “It may even live for another century if properly taken care of.”

Samantha watched as the old lady known as Mrs. Nexus began rocking the chair while having her wrinkled eyes unfocused. It’s kind of hard to actually see if her eyes were actually unfocused since she’s wearing thick eye glasses but Samantha still thought that nostalgia was literally drifting her away. Hailey was just standing next to Samantha, without a care to the antique.

“It never creaks.” Mrs. Nexus said it in such a low tone that it barely came to Samantha’s hearing.

“Excuse me?” she replied.

Mrs. Nexus turned to the young woman and gave her a smile before answering. “It never creaks, my dear.” She said it with such certainty that Samantha found it hard to disagree. “It was made with special wood that it never once creaked. Any surface, child, this chair will never make a sound.” She then puts more force on her push on the chair and Samantha finally realizes something.

Mrs. Nexus was right, the rocking chair never creaked. Upon further inspection, the old wooden floorboards would usually creak when she took a step so Mrs. Nexus let her try using the rocking chair to prove the truth to her words. Again, the chair never creaked when Samantha used it. At this point, she’s a little convinced but either the old lady was telling a lie or actually the truth, she would still buy it.

Even though she said that, Samantha felt a little guilty that she’s taking away an item of great sentimental value from an old lady at such a low price. She even asked if Mrs. Nexus could take a bit of charity seeing that her business wasn’t exactly prospering as one would see but the old lady didn’t like to be pitied.

“I can take care of myself, deary. This shop is my life and I want to be here until I breathe my last.” were her words to her. Though it may seem dark, Mrs. Nexus still gave off that angelic smile to her customers as if she’s living her life a second time.

When all payments were taken care of, Samantha and Hailey were about to move the rocking chair to the back of their pickup truck when Hailey suddenly felt a chill run down her spine after touching the chair for the first time. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling and it just gave her something to think about.

They moved the chair into the pickup truck. Hailey would’ve called in his brother to help with the labor but strangely, he said he had some business to attend to even though it was an off day. It didn’t take a genius to realize that he was just ditching her. Either way, she’d still be stuck with helping her friend pack whatever ‘crap’ she bought.

Oh the things she’d do for a close friend…

When Samantha and Hailey finally got the old rocking chair into the pickup truck, they went back inside to finalize the purchase. It was relatively safe to keep the chair unsecured since nobody will even think of taking ‘crap’ like that. At least, that’s what Hailey told Samantha. Reluctantly, Samantha just followed her friend’s words and gave one last look before disappearing through a polished wooden door.

Passers-by would stop and stare at the rocking chair with mixed feelings of confusion, curiosity and also fear. They didn’t voice it out and they quickly looked away after over ten seconds of staring. It was fear that made them look away. But fear of what?

“Thank you very much again, Mrs. Nexus.” Samantha thanked the old woman as she exited the shop with Hailey by her side.

“I should thank you, deary for buying it,” the old lady replied. “It’s not everyday I get to meet someone with such great interest with fine antiquity. Be sure to take care of it.”

“Don’t worry, madam. I will.”

Before Mrs. Nexus went back to her shop, she called back Samantha. “I have just one piece of advice, deary,” she got Samantha’s full attention from the sentence she let out. It was faint and didn’t hold the same kind of tone she used to have. It was far more serious. “When you rock that chair and suddenly hear it creak… run away…” And with her parting words, she reentered her shop.

Hailey just raised a brow at this. “What the heck does she mean by that?” she asked with her hands on her hips.

Samantha just shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Sounded like she was warning you or something.”

“You worry too much, Hay-hay.”

“No doubt, girl,” She rolled her eyes. “Who wouldn’t be worried when their friend is such a collector of worthless crap?”

“For the last time, it’s not worthless!” Samantha defended.

“Okay, okay, let’s just get going. For some reason, it’s getting cold out here.” She exhaled deeply and it shocked both females to see that they can see her breath. It wasn’t even close to winter yet.

“It’s the middle of June, right?” Samantha asked, only to get a nod as a reply from her paling friend. For some reason, she also felt a gust of cold wind hitting her. It didn’t mind her a bit since she’s used to cold climates but this swift change in temperature just couldn’t be ignored.

“That’s some chair,” a male passer-by commented to Samantha, startling her from her thoughts. Strangely, the temperature returned to a normal warm setting once the man talked to her. “Bought it from Mrs. Nexus?”

“Yeah. Got it off cheap.” Samantha replied with a smile adorning her face.

“I got a question if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you know the guy sitting there?” he pointed to the chair.

“What?”

“There was this guy,” he began describing the said man. “He was sitting on that chair when you two entered the shop. I’ve been looking at him all this time and he didn’t move an inch. Some people stopped to look at him but they quickly looked away with scared-ass expressions in their faces. It was kinda freaky too.”

“…” Samantha was listening intently but didn’t put any belief in it.

“He had this… I don’t know, uh… presence that… that makes you feel scared for a reason. Just looking at him made me and my friends shiver. I swear that guy gave me the creeps. But strangely, I just looked away for a second and when I looked back… he was gone.”

Hailey was skeptical and argued that he was just seeing things while Samantha took it a little more seriously than what you would normally do. She took one more glance at the chair but found no oddity in its state. She convinced herself it was just a prank. A foolish prank.

But who in their right minds would play a prank like that?

It was a passing thought but unfortunately, neither of the girls paid it any heed.

The rocking chair was finally settled into Samantha’s little home, just beside her front door on the front porch. There wasn’t any room for it inside but it looked well to be outside and get a view of Samantha’s garden.

Samantha thought it was a nice addition. Hailey, on the other hand, still thought it was just a piece of junk. Sure it’s great for a nice homey feel but the problem to that feeling was who would be using the rocking chair?

Hailey didn’t really know what Samantha would say to that so she kept it sealed in her lips. She didn’t want to lose her best friend because of a hobby after all.

Samantha settled herself on the flat wooden seat of the rocking chair and relaxed. She let out a sigh. “It’s so relaxing,” she said while pushing her legs on the floor and causing the chair to start rocking. And true to Mrs. Nexus’ claim, the chair didn’t creak.

“I’m sure it is,” Hailey replied settling herself on the railing of Samantha’s veranda, hands folded. “I still think it doesn’t suit this place.”

“Yes, it does,” Samantha said. “It’s my veranda after all, Hay.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that.” She chuckled. Hailey stayed in her position by the railing when Samantha entered her home to answer the phone. Must be her boyfriend, she thought.

After two minutes waiting outside, Hailey decided to go inside the house too. The weather outside was like the Sahara desert at noon. She took one final glance at the steady rocking chair, feeling a little weird around it. And when she thought back to the man who claimed to have seen another man sitting on that very same chair while she and Samantha were inside the antique store, she shivered.

She took three steps when…

CREAK!

Hailey stopped mid-step. Her eyes widened. Senses pulled into overdrive. Fear building in her gut.

“When you rock that chair and suddenly hear it creak… run away…”

Mrs. Nexus’ parting words echoed in her ears like a prophesized verse of the gospels.

CREAK!

From where Hailey stood, one foot still dangling two inches above the floor, a menacing glare stabbed her back like a cold sharp knife grinding through rough and tainted flesh. She inadvertently shivered. The glare wasn’t like the one you get from a person who hated you. There was more hatred wrapped around it.

Eerie…

Fearful…

Rage…

Hunger…

Desperation…

Madness…

The emotions were tainted. Uncontrollable as well. They gripped onto Hailey like parasites sucking the life out of their host. And even though she had her back facing the dreadful furniture, she had this feeling that someone was sitting there rocking the chair.

Dark and old. Bony hands clasping onto the armchairs. CREAK! CREAK! The rocking increased in pace. Blood flowed around its body, but not because of life beating in its heart. It wanted revenge. Its black blood boiled in anger.

CREAK!

“… dss… er… ssssstttaaaahhh… prooooo…” a shrill voice came from behind Hailey.

“… run away…”

Hailey wanted to listen to what Mrs. Nexus said but the previous voice put her mind in a daze. Her eyes were getting heavy and her strength leaving her weakening body. She landed to the ground on her knees as the sunny weather turned black and cold as if she was kneeling in the snow during a blizzard with only a summer dress to keep her warm. The last thought she had before blacking out was strangely, ‘Books’.

“Hey Hailey,” Samantha said from inside the kitchen. “I’m making some iced tea. Which flavor do you want with your tea?”

No one answered.

“Hailey?”

Again, no one answered.

I wonder what’s wrong? It wasn’t like Hailey to not answer when someone asked a question. And she loved tea. Surely, she wouldn’t not answer to her question like that. If that was so, Samantha had a bad feeling about this.

“Hay-hay,” she called her out with her nickname but still had the silent answer as before. “Hay-hay, are you there?”

She opened the door to the veranda. Then went to where the old rocking chair stood following the sound of its CREAKs. She did not realize that the rocking chair wasn’t supposed to creak.

Samantha gasped, clasping both her hands to her mouth as her eyes locked themselves to the sight in front of her.

CREAK! CREAK! CREAK!

Hailey was sitting in the chair, rocking slowly in a paced rhythm. Her head was lowered; her face covered in grey hair coming from her head. Her fists kept opening and closing moving along with the rhythm of her back and forth rocks. She rocked forward; her hands were stretched out, palms facing the armchair. She rocked back; her hands closed into tight fists, shaking and pale. From where Samantha stood gaping, Hailey looked like a blood-drained corpse awaiting her burial.

“H—Hailey?” Samantha’s voice came out raspy and quiet. She took a step forward; the creak of the floorboard was eliminated from the rocking chair’s own creaking. Her throat was dry. She could only stare as Hailey kept on rocking without a care for the world. She tried calling for her again but the syllables wouldn’t reach her tongue. Only an audible exhaling of breath came out of her mouth.

Hailey kept on rocking. Going slower. Slower. Slower. And slower.

Samantha blinked once. Only once. And when her eyelids popped open again, Hailey’s face hovered three inches away from her. Samantha gasped, tripping from the shock and landing on the hard floor with a THUD. When she looked back up Hailey was nowhere in her sight. She wasn’t in the chair nor was she where she was seconds ago.

Her heart raced like a raging piston. Blood coursed through her body like a busy highway. Her breathing was erratic. Fear clawing at her chest, not letting go anytime soon. Shivers came up and down her spine. And when she thought everything was just a figment of her imagination, a cold breath touched the nape of her neck.

Samantha turned but was submitted to the ground just as quickly. She wailed and screamed for help. The creaking stopped. Only her voice screeching every last drop of sound it had into the vacant air. She screamed so loud it can make people’s ears bleed.

“Sam! SAM!!” a different but familiar voice shouted with Samantha, calling her name. It took a little more shouting and comforting touches before Samantha’s mind finally registered who was speaking to her, trying to calm her down. When she opened her eyes, her gaze met with deep cerulean eyes. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Darrell…”

She looked back at the rocking chair, clearly afraid to see what she will see. But the only thing that she saw from that veranda on a hot summer Sunday was her best friend, Hailey, lying face-down on the floor.

Darrell went to the kitchen to continue making some iced tea while Samantha sat on the living room sofa. Hailey’s sleeping form lied beside her. Darrell just came to visit after calling Samantha that he’ll be at her house in 10 minutes or so. And when he finally did came, he saw Samantha looking as pale as a ghost, and Hailey lying on the ground like she’d been knocked unconscious. Thankfully, there were no injuries when he checked her head.

Samantha didn’t say anything else after realizing who he was. She was so fragile and scared during that moment that Darrell can’t bring himself to question her until the shock came-and-went. There was no chance for him to learn anything about what happened until Samantha pulled it together.

He trailed back into the living room to see Hailey slowly waking up. They were silent as he served them two glasses of fresh iced tea. They took the transparent glasses filled with the brownish liquid but didn’t drink the contents.

“Sam,” Darrell started, finally ridding the grueling minutes of silence between the three. “What happened?”

In all honesty and truth, she really didn’t know. Hailey told the same.

Darrell sighed and combed his short red hair with his hand. “Are you sure? Are you sick? Did you eat something rotten? Why were you screaming when I touched?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I honestly do not know…”

“Then what exactly happened?” he said this more to himself than asking his half-sister. Oh, that’s right. Samantha and Darrell have the same father but they have different mothers. Darrell was 6 years older than Sam, so she sometimes looked up to him like an actual brother. They were really close and even when they went their separate paths; they came in regular contact with each other. Darrell usually had this tendency to be overprotective of Samantha ever since she had a near-death experience when she was small. Finding her in this state just ignited his brotherly instincts into overdrive. He wasn’t about to let this subject drop any time soon.

“I better go,” Hailey said, standing up from her seat. She was still a little unbalanced from whatever happened to her and almost fell on the wooden floor if it wasn’t for Darrell’s quick reflexes. He caught her just in time before she completely collapsed.

“Woah, take it easy there,” he said, reprimanding. “Do you want me to walk you home?”

She shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Darrell hesitated. She was still a little pale and she didn’t even take a sip from her iced tea. She was sweating quite a lot too. But the look she was giving him told him to leave it. “Alright,” he said after lifting Hailey back up.

“See ya, Sam,” she said to her friend who nodded as a response.

When Hailey opened and closed the entrance door, Darrell went back to Samantha’s side. Samantha saw him eyeing the glass of iced tea she was holding. Inwardly sighing for being overprotective again, she drank the refreshing taste of lemon tea. Her thirst now quenched and the glass having only ice inside it, she laid the empty glass on the coffee table and turned back to her brother.

“What really happened?” he said, stubborn and overprotective as always.

Samantha would have laughed at his actions but the situation had no use for it. “I don’t know, Darrell.” She bowed her head low and looked at her lap like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “But I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

Darrell was not convinced at all. “I may not know what really happened,” he said, “but I will be spending the night here with you.” When he saw Samantha look up to glare at him and then opened her mouth to retort, he quickly said, “No arguments.”

That night, Samantha couldn’t sleep. Over the day she had been thinking about what happened to her that made her want to scream. And also find out why she felt so afraid when she didn’t even know what she was afraid of. All she can remember was asking Hailey what flavor of tea she wanted, then when she didn’t answer she decided to check on her in the veranda. She remembered opening the entrance door and stepping outside… but that was all. What happened between the time she entered the veranda and when Darrell came to calm her down was all a blank.

Why can’t I remember?

She tossed in turn in her bed, sleepless from all the thinking. Sighing dejectedly, she rose up from her queen-sized bed, exited her bedroom and went downstairs to make a warm glass of milk. That would surely help her go to sleep.

It was a quarter after 11 when she descended down the stairs. Her brother, Darrell, was sleeping soundly inside the guest room (She could practically hear his deafening snores when she stood in front of his door) so she didn’t have to worry that he’ll wake up when he hears her footsteps going down the stairs. If that wasn’t enough, then the sound of her footsteps will be muffled by the sound of rain.

Samantha looked out from the kitchen window, gazing at the night as the rain strengthened in intensity. Placing the empty glass in her hand into the kitchen sink, she turned back and went directly back to the stairs. But as she passed a nearby window, she saw a shadow from the corner of her peripheral vision. She looked back fearfully, still jumpy after her unexplainable experience only hours ago.

The shadow was gone. But in its place was someone sitting on the rocking chair outside. Its silhouette the only thing Samantha can see. She blinked and it disappeared. No trace. No sound. No presence.

She felt shivers all over. The night was quiet, getting colder by the minute. Very quiet. The raindrops were still pouring down.

The rain…!

There was no sound to be heard yet the rain still fell.

CREAK!

Samantha jumped at the sudden noise and faced her back to the nearest wall. It came from somewhere behind her. When her back was parallel to the wall she surveyed the room. Darkness was everywhere. After ten agonizing seconds of utter silence in the room, Samantha can now faintly hear the pitter-patter of rain reaching her ears. But the cold did not cease from lowering and Samantha can already see her breath every time she exhaled.

Her knees were shaking. The cold was unbearable. She was only wearing a nightgown with very thin fabric. She was scared. She didn’t know what was going on, and didn’t like it. She formed her hands into fists and bit her lip, hard. The cold was like a coat of fire forming around her. It wasn’t burning her skin, but it still felt like burning. And it was painful. Very painful.

More shivers made their way around her body. Her arms. Her fingers. Her teeth. Her shoulders. It was almost like she was having a seizure. Samantha was about to give in, collapse to her knees and let consciousness fade away. But it wasn’t yet over.

TAP! TAP!

Someone was here, other than her. Another presence. Cold and deep. Fiery and wild. TAP-TAP it went, like a little child gazing at the toys behind a display window in the mall where he taps his fingers on the glass wishing to get this toy or that toy. And that tapping ‘child’ was gazing at Samantha.

She peered over her shoulder, going as slowly as she could. Hoping against hope that she will not see anything. She didn’t. She saw nothing but the empty veranda and the heavy rain of the night. Samantha sighed in relief…

CRASH! “IT WAS YOU!!!”

A sudden force gripped tightly around Samantha’s neck sealing the very airway she needed to breathe. Her eyes bulged like saucers as her eyes trailed the boney hand to the bloodied shoulder, then to the face of the angry choker.

“I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE! I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE!”

The voice was raspy and dead, but the rage was still there. It poured all over Samantha like a shower of fire arrows piercing through her heart and soul. She grasped the tight hold the choker had on her, trying her best to let out a scream. Any kind of noise to alert anyone. Anyone!

The shards of glass from the broken window stabbed her earlier but her mind was too preoccupied at the sudden shock to react to it just yet. Besides, the pain of being subjected to a deathly chokehold numbed the pierced skin and sharp pieces of glass half-sticking in her flesh.

“IT IS YOU! I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE! IT IS YOU! I WILL TAKE BACK WHAT MUST BE MINE!”

The grip Choker had grown tighter and tighter, Samantha’s eyes were already starting to pluck out of her sockets. She was losing her strength. She couldn’t look straight at Choker, letting her last seconds of sight instead be wasted to the white ceiling of her living room. Her last thoughts were about ‘Books’ when her neck finally snapped and her head rolled to the floor.

That was all she saw.

And she then woke up, sweating and screaming bloody murder.

Darrell woke up from the sound of screaming coming from his sister’s bedroom. Reacting as fast as his brotherly instincts were telling him ‘Sister is in need of your help’, he rolled out of bed and stepped into the dark corridor of the second floor. He raced to Samantha’s room, opening the door without even bothering to knock.

“Samantha!” he called out to her. She screamed some more, tossing and turning in her bed as if she was burning. Darrell ran to her side, lifting her up and hugging her tightly. This gesture always calmed her down when she cried or when she was upset. It took longer than usual, but it was somehow understandable. Once Samantha finally quieted and lowered her screams into silent sobs, Darrell started comforting her with words. “There, there.”

“Darrell…” She hiccupped. “Darrell…” She cried in her brother’s arms; her sobs muffled by the fabric of Darrell’s shirt. The rain poured outside. It may have been just a dream. A nightmare. Or (she dreaded the thought) maybe even a vision. The dream was vivid still even when she was awake. It was still embedded in her head, remembering every movement, every scenery, every heart-stopping moment that will forever plague Samantha’s mentality. What should she do?

Her breath slowed and returned to a normal pace. Darrell kept saying comforting words to her as she stayed snuggled on his torso. He rocked his sister to sleep until she fell asleep again. Fortunately, nightmares did not haunt her dreams that time. She had a very peaceful sleep.

The next morning, Darrell went outside into the veranda for some fresh air. Samantha was inside cooking breakfast. Darrell can already smell the fresh eggs and bacon she was cooking.

He didn’t know what he can do to help Samantha with the problem she’s facing. It wasn’t ordinary, he can already tell that much. But he cannot tell her that she should see a doctor. Or maybe even a shrink. Samantha was never a screamer nor did she scream for mundane reasons. She barely screams at all, if memory serves. The only time that he ever heard her scream apart from the two earlier outbursts was back when they were children playing outside their father’s tool shed.

Darrell didn’t know why but Samantha just screamed as much as her 7-year-old lungs can all of a sudden. She startled him with her scream but when she winded up unconscious for a dreadful three days, he feared he was about to lose his one and only half-sibling. They were two years apart with Darrell being the elder sibling. It was after that strange and traumatic experience did Darrell started to become overprotective of her. He felt the pain. He felt the dread. He felt the feeling of losing someone close, in a way. And within these things, he did not want to experience them again. So what harm will Samantha be in if he was there to keep her safe, was his 9-year-old mind’s train of thought. Now, however, the circumstances deemed it that he no longer had a grasp in keeping Sam safe. If he can’t protect Samantha with things going like this, then he had to destroy the cause from its source.

This was the real reason why he was outside and in the veranda. It started here, somewhat. He saw Hailey knocked out lying face-down on the floor near the white rocking chair. That was where Samantha was looking at too. Her face mirrored fear and disbelief, Darrell could only imagine what she had seen. Everything turned into a Still Life portrait. Neither Samantha nor Hailey moved from their spot. Hailey didn’t stir. Samantha didn’t move; she was rooted on the spot. Darrell was just nearing the steps to the veranda when Samantha suddenly started screaming. Familial instincts kicked in and he rushed over to her with a comforting hand. She resisted at first but she soon calmed down.

Darrell could hardly believe what happened yesterday.

Darrell neared the rocking chair, observing every piece of white wood and splinter. He trailed the armrest feeling the cold through his fingers. He blamed last night’s rain for it. It was a normal rocking chair like any other. Samantha bought it herself, and he knew how much her hobby can be strange with all its antique knick-knacks but he never really understood why she wanted to buy this furniture. He kept tracing the smooth surface of the chair until they settled on the back. Giving it a slight push, Darrell watched the antique rocking chair rock back and forth on its own.

But then a sudden feeling attacked him like a hungry wolf. His right hand grasped his left chest as pain started coursing through his torso. The unbearable feeling was directed towards Darrell’s heart. The ever-beating organ felt numb and dead already. Air began to diminish inside his lungs, yet he can’t replace them even if he tried. Darrell wanted to breathe but the ability was lost to him for some reason. Hyperventilating didn’t help either.

CREAK!

The sound of it made Darrell’s skin crawl. But at the same time, it somehow mesmerized him to come closer to it. He took very small steps, his breath ragged as if his throat was constricted into a tiny straw. His eyesight was out of focus. It was only because of the sound that Darrell took these agonizing steps. He then positioned himself behind the rocking chair…

CREAK!

The chair moved forward inviting Darrell’s posterior with anticipation. ‘Come and sit’ was definitely what it was trying to say. Darrell obeyed.

He sat down and released his feet from the ground. The chair supported him, rocked him like a frail old man. But as he rocked the chair like there’s no tomorrow, the painful feeling came back. And with it was an unwanted scenery.

The old man rocked on his new handmade rocking chair. It was offered to him by one of the nicer merchants in the village. What made it a really good bargain was the inability for it to creak. The old man hated creaks. He heard creaks in his sleep, while he walked the corridors of his house, while there was a strong wind and his windows were following the flow, and while he ascended or descended from the stairs. It was an annoying sound to his ears and he was thankful that he can rock in peace. The merchant was more than happy to sell the piece of furniture. Too happy, in fact.

He kept the pace on his legs, savoring his ears to the silent rock. On his lap was his copy of Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe. He read the book already but wanted to read it again. Adjusting his thick square-rimmed glasses, he turned to the next page and read leisurely.

“Norman,” a hoarse voice reached his ears. From the old man’s view over the book, he could see a pair of black loafers on his porch. The wearer of the black loafers stood tall as he eyed the sitting old man. His business demeanor reflected how much he meant business, though he could’ve done a better job in adjusting his blazer and tie. His dress pants did not even match the blazer. The blazer was midnight blue while the pants were black. “We need to talk.”

“My, my, my, Gregory.” Norman closed the novel and placed on the table beside him. “What, if you mind me asking, is it that you want to talk to me about?”

Gregory looked around cautiously. The place was situated in the inner parts of the slums, and he didn’t want anyone to eavesdrop on their conversation. Call him paranoid but that’s just how he rolls into things.

“Not here,” he said, shaking his head. “Somewhere private.”

The old man nodded. He then took his walking stick leaning on the table and stood up. Opening the door to his home, he invited Gregory in. “Ah, very troubled times.”

Gregory slowly walked into the house, his eyes never leaving the old man. Once the door was closed, he said, “Where is it?”

“Where is what?” Norman replied, looking perplexed.

“‘It’.”

“My boy, I do not understand. What is this… ‘It’ you are talking about?”

“You have 10 seconds to give ‘it’ to me, Norman. 10 seconds.”

“Gregory, what..?”

“8 seconds.”

“I don’t understand!”

“5 seconds.”

“…”

“3 seconds. 2… 1…” Norman pulled out a Colt 1911 from his chest pocket. Gregory was staring wide-eyed at the metal weapon before it was aimed at his forehead in point-blank range. He was about to shout for help when, “Zero!”

BANG!

“Senile old man,” Norman muttered as he holstered his weapon. He then started rummaging through all of Norman’s belongings. The gunshot was loud enough for passers-by to hear so time was of the essence. Once he’d hear sirens, he will have to hightail it and don’t look back.

And as he was looking under the old man’s bed, realization dawned on him like a brick that fell directly on his head. Gregory raced outside and neared the rocking chair. But that wasn’t his priority. It was the book lying on the table next to the rocking chair.

“Found you,” he said as he picked up the book and flipped it open. He turned each page vigorously, trying to look for something of importance. His fingers abruptly stopped as his greedy-looking eyes settled on a piece of paper acting as a bookmark for the novel. “Finally.” He was about to remove it…

STAB!

A heavy dose of pressure and pain erupted in Gregory’s lower side, where his kidneys were, when his fingers touched the slip of paper. He looked over his shoulder and gasped out blood when the shock hit him like an 18-wheeler.

Norman held a knife in his cold hands as the blade dove into Gregory’s side a few inches above his right hip. His eyes white in death. His mouth formed a sinister grin in revenge and satisfaction. He pushed Gregory to the rocking chair. The knife was pulled out from the sudden action and blood gushed out of his wound in few pints. Norman said, “Sssssiiii… ttttaaaaaaa… ttsssssuuuuuu… quuaaaaahhh…” He held the murder weapon up high and sent it down with nothing but killing intent.

Gregory screamed, or at least tried to when the sharp blade punctured his lung. He instead coughed out more blood as the knife was pulled out of his body, then stabbed again in another part. His nerves were getting numb from all the pain and his mind was going black. He was dying.

“Sacrifice!” Norman shouted as he plunged the blood-stained blade right into Gregory’s forehead. Gregory’s eyes rolled back into his skull as the puncture wound on his head bled out what remaining blood he had in his veins.

When the sirens echoed and the police arrived on the scene, they stumbled upon a disturbing scene. They labeled it as murder, but they only identified one victim. Mr. Norman Shoemaker’s body was never found. The officers were ordered to shoot the murderer if he/she showed any sign of hostility or resisting arrest. They were dealing with a sick, sick person. Why? Because when they found Mr. Gregory Kneels, his body was covered all over in blood and stab wounds. But what gave them a chill run down their spines (Even the most elite had to cringe) was where Mr. Kneels body was positioned. Rigor mortis already started on the corpse so he was as stiff as a board as he sat on the rocking chair. Gregory’s arms were rested on the armrests of the rocking chair, on one hand he was holding an open book: Uncle Tom’s Cabin. His eyes bore only sclera but the policemen need only to look at his face to see where he was looking at: The book. And what made this sight much eerie was the half-inserted knife embedded in Mr. Kneels’ forehead with blood dripping like how his eyes were crying the reddish liquid. Not only that, but the rocking chair was rocking the corpse in a subdued pace. Never increasing. Never decreasing.

The policemen did not find that slip of paper.

Darrell gasped for air as what felt like watching a horror movie with your eyes unblinking slowly subsided. He was still sitting on the rocking chair; his feet up and off the ground. The chair rocked without a creak. He didn’t stick around, though. He bolted from the chair and dashed inside the house without looking back at the still rocking chair. He was lucky he didn’t. Because he would have seen the two ghostly figures floating right behind the chair, smiling at him until he entered the house.

“Darrell?” Samantha placed Darrell’s breakfast on the table when the said person came in looking as pale as a ghost. She immediately got concerned. “What happened?”

Darrell shook his head. “It’s nothing.” And then he sat on a chair and began eating.

He couldn’t fool Samantha, though. He was acting like he was forcing himself to eat the delicious breakfast in front of him just to stay normal around his sister.

“I’m not buying this crap anymore, Darrell,” she said sternly making Darrell stop his bacon-filled fork from completely entering his mouth.

“Uh…”

“What happened to you?”

Darrell sighed. He needed to ask something first before he could tell her anything. “Where did you buy that rocking chair in the veranda?”

“From Mrs. Nexus’ Antique Shop on the other side of town.”

“I see.” He completed the fork’s food delivery into his mouth. He had no taste at the moment. His hands were shaking mildly. “When?”

“A few days ago.”

“Samantha… there’s something… I don’t know—wrong—about that chair! Have you noticed anything strange about it?”

Samantha widened her eyes at him. “What do you mean by strange?”

“I can’t really explain. When I was outside on the veranda, I had this… vision or something when I was staring at that chair.”

Samantha wanted to retort to that statement but…

CRASH!

It came from the living room.

The siblings gave each other worried glances as they stalked back into the next room. They were the only ones in the house and either was not sure what made that noise. They reached the living room only to find it empty and dark. The window curtains draped over the wide windows of the room shimmering only faint glances of sunlight. They saw the room was empty. They knew the room was empty.

… But at the same time, they felt like they weren’t the only ones there.

Darrell took the lead and tightly grabbed Samantha’s hand. He took step as if he was walking on thin ice. He kept his eyes open, trying to see any movement in the dim room. Third step. Forth step. Fifth step. The sound of his footsteps was silent and slow. Sixth step. Seventh step.

CRASH!

Darrell jumped from the sound and tightened his grip on Samantha’s hand. He looked to where the sound came from and spotted the silhouette of someone crouching on the floor as if he was picking up something he dropped. Then that person stood back up, faced Darrell and said, “Sorry about that, Darrell. It was too dark that I accidentally tripped one of my figurines in display. Hope I didn’t spook you.”

It was Samantha…

It was Samantha.

Then...?

Darrell sense of touch brought back an icy cold feeling in his hand. The hand where “Samantha’s” hand was. Feeling scared beyond his wits, he tried to calm his piston-beating heart down and count to ten. “One, two, three, four, five, six…” by that time, the cold feeling was beginning to warm up but the hand he was grasping seemed to retaliate to that. It wanted to let go.

When the hand disappeared from his touch taking along the rest of the cold, Darrell turned around and exclaimed, “WHO ARE YOU?!”

No one answered but it startled his sister.

“Darrell…”

Darrell didn’t listen. He was too engrossed to finding where that ‘person’ was. There were no footsteps. The only exits out of here were the entrance door and the kitchen, both void of disturbance. The third exit was the second floor staircase. He looked to the staircase.

A person, bright and as clear as day even in the darkness, was standing in the middle of the staircase. A female, to be more precise, by the long wavy black hair, and the long manicured fingernails. She was clothed in red with a touch of black and her eyes… her eyes were completely white and shedding tears of blood. In one of her hands she carried a thick book. The title was covered by her hand but Darrell can see enough to know that the book was leather bound. Her other hand was pointed at him as if being accused of something awful. “Shhhhhh… ssstttaaaaaaahhhh… qquaaaaaaaa…”

She went up the stairs.

“What the—” that was Darrell could say before his head encountered a painful headache. The last thing Darrell remembered was his sister coming to him as he collapsed to the floor.

The curtains drew back by themselves letting the penetrating light through the glass and submerge into once dark confines of Samantha’s living room. Samantha blinked to get her bearings from the sudden light as she maneuvered her body towards her brother’s form on the floor. She reached him by his hand, grasped it, and eventually felt the Antarctica cold surging through her arm.

Darrell’s face was nowhere near okay. His lips were blue and pursed, eyes closed, and she saw his breath when he exhaled. This wasn’t normal, and Samantha was dreading every second of it.

“Darrell,” she whispered. “Darrell… please be okay.”

That was when she felt movement coming from behind her. She turned around but all she saw was the emptiness of her home. Something was here. Samantha wasn’t really sure what, but it was here somehow. She wanted to look around the house just to be sure. It’s like she’s compelled to do this task yet her feelings were moving in another direction. Darrell was still helpless and incapacitated. She couldn’t just leave him here.

“Go…” he whispered, but it wasn’t audible enough for Samantha to understand. Nonetheless, she heard him.

“Darrell?” She turned to his pale face with eyes still closed but scrunched up like he was in a world of pain. “Darrell, are you alright?”

Darrell can’t trust his voice to answer so he nodded instead. Even that simple movement with the neck was torture to him. Fortunately, his voice was almost gone so he couldn’t scream out what he was feeling. He didn’t want to worry Samantha any more.

“No,” Samantha said, “you don’t look alright at all. Wait here, I’ll call an ambulance and…”

Whatever she wanted to say was gone when her peripheral vision noticed a change in the living room. Samantha instinctively turned her head to where that change was which was just in front of her, and gasped out loud. While she was kneeling on Darrell’s right side, a shadowy figure was bent down on his left side with its hand intertwining with Darrell’s.

Samantha was stunned. She couldn’t move nor did she have any plan to. Her eyes were fixated at the shadow that was accurately shaped to look like a female human.

“Ssssss…” the shadow hissed, and Samantha was sure it was directed at her. Its bony hands lifted the man’s arm displaying to Samantha the growing marks forming in the forearm. They were snake-like and black, veins curling and pulsing around Darrell’s arm like a living tattoo.

“G-Get away from him!” she shouted once she was out of her shock. She moved to push the shadow away from her brother but when she was about to make contact with the mysterious figure, she touched nothing but air. Samantha stumbled and almost fell, but quickly balanced herself so as not to crash onto her brother. She looked back at his forearm to find it void of any black tattoos or snake-like marks crawling around it.

Darrell was safe.

“Where are you?” a raspy voice whispered in her ear.

Samantha felt an imaginary knife stabbed her nape hitting her spinal cord. The knife sent a powerful shudder in all her nerves shaking her into an epileptic seizure which she cannot control. She slumped to the floor over her brother’s body, her own no longer in her control. The owner of the raspy voice kneeled beside her shivering body and placed his palm on her cheek. The palm was cold and dirty.

“suxeN si eht esuaC.” And with these parting words, raspy-voice pulled his hand away and disappeared from sight.

Her mild shivers ended soon after.

When she came to, her head was lying on something soft and comforting; the same can be said with the rest of her body. She opened her eyes to see her bedroom with Darrell beside her, sitting on a chair. His eyes were glazed with worry and something else that Samantha couldn’t identify at the time. Mesmerized was her first guess but it didn’t look like it at all. She remembered talking to Darrell about the new piece of furniture—the accursed rocking chair from the other side of town—but after that, nothing. Did something happen?

“What happened?” she asked Darrell but only got a nod in reply. “Darrell? Are you okay?” He was pale and looked stricken right down to his glazy eyes. Samantha can’t really explain all the things she felt when she looked deeply into those eyes but she knew of one feeling she was sure described almost everything about those sky-colored orbs: Hollow. His eyes were hollow.

He looked at her… critically, taking every shape and form of her body, and embedding it into his mind as if she will live on but only as a memory. He had nothing to say except the question he needed an answer to. It may as well be the start to where things can make sense.

“Where…?” he asked her, reaching for her hand and intertwined it with his. Whether it was for his comfort or for her, it didn’t matter. When Samantha looked perplexed at his words, he cleared his throat and said, “Where did you buy that chair?”

Mrs. Nexus was having a nice afternoon in her shop—customers were scarce but at least there were some collectors hoping to get their hands on priceless antiquity and the like—when a strange man entered through the door.

The chimes didn’t ring when the door opened.

Mrs. Nexus narrowed her eyes at the newcomer and quickly walked (Well, actually limped) towards him. “May I help you, young man?” Gone was the sweet old lady running an antique shop, and here entered the hostile attitude of an insane old woman who had seen more things than a normal person’s entire lifetime. Her approach to the newcomer was calculated and business-like: Cold and fierce. There was something about this newcomer she did not like.

“I am here to inquire about the rocking chair you sold to someone about a week ago,” the newcomer said making it known that he was male. “What can you tell me about it?”

Mrs. Nexus held her ground (And also her cane) and looked at the man’s deep cerulean eyes. They were glazed but she knew malice when she saw it. And this man’s eyes reeked of it.

“What do you want to know?” she replied, her voice already betraying her business exterior. She was using a voice filled with self-contained rage.

Darrell replied, “Everything.”

Mrs. Nexus closed her eyes, took a deep breath, looked over her shoulder and said, “Trish!”

A young brunette looked back at Mrs. Nexus when she heard her call out her name. Excusing herself from the inquirers she was speaking to earlier, she walked towards her employer. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Can you handle the whole shop while I speak with this young man in the back?” Mrs. Nexus said, and even though it sounded like a question Trish knew too well that it was a request she must not say no to.

She only nodded, and her employer and the man wearing a long cloak like in those old noir detective movies entered the backroom. At least she can handle things from here since there weren’t that many customers at the moment. Trish was curious about what they would be talking about that was not meant to be heard by others—she knows that Mrs. Nexus soundproofed the back for extra privacy purposes. But she didn’t want to involve herself into anything the eccentric old woman had in store so she kept her curiosity to herself. Curiosity killed the cat after all, she mused.

In the back, Mrs. Nexus secured the lock on the door and faced Darrell with an intense glare. She was ready for his questions so she broke the ice first when she saw that the man wasn’t about to speak until she did. “Now ask and be done with it.”

“Who was its original owner?”

That question took Mrs. Nexus completely off guard. She made a mental list of questions the man might be asking for but she never thought that he’d actually ask for the furniture’s original owner. It wasn’t a normal question to ask to begin with.

“My family, of course.”

“The original owner, Mrs. Nexus.”

Mrs. Nexus visibly sighed and sat on a comfy chair. “I can see in your face that the spirits in the chair have been awakened, yes?”

Darrell only nodded. His suspicions that Nexus knew something about the strange happenings around Samantha’s home were now justified.

“Truthfully, I don’t know who the original owner of the rocking chair was; only that it was passed down by my family through the generations.”

“Was it really passed down by your family through the generations?” He scoffed. “I really doubt that.”

“It has many secrets, young man. Secrets that must stay away from mortal minds. You must have seen the visions. Many people died because of this chair and the book.”

“What book?”

“The book, my child. A book with untold power within its pages. It was hidden away from history… waiting for the right time to reemerge and flood the world with its shadowy grasp.”

“But what does this book have to do with the rocking chair?”

“Everything.” Mrs. Nexus stood up and went to one of the bookshelves next to the corner of the room. She took out a thick leather-bound book and handed it to Darrell. He hesitated at first, but the old lady’s decision was final so he took it from her hands. She continued, “This book belonged to Albert Shoemaker, father of Norman Shoemaker.”

“Does the name suppose to ring a bell?” Darrell asked all of a sudden, and when he realized that he said it quite rudely it was already too late. Mrs. Nexus didn’t seem to care or maybe she just ignored, but she continued the conversation.

“It should. Norman Shoemaker was a suspect for the murder of Gregory Kneels during the late 30’s. This was before the war, mind you.”

And suddenly it clicked into place. Darrell knew he heard those names before but it came from an awful memory. He took a closer look at the book and found Mr. Shoemaker’s initials on the back—faded but still legible.

A.S.

In the front, the title of the book was clearly shown, written in faded gold letterings: UNCLE TOM’S CABIN.

“What’s so important about this book?” Darrell asked. The old lady sat back down in her chair and began to reminisce the past.

“It concerns everything about the chair, young man. That book is as old as the rocking chair being by its side throughout the decades. Every time I wanted to throw away the book and the chair, I felt compelled not to. Inside that book was a small slip of paper but it vanished after the whole “Kneels is a-rockin’” fiasco back in ’37. It was national news that caught the public by storm.” A small smiled adorned her face as she trekked down Memory Lane. “There was chaos on the news, but at least no one else died. The rocking chair was a gift from my grandmother to Mr. Albert Shoemaker. Grandma even pitched in a custom hardback copy of Uncle Tom’s Cabin for Mr. Shoemaker. That’s the copy you are holding now.”

He examined the old leather-bound book cautiously like it was made out of fire. It was captivating to look at, but can burn you when touched the wrong way. The leaves were scarred yellow from age and everything seemed like it’s about to fall apart. If not for the strong (and still sturdy) binder, the book would’ve said goodbye to the world of stable books and into a world of littering remains of what was once have been a copy of one of the most controversial books in American history. Darrell set his stained blue eyes back at the old woman and stayed silent.

“The rocking chair has a soul,” she whispered but Darrell still heard it. “A pained soul. A tortured soul. A regretful soul. A vengeful soul.”

“…”

“... a tainted soul.”

“And what does that lead to?” He already knew the answer to that. He just needed confirmation.

“Death. Horrible death.” From the corner of her eyes, a lone tear shed its way out. “For years, I’ve been trying to sell that chair but every time it was sold, it would someday come back to me. It’s possessed.”

“Why does it go back to you?”

“Because I’m its rightful owner!” she snapped at Darrell before going into a coughing fit. Darrell walked closer to her and patted her back letting the fits to settle down. “Thank you,” she said after recomposing herself.

“I thought Samantha was the new owner?”

“Ah, so you are acquainted with the recent buyer.”

“She’s my sister.”

“I see.” She was silent for a few seconds. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For selling her that accursed thing. I really had no choice. I wanted to get rid of it so badly I didn’t stop and think about what trouble it will cause to others.”

“Then take it back. Sam doesn’t want it anymore. Not after what happened yesterday.”

Now this was an interesting topic and Mrs. Nexus was all ears. “What happened?”

“Ghosts and visions, Mrs. Nexus,” Darrell answered with certainty. He had no lie to tell. “Hauntings as well.”

“Then it is as I feared.” She sounded dejected like she just won the lottery only to find out that her ticket was invalid to claim the million dollar winnings. “You must listen and listen closely for it concerns you and your sister’s lives.”

Darrell nodded.

“It is too late to give it back to me once the haunting has started. The only way for the chair to come back into my possession is through a human sacrifice to satisfy its hunger.”

“Is there any other way?”

“There is.” She was silent for a while. “But it is too dangerous. And once you anger the spirit, you will die a most painful death.”

“What should I need to do?”

Mrs. Nexus looked at the young man warily. “Are you sure? You do know the consequences if you fail?”

“My sister is in peril because of your god-forsaken chair, and I’m not about to let it do whatever it wants with Samantha anymore. She’s scared and vulnerable. I won’t just sit back and let her suffer.”

“The love of a sibling…” she whispered, nostalgia wrapping her mind. “Alright. I will help you.”

While Darrell was out talking with Mrs. Nexus, Samantha was back at home planning her move before Darrell comes back. The rocking chair was unsafe so it needed to be moved into a secure room where there’s a lock on the door and windows. She didn’t want to take any chances, not after what happened to her and Darrell in the dark living room yesterday. What she saw was real and she just wanted to completely remove it from her memory.

Moving the rocking chair from the veranda to the locked room on the second floor won’t be easy, though. And even if she hated getting anywhere near the chair, Hailey had to help her out. Something happened to her, Samantha and Darrell in a dream last night. No, it wasn’t a dream… it was a nightmare. The rocking chair was there. It was always there. Rocking and creaking. Rocking and creaking. Rocking and creaking…

In the dream, Samantha was the first to die. She was bludgeoned to death by the edge of a door constantly hitting her on the side of the head. Sam’s head was no longer like the shape of a head but more of a crushed soda can with bits of blood and gray brain matter spilling out from the cracks and holes. Everything was red. Even in her eyes where she shed red tears of sorrow.

The next to die was Darrell. His death was simpler and cleaner than Samantha’s, but it was horrible to watch, either way. He was twitching, at first, and convulsing while standing. He had this glazed look in his eyes as if he’s under a trance or deep sleep. He fell to the floor with a THUD. He was lying face-down on the floor shaking and lightly banging his head on the floor like a self-hating lunatic. When the convulsions ceased in just a second—a second can sometimes extend to over a minute if the brain shuts down every minor bodily function and concentrates on the person’s perception of the world—the pain started. It started with his right arm. He extended the limb to his east and then the elbow began to move in the abnormal direction. Slowly… slowly… CRACK went the elbow as his forearm and hand faced south while the rest of his arm faced east. Darrell had his mouth open and wide, but there was no scream that bellowed from within his throat. The only thing that came out of his mouth was the rush of breath exiting from the lungs. Soon, the abnormal joints began to integrate and almost every part of his body with joints was now disfiguring themselves. With every joint turning in the opposite direction, it was always followed by a loud CRACK signifying a broken bone. No joint was left unharmed. Even his fingers—thumb, fore, middle, ring and pinky, and all—were disfigured. The last thing Hailey saw was the ghostly face of Darrell before everything faded black.

The last one she saw in her dream was her self, but she didn’t die like the siblings. She was spared. Only because the one who created the dream cannot kill the dreamer’s avatar. Hailey knew nothing about what she just thought but it felt like the only reasonable explanation. And even after hours of waking up, she couldn’t remove the images from her head. Dreams were supposed to disintegrate from your mind slowly since it is highly linked to your subconscious where it dominates the mind during sleep. But the dream was vivid and almost seemed permanent in her head. She didn’t like it at all. It was during her ramblings to get rid of the strange dream when she got a call from Samantha saying she needed help in doing ‘something’ about the rocking chair.

She easily complied at her request and arrived shortly at Samantha’s doorstep. Hailey eyed the rocking chair anxiously, hoping that it wouldn’t pull another heart-wrenching stunt like what it did to her a few days ago. She knew for a fact that it was because of the chair that she had that vivid dream and those delusions, but because of her logical side she refused to acknowledge that such an inanimate object could do the impossible: Act like it is a part of the living.

But she was dead wrong (No pun intended). They weren’t dealing with a chair that acted like it is a part of the living. This phenomenon was far from that. They were dealing more with the dead than the living. And if they don’t act soon, their dealings with the unknown will come back to them in a very unwanted gift.

“Are you sure this will work?” Hailey asked as she and Samantha made their way out onto the veranda. The sun shone brightly over the many clouds in the sky. The weather forecast said that it would rain by the end of the day, but with all weather forecasts Hailey and Samantha took this information like a pinch of salt. There was no guarantee that the predictions of the weather were 100% true so they didn’t take it seriously. But faced with the dilemma of moving the white wooded furniture, their thoughts on unpredictability changed. This situation cannot be taken lightly. It just can’t.

Samantha nodded at her question. Truthfully, she didn’t know if it can actually work. She doesn’t know a thing about what to do in this situation, yet she just has to do something. While Darrell went on with his own investigation—she’s still upset that he wouldn’t let her tag along—the two women had to settle with the rocking chair. It didn’t seem dangerous when spoken in words but if you have actually seen the rocking chair and its eerie presence, there was no telling if you’ll still agree that it was not dangerous. The chair looks harmless, but the two know better than to think that. All too well.

They approached the chair and as with every step closer, the temperature severely dropped. Hailey knew this cold. This vile feeling of a blizzard in summer. Her first encounter… the chair… the shadows… everything started with the cold.

CREAK!

Samantha and Hailey were startled at the noise. Their breaths stopped and their fears escalating. It all started with that simple sound and it was enough to stun the both of them, gluing their feet to the floor.

But as time rolled by and the two still stood on the veranda waiting for something to happen, silence turned the surrounding into a deafening sound. There was no alert, no illusions or spirits coming to get them. The chair was still as if it never moved.

Sam looked towards Hailey who was breaking in cold sweats all over her face even with the chilly atmosphere. They didn’t exchange any words but their silence told a thousand words. She looked down and saw Hailey stepping on a loose floorboard. “It was just the floor. Not the chair.”

Hailey exhaled slowly, gesturing her relief. She looked at her best friend, then back at the rocking chair. They continued their walk—no more creaky floorboards again, thankfully—towards the still chair. Hailey took the right and front sides, while Samantha took the other two sides.

“On the count of three,” Sam said as she gripped a good handful of the wooden furniture. “One.” Hailey had her hands gripped tightly to the chair as well. “Two.” Hailey waited; waited for the third number. “Three!”

They put force to their arms and lifted the chair with slight ease. Hailey was on point, guiding Sam and the chair to the secluded room on the second floor. She opened the front door and stepped into the threshold with the chair intact—still and nothing out of the ordinary happening yet.

Hailey looked over her shoulder to the stairs. “You ready?” she asked Samantha who nodded in reply. Though, she didn’t see her friend nod she felt the response anyway.

They treaded lightly at first, hoping to take each and every step of the way with as much time as possible. Many accidents occurred because of moving furniture from different floors so the women were extra careful. The rocking chair was not that heavy but the danger was still there; whether it involved the rocking chair or not.

Soon they entered the room and placed the rocking chair in a corner before going out and locking the door firmly shut. The coldness dissipated, and both women sighed in relief.

“Remind to never come with you on your antique-shopping,” Hailey said. “This last one just made my skin crawl more than once.”

Samantha didn’t respond. Her eyes were fixated at the lock on the door. Will this really hold it? She asked herself. In reality, she doubted it. The thing living inside that chair (There was no other way of explaining it) was strong and growing as well. She felt its power in her sleep and affected her mentality nearing the point of insanity. Whether this can be regarded as true or an exaggeration, Samantha was never sure. It affected Hailey and Darrell too, but she doubted they’ve seen the actual thing like she did. The dream she had two nights ago had been too vivid to be shrugged off as some kind of subconscious scare. The emotions were real. The grip was real—she inadvertently ran her fingers around her neck. And with all the chaos that happened during the past days, she can honestly state that the dream… might also be real. Not real as in real in mind. But also in the world beyond dreams. She knows that the vengeance-seeking spirit from her dream is out here as well.

And inside that ominous rocking chair.

“Come on, let’s go down and wait fo…” Samantha halted her words when she felt the temperature lowered again. Stronger than before.

The door gave a loud BANG which gave both women a scare but they held their grounds like the lock on the door. Another BANG and then another. Who—whatever thing is on the other side of the door, it doesn’t feel human at all.

Hailey tugged at Samantha’s elbow-length sleeve, quickly waking the woman from her shock. That was when the comprehension dawned in her features and looked directly back at the pounding door. Hailey had other ideas than to stand here and maybe wait for whatever ghost on the other side of that door comes out and terrorize her like it did in the veranda on that hot afternoon, but every time she tried to pull Sam with her downstairs the girl stood still and waited—like she was actually anticipating the ghost to get out of its temporary cage—for something than the banging of the door to happen.

“Sam, come on!” Hailey didn’t give up her resolve. She promised she’d help her best friend with this unnatural matter but there were limits to her determination. Fear being the cause of it all. “Sam, I don’t like this,” she added in a whisper, staring at the door.

The BANGs were going in a rhythm of sorts that Samantha couldn’t help but notice. Three repeated successions of strong knocks to the center of the door, a short pause, and then the process repeats again. With each powerful knock, the hinges of the door began to loosen in a subdued pace. Samantha knew that the spirit or whatever thing residing in the rocking chair had more power than this if it can actually show how powerful it was by having poltergeist-like qualities. The loud knocks on the door with no living soul on the other side of the room to cause the ruckus was more than enough proof. But with this knowledge, it undoubtedly crawled around her thoughts like it was toying with her mind the same way the ghost was toying with the door.

The door looked almost like it was pulsing… shaking from every force brought onto its center. And with fear that maybe they may not survive a full frontal attack from the thing finally got Samantha to give in to Hailey’s persistent pulls and dragged her ass downstairs without a thought of looking back. If she did, she might have screamed.

When both girls reached the foot of the stairs, the loud knocks died down and the silence returned. Samantha kept hearing that loud THUMPing noise until she realized that it was hers and Hailey’s hearts that were making it. It was loud too.

Darrell soon came back home bearing a few queer gifts given to him by Mrs. Nexus. They weren’t exactly gifts for a casual fling but more of the lines of tools for an exorcism. Darrell never watched that movie but knew enough from pop culture to see its basic structure of a story. Girl gets possessed, spirit torments family, spirit gets exorcised by priest. Simple if you keep it general and if you look at it that way, he was facing the same dilemma only it was a nonliving thing that’s possessed and not a human—Darrell was thankful for that last bit.

He approached the house’s veranda and spotting the empty space on the side. Hailey and Samantha must have already moved the damn chair. That was good. He needed it bound, isolated and controlled for any of this exorcism stuff to work. Mrs. Nexus instructed him with the basics of exorcism but how much help that can actually bring, he didn’t know. There was one thing she told him that was far stranger than all these non-Roman-Catholic-Church-related items and that was the book safely tucked in his cloak’s inner pocket. She said it will help him drive out the demon from within but Darrell hadn’t the slightest clue how to use it.

With these thoughts, Darrell entered the threshold and immediately felt an overwhelming urge to vomit right on the spot. His knees buckled and he slumped to the ground like a rag doll. Luckily, he was able to minimize the damage to the items he held when he fell. He looked around but found nothing out of the ordinary other than the gloomy atmosphere resonating all over the house. He thought it was just a touch of anxiety from what he was about to do, but after entering the house and feeling the dread fivefold he knew that the rocking chair must be causing this fear.

“SAM!” he called out. “Where are you?”

No one answered.

But when he was about to call again he definitely heard the reply. “Darrell! We’re in the living room.”

He rushed towards the room carrying the bag filled with eccentric stuff with care. There he saw two women near the couch—one was lying on it while the other was comforting the former. He only needed to look another second to learn who was who. Samantha was okay but still looked crestfallen as she soothed the whimpering form of her best friend lying on the couch. Darrell neared her as fast as he could and hugged her gently, patting her back like he always did to soothe her as well.

“What happened?” he asked her after she calmed down a little. She was forcing herself to be calm (Darrell already knew that even before he came close to her) for Hailey’s sake. And now that she was in his protective arms, her breath returned and she inhaled very deeply.

CREAK!

Their moment of peace was disrupted by that annoying sound which already became a ‘tortune’ for Darrell’s ears. The dreadful atmosphere was still there and it only made it worse once the torturous music began to play, and even though the rocking chair was locked up in a secluded room on the second floor where it couldn’t possibly make such a loud noise as strong as a siren, it was most definitely creaking for them to hear.

When the noise stopped in just a second after Darrell placed both of his palms over his ears, Samantha gave him an exasperated—while still looking very afraid—look.

“I can’t stand it any longer, Darrell,” she said with much of her exasperation laced in every word. “That fucking thing needs to go. I can’t live in this house while it is still here!”

Darrell nodded understandingly and rewrapped his arms around her. Sooner rather than later, he could hear her muffled sobs and felt a damp on his chest. He had to deal with the chair now. No one makes his sister cry more than once. No one.

He took her hand into his and gave her a look that he understood and that he will deal with it now. He eyed the bag of exorcism items standing erectly at the entrance hall, which made Samantha see it as well. She looked at him perplexingly wondering what was in the bag.

“Wake Hailey up and meet me upstairs,” he said, then stood up and headed for the staircase. “Bring some matches from the kitchen too.”

Darrell went for the doorknob, his hand clenching and unclenching as he neared it. And as his pale, thin fingers touched it with gentle care, a barrage of pounding knocks echoed from every place of the door almost shouting in protest to the man’s advances. They each came in quick repetition, one after another nonstop, making Darrell recall of the sound of machine guns in those WWII video games. They were somehow related to a rhythm that Darrell couldn’t precisely tune to, but he knew there was a rhythm—ladies and gentlemen, here is Darrell’s second ‘tortune’. When the bursting knocks slowed down, the sound of clawing replaced the missing pieces of the ghostly music and it was more ear-bleeding than soothing.

Just by the first sound of knocks, the two women stepped back a few steps, and coupled that with the clawing, it just made their skin crawl and forced them to cover their ears. There was a low growl that followed when the scratching of the wooden door came and went. Low enough to be a whimper. Low enough for the three souls to hear faintly.

“Let me out,” it said. A voice so cracked and devilish in tone, it sent cold shivers down their spines.

BANG…! BANG…! BANG…!

Each knock had a pause; a deliberate, pregnant pause. It was a nerve-numbing event where each of their ears kept a back-and-forth process with every interval of knocks. Sound, silence, sound, silence, sound, silence, and so on.

Darrell didn’t step back. The thing would want that: Show it fear and it will show more. He took a booklet and a red chalk from the bag and stepped up to the door. From his point of view, the door looked like it had a beating heart from behind its wooden domain—the knocks were so strong Darrell wondered if the old door can withstand any more abuse. He opened the booklet, which was handwritten by Mrs. Nexus’ great, great grandmother, and read a bookmarked page. There runes and arcane symbols covered the page like sticky memos to a tiny billboard. There were instructions written in English in very small letters that it required a magnifying glass and an ability to understand barely legible writing to read them. Darrell did no such thing; he only concentrated on the runes. And, as if trying to be an ancient calligraphus where copying each letter was as crucial as reconnecting a vein, he drew the runes on the door. Each stroke marked a red trace and with every conjured mark from the blood red chalk, the loud knocks from the other side were diminishing—first, in intervals but soon, the intensity as well.

“Let me out…” The voice was low and slowly whispering its words lower and lower as the arcane symbols decorated the whole door.

It was then that the gloomy air surrounding the whole house disintegrated into nothing more than an anxious wrenching of the heart—in other words, nervousness.

“Darrell…” one of the girls whispered but it was too quiet for Darrell to know which one said it.

“Sam,” he said after finishing the eighth rune; only five more to go. “Get a candle from the bag—one of the small red ones—and light it with a match. Place it on the right side of this door.” Samantha did what she was instructed with neurotic hands. He just finished rune number ten. Three left. “Now get the old leather bound book at the bottom of the bag and bring it to me.”

Darrell was done with the eleventh rune when he heard his sister yelp. He reacted before the red chalk touched the wooden surface of the door, and turned around so suddenly it could’ve cracked his neck if he wasn’t careful. He saw Hailey tending to Samantha’s hand which was smoking and looked undeniably burned if the black soot all over the palm was any indication.

“Sam?” he whispered worryingly and she heard him.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I found the book but it was hot like lava.” She didn’t seem to mind the severity of her wound. That would mean that the nerves in her palm were affected by the sudden burn as well.

“Hurry!” Hailey interjected. “We need to do something with this.” She then dragged Samantha away from the second floor and into the kitchen to apply the burn with cold tap water.

I guess her habits from her old job still kick in even in dire situations, Darrell commented in his mind. For that, he was thankful for. He didn’t know the first thing what to do with wounds, much less burns that were as deep as Samantha’s. What did she mean about ‘hot like lava’?

He placed both objects he had in his hands on the floor and checked the inside of the bag. The knocks from the door were gone; he was alone on the second floor with only the sound of the kitchen’s running tap water as the breaker of the silence. It amazed him that he could hear it from where he was. He searched the bag and found the book. He was about to grab it when those three words—hot like lava—replayed in his mind. His hand did not move back but halted in the middle of touching the book. Cautiously, ever so cautiously, he prodded his forefinger on the book. It made the tiniest contact with the edge and like a ricocheting bullet, he swiped his finger away. He felt the slightest sensation of a hot surface when his finger touched the book, it would be hard getting it for the ritual if he can’t touch it without burning his hand into oblivion.

Darrell thought rapidly, trying to think of any way that he can get over this obstacle. He can’t touch the book if he doesn’t want his hand to burn, alright. He can’t progress with the exorcism without the book, the purpose of the obstacle. He didn’t need to point it out to know what caused this once harmless book authored by Harriet Beecher Stowe to become so potently harmful to a human’s direct touch. Wait a minute…

He just had an idea. A wild and illogical idea but he can’t be sure about it until he tried.

The book leaned on the side of the bag so if he were to touch it from the outside, a thin wall of recycled paper would block direct touch. And seeing that the book wasn’t burning a hole on the paper bag from then until now, Darrell suspected it only reacted when human skin touches its surface. But still being cautious, he reached for the side of the bag in a slow pace. The tap water stopped around that time but Darrell was too engrossed with the experiment to realize that just yet. The tip of his middle finger touched the paper material… he waited for something, but thankfully nothing came. His finger didn’t burn. Darrell touched the side with more of his fingers and when they were safe as well, he grabbed the bag. He then turned the bag over and its contents dropped to the floor.

The old leather bound book dropped to the ground with a low thudding sound and laid there until it can be picked. But with its “possessed” state, for lack of a better word, Darrell cannot touch it so easily. He only needed the book to be placed on the door where he left a space the size of a small rectangle in the center of all the runic symbols. This was where he had to push the book ‘inside’ the door.

From all the exorcism rituals Mrs. Nexus had shown him, this one seemed to be the most useful. She told him that the possessed item needs to be isolated inside an empty room, any room, and do what she instructed. Most of the tasks needed were relatively simple and easy, and he already told Samantha to lock the thing in a secluded room, preferably the unused room in the second floor, before he went to see the old woman. Now the few final steps of the ritual were where Darrell couldn’t really comprehend. Not really relating as to how much the door needed to be closed and secured, or the flame of the candle must point completely upward, or even the perfect precision of every rune should be perfect in every shape and form; Mrs. Nexus would keep on telling him about these requirements but not understanding the importance of it. What he only knew that it was important and if he can’t understand but it will still help him in driving whatever thing that decided to torment his sister, then he’ll do it without any complains.

Leaving the book on the ground, he went back to the door, grabbing the chalk and handwritten booklet along the way, and began drawing the twelfth symbol. When his chalk separated its tip from the door…

BANG!

The intense bash was quite unexpected. Darrell thought that the runes were actually helping in repelling its power from the door. But that last attack on the door sounded like a sledgehammer hitting it with full force. The wooden door still stood, sturdy and dependable, but the dent was definitely noticeable. It would only need two or three more hits of the same intensity before the door’s tough exterior falls completely and all the runes… all the preparations he’d been doing for the exorcism would go to waste.

But there never came another attack. Everything went quiet as void.

Darrell had no time to lose so he got out of his momentary trance and started the drawing of the thirteenth and final rune needed. It was the trickiest one and he almost flunked it because of how much his palm was sweating and his hands shivering. The cold was strong from where he stood. More so every time his chalk touches the wooden door while dragging it from side to side, creating strokes and curvy lines with the end result as arcane and unpleasant to the eyes. Unpleasant, it may be, but also captivating where you can’t tear your eyes off from staring.

The result was instantaneous as a high shriek warped out of the crevices of the door deafening Darrell even with his ears tightly covering his ears. The sound was unbearable; much more than someone yelling at him through a loudspeaker in max volume. It was enough to make his ears bleed. But apart from his own suffering, the passageway that separates him from the absurd abomination on the other side was weakening. Cracking. Shaking. Falling.

The door fell outward, almost dropping on Darrell before he moved to the left to avoid it. Faintly, he heard someone call out his name but the intensity of the shriek from the other room muffled it to a barely audible whisper. It must be one of the girls figuring out if he was alright. He would’ve yelled back saying that he was fine (that was a lie, and he knew it) but realized that it won’t reach them no matter how hard he tried. But as soon as the shriek died down and eventually dissolved into nothingness, Darrell sighed in great relief; the girls were climbing the stairs as he slumped on the wall feeling tired as hell.

“Darrell,” Samantha said, worriedly. Looking at him, she knew that he was worse than she and Hailey. While they were downstairs having a hard time keeping their hearing intact after that shrill scream from the upper floor, Darrell had the full blast of it. She couldn’t estimate how loud it may have been upstairs standing right next to the origin of the shriek. “Darrell.”

No response. He was just looking at the floor, trying to regain his breath ASAP.

“Darrell.” She touched his shoulder. That was when he reacted.

He flinched away, surprised by the concept of contact with someone. But when his cerulean eyes gazed up to the one who touched him, his tense shoulders dropped down and he heaved another sigh. “Sam,” he said.

“What?” she asked. “Speak up! I can’t hear you.” She caved her right ear and turned it closer to Darrell’s direction. That was when she realized that Darrell cannot hear her. She and Hailey received a quieter version of the shriek which still made them halfway deaf temporarily. For Darrell’s case, however, it could be far worse than that.

Darrell had other things in mind than his own hearing. The door lied on the floor like a discarded piece of trash where it had already served its purpose. One side of the door was covered in dents, splinters and also claw marks. Darrell walked to the entrance of the room where he saw darkness enveloping the whole place like a thick veil. The chair was nowhere in sight.

He gestured for the two girls to stay where they were. This was not safe and he can’t risk anyone getting involved. Only he knew how to properly exorcise whatever entity resided inside the chair, so he needed to do this alone. Before he entered, he took he took into his hand the lighted red candle from the side not even wincing when the melted wax burned his finger’s skin.

Darrell entered the room, dread forming at the very core of his being. There was a draft of wind circling around the room like it was trapped inside here without any chance of flying free. And along came with it was the unbearable cold. His breath came out like mist every time he exhaled and he shivered involuntarily after being inside the room for only thirty seconds. There was something really wrong about this room, he knew that, but there was also something that wanted him to stay, even though every fiber of his being told him otherwise. He fought the urge to run and continued deeper into the darkness.

“Stop this…”

“You can’t hurt him…”

“Please, no… don’t do it..!”

“Monster! Monster! Monster!”

The voices were all very different from each other, but each one had something to say to the only living being inside the room. Darrell may still be temporarily deafened from the shrill scream five minutes ago but his hearing for each new voice was loud, clear and no slur to its speech.

“The rocker… the rocker…”

“It killed him! Merciful God, that infernal thing killed Ron!”

“Red… it was red… color red… crimson red… brick red… hahaha…”

A headache was coming and Darrell knew that it will only grow worse as the flashes in his mind came faster and faster like a slideshow on hyper drive. There were bad things; bad people; cruel intentions; unneeded deaths.

“I am hungry…”

It was a voice that was most familiar to Darrell, and it shook him greatly to hear it with a predatory glee in its tone. He just stepped into its domain with only a ceremonial candle for comfort. It was the voice that came before all the others: The tainted spirit.

“Leave me be…”

CREAK!

“Darrell!” Samantha shouted but it was too late. The door that was once on the floor rose up and clung to its former place, sealed and immovable. Sam grabbed for the doorknob but it was locked. She hit the door with her fist but only made two strikes before Hailey grabbed her wrist. Samantha looked at her quizzically, wondering why she had stopped her when she realized the bandaged hand she was holding by the wrist. There was no pain when she moved it nor was there any pain when she was hitting the door with it. She couldn’t have noticed either way until she saw the white fabric wrapped around it. But she could care less if she had an infection or amputation as long as her brother was still alive. She stared from Hailey’s concerned face to the sealed door where her brother may be having his last breath of life; then her eyes turned to the leather book on the floor; and then the space in the center of the runes that was vaguely the shape of the book.

Samantha didn’t know what came over her but the book was in her hands faster than when her logical mind kicked in.

Her hands did not burn…

The darkness was everywhere yet he felt it was nowhere. Nowhere near him. Nowhere near him. Nowhere near him…

The light of the candle was fading as the winds picked up speed. Darrell had to cover it up with his hands to prevent the flames from completely dying out. In the back of his mind, he knew that this little light was the only thing keeping the tainted one from swallowing him whole like the rest of the souls it devoured.

He was in void. An endless abyss filled with everlasting darkness so foul that even a slight glimmer of light can cast it away. The candle was his only hope.

“Help us…”

“It hurts… it hurts… make it stop…”

“Please… make the hurting stop… make it go away…”

“No more… no more… help… someone…”

They were all wails by the already broken souls. Darrell cannot help them no matter what power he had. This was a realm where he was only a pawn, while the God can just sit and wait in its throne until the shimmer from the candle in Darrell’s hand fades away. But Darrell had it wrong: The God did not have patience.

“Give me the candle…” a familiar voice echoed from everywhere. Darrell looked swiftly around, alarmed and afraid.

“Where are you, you bastard?!” he shouted. He made extra sure to keep the candle safely covered from the ghastly wind. What he didn’t realize was that his hands were shivering and slowly growing numb, blisters forming.

“Give me the candle…” the voice said again, the predatory glee lingering in every syllable.

“No way in Hell!”

Silence. Pure silence.

Darrell thought it had given up but that was just wishful thinking once he felt a stab of pain coursing through his legs. He screamed of agony, his voice mimicking the wailing tone of a hundred other souls in the spaceless void. When he looked down to his knees, he saw two long spear-like steel sticks protruding from his left and right kneecaps. Due to the thickness and position of these spears, Darrell’s knees can only half-bend; soon came his body reacting to the shock, kneeling to the floor with blood gushing from the wounds.

And without warning, his hand lost grip on the candle.

It rolled away from him with the flames still burning brightly. The winds inside the void grew stronger once the candle was away and Darrell can see the light slowly dying out. It flickered and withered, but it was strong and kept burning. Darrell made a move to grab it but the pain still shooting through his nerves because of the injuries of his knees was preventing him from accomplishing that feat. Instead, his upper body dropped to the floor without his hands to cushion the fall. Darrell felt like he was on fire. He was sweating furiously; his breath was all tangled up again (In, out, in, out, in, out, no pauses); and now he felt pain whenever he tried to move his legs. But what kept him going was the shine of the fire almost saying to him ‘Please save me. I’m fighting for you until you save me.’

Darrell crawled on his belly. His wounds left a trail of blood… lots of it. His vision was blurry but he couldn’t tell since the only things he can see were the candle and the pitch black void. He grimaced for every move of his legs but that didn’t falter his progression. The wind was getting stronger and it won’t be long before the flames of the candle burnout. With this thought in mind, Darrell pushed himself harder to get to his only shimmer of hope.

At long last! He finally reached the candle. He extended a hand to grab it; cover it as well. But his fingers only got about a second of making contact before something cold suddenly rested on Darrell’s outstretched hand.

“Hell..?” the voice repeated what Darrell stated earlier. “This is Hell!”

CRACK!

The grip on his hand tightened and the bones cracked under the pressure. Darrell shouted out another agonizing scream while the wailing around him stopped before he even opened his mouth. His hand was numb. It was broken and unmoving.

“Ssshhhhiiinnnn…. Ttaaaaaahhhhqqqq….”

Darrell could barely open his eyes now. The pain was unbearable and the energy in his body was at its limit. Adrenaline was the only thing that was keeping him going but now that it was gone, he couldn’t bring himself to stay awake. He had his moment of flashbacks of his life. This could only mean that he’s close to leaving this world behind. That would mean he lost and he will soon be a part of the tainted spirit’s collection. How he wanted sleep… sleep never felt so satisfying. He closed his eyes feeling a large weight come off his shoulders as the shadows began eating up his whole body like candy that should be savored until the last drop.

The flames of the candle were now burned out.

Samantha grabbed hold of the book of UNCLE TOM’S CABIN and faced the door yet again. When she put a step closer, there was a flash coming from one of the first runes. She asked Hailey if she’d seen anything peculiar but she answered negatively. Samantha took a step again, and there went the flash again. Hailey saw it too.

Samantha looked closer at the written runes and the empty space located in the center. She knew that there was some kind of significance to the space and she also knew that it was the book she was holding had the key. But what was she supposed to do with it?

“Hailey, what should we do?”

Hailey mentally debated with herself on what to answer, but before she could utter a word she saw a booklet on the floor. She turned the pages and found ancient writings and symbols drawn everywhere, but for what purpose—she didn’t know. When she flipped through a page down the middle, her eyes widened and quickly prodded her friend on the shoulder.

“Sam, take a look at this,” she said, showing Samantha what was drawn and written on the page.

“My God…” was all she could reply.

“You know what you have to do.” Hailey wanted to sound reassuring but it came out more awkward than she expected.

“But what if it doesn’t work? What if it’s—”

“Stop it, Sam,” she scolded. “We can’t think about what-if’s anymore. It’s now or never. You know what you have to do.”

Samantha steadied herself while she requested Hailey to wait downstairs. Her friend reluctantly complied, torn between fear and loyalty with the former winning in the end. The book she had in her hands morphed into a different form than the old UNCLE TOM’S CABIN cover on the front. This new book looked older, ironic as it sounds. The binding was slowly disintegrating into dust. The book itself was barely withstanding the test of time and slowly reaching the edges of oblivion. The leaves of the book no longer hold the yellowish stain and in their stead laid red colored pages stained with morbid auras. Samantha had a trickling in her mind to open the book, read the pages with vigor, swallow the information whole, and feast on its power. The temptation was strong but her love for her brother was stronger. With the bind still disintegrating while in her hands, she cocked the book back over her shoulders then slammed it with full force to the center of the door. There was a flash of light followed by tentacles of shadow creeping out of the crevices of the door. The book was shaking—shivering—wishing to get away.

The shadow tentacles resembled the roots of trees while keeping its thinness to the resemblance of wild vines. But what separated this phenomenon from plantation was its hunger; its purpose to reap the flesh and bones of those that were caught in its web. It is alive; anybody can see that—understand that—and seeing it cover its pitch black web around the book, tangling without remorse or hesitance, it has finally found a prey.

Samantha drew her hand back as quickly as she could when the tentacles grabbed onto the shivering book. The door was pulsing again, edges of the wood crawling through wretched shadows. The book was burning; the tentacle shadows did little to no effort in subduing the flames as they ate away the remaining leaves of the book. There was a rush of wind that made her step back, but it dissipated when the book was nothing left but ashes and soot markings.

The knob turned; Samantha gasped. The door opened inwards into the chaotic darkness of the room. Samantha hesitated in entering. She saw no sign of Darrell anywhere and even though that there should at least be some light inside, there was actually none whatsoever. The tentacles which were wrapped around the door retreated into the deeper depths of the void where Samantha saw a small glance of a bloodied hand.

“Darrell,” she whispered before dashing towards the dark form lying on the floor. When her foot collided with the insides of the room, the powers of the tainted spirit took hold of her. It sent out the shadow tentacles at Samantha who screamed in pain for how tight the grab was. She tried to escape but their grip was firm and she was too weak to resist.

The shadow bathed her in darkness; her eyes were getting heavy and staying conscious was turning into a difficult task. With the last of her energy sapped, she let her eyelids dropped and sleep snuggled her mind into the ruptured confines of dream world.

“Here ya go, ma’am.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Mrs. Nexus asked. A delivery boy had just given back the rocking chair she sold to a nice old gentleman two weeks ago. “If Mr. Kindell wants a refund, then he can’t have it. I made it perfectly clear to him a week ago that I cannot accept this chair back.”

“Oh! Haven’t you heard?” The delivery boy arched an eyebrow. “Mr. Kindell was found dead in his office three days ago. A friend of mine who is a reporter told me that his dying message is: ‘Give back to Mrs. Nexus her item’. They’re just fulfilling the man’s last request, I guess.”

Mrs. Nexus nodded solemnly at the bad news, but the terror of seeing that accursed rocking chair knocked it out of her face before she could fully express it. She wanted to tell the delivery boy to throw it away, burn it, do anything to it, just as long he keeps it far away from her sight. But something was stopping her from voicing it out. A vice grip came to her throat and she feared for her life. The tainted spirit found out her intentions, but why won’t it just kill her? It had the perfect opportunity—the perfect intention to do it, but she was spared. The choker hold subsided after the delivery boy exited Mrs. Nexus’s shop, leaving her alone and crestfallen. Not only was the chair back into her possession, a close friend had died; and she knew—she knew with every life of her being that it was her fault.

Samantha saw trickery and deceit in these visions. The more she dove deeper, the more of the mysteries of these trapped souls she learned.

There was one memory that was quite a scene worth remembering. It was in the aftermath when Norman Shoemaker and Gregory Kneels were murdered.

UNCLE TOM’S CABIN was still lying on the top of the table next to the rocking chair where Gregory’s cold corpse sat. Like a puppet controlled on a string, Gregory’s hand was placed on top of the old book mechanically like the body did not have any intentions of moving anything but had to. Black tattoo marks began to form on Gregory’s pale arm, trailing all over it toward the classic novel. Like living vines, these tattoos have a mind of their own.

The tattoos stopped around the hand; it pulsed in a heartbeat rhythm. Listen closely and you will hear the faint BA-DUP of each beat. They stayed there for about a minute before moving again, this time with added haste. They cut through the skin of Gregory’s arm splitting it apart like torn paper. The black marks landed on the book and were slowly engulfing it into itself. The tattoo didn’t need help for it was growing by itself as it spreads all over the leather bound book. It was forming a shape, a new vessel of darkness.

The book was no longer a story of struggle from slavery but a black leather bound book filled with crimson leaves that defined the very presence of evil. It didn’t have any words or symbols drawn on the front or back cover; the only distinction it had over many other black leather books of its kind was its leaves. Blood-stained pages. Colored red. It was RED.

This book was known by few as “The Chosen Truth.”

When the transformation from a simple literary novel into one of the darkest and most mysterious books in unknown history had finally been done, the book ‘changed’ itself yet again reverting into the presentable book of Harriet Stowe: leather, yellow leaves and an innocent presence. The note that was Gregory’s reason for coming to Mr. Shoemaker’s home and killing him was nowhere to be found… because “The Chosen Truth” already took it inside its contents. What the two already dead men did not know was that little piece of note—the one Norman Shoemaker had been using as a bookmark; the one Gregory Kneels had been looking for to the extent of killing an innocent old man—was a page neatly torn from the black book.

What was written there, no one will ever know.

Samantha woke up with a start, sitting abruptly up without realizing where she was. When her mind comprehended that little detail, she looked around only to see the four walls of the secluded room. The door was fastened shut; the window was still closed but light had been granted access illuminating what place it can through the pane. Her head felt like squished jelly. Pain was an understatement went it came to describing what she was feeling. But putting the protesting aches of her body aside, she needed to figure out why the room didn’t have that cold and dreadful atmosphere anymore. She had been thinking about this when her hand brushed on something behind her. The room was no longer dark so Samantha had a good look on the bleeding body of her brother lying on the floor looking as pale as a ghost.

Darrell looked dead but he’s pretty much alive—barely, anyway. It took almost all of Samantha’s willpower to not scream out his name because she had this feeling in her gut that there was more to the room than just her and her brother. The emptiness was too much. A sense of forebode was clawing at Sam’s body making it shiver and squirm from its power over her. And as she knelt closer to Darrell, picked up his cold but unstained hand, and started rubbing it warm, she waited for a response.

CREAK!

Sam whipped her head over her shoulders, eyes wide in horror staring directly at the object that brought this terror to her family. The rocker was still standing on the corner, rocking on its own. It was hiding in the shadows, the part of the room where light did not have a way to invade. The creaks had echoes plunging the room into an orchestral play of unbearable proportions. The sound was sending Samantha over the edge and her headache was just making the ringing in her ears worse. However, she kept her hand on Darrell’s. Nothing will stop her from letting go.

“SAM! SAM!” Hailey called from the other side of the door, banging it with the flat of her hand. She knew Sam was still alive but there was nothing she could do. When she came up, the door was still locked; she couldn’t get in and the marks on the door disappeared. The only thing that was there was the rectangular soot mark that was still hot to the touch. She made sure to avoid that.

Samantha wanted to tell her she was alright, tell her that there was no need for her to shout, but the rocker had her firmly in its grasp. She couldn’t move nor could she talk as the morbid atmosphere came back and sank her heart lower than the edges of her stomach. She felt this before and there was no chance of escape this time. The tainted spirit was angry; angry at her for weakening it somewhat. If she could understand why the void and the atmosphere disappeared a few minutes before coming back, then she would know that because of her completing the ritual that her brother left unfinished the spirit’s hold on the material world faded. But something was amiss in the ritual that made it incomplete and it took little to no time for the tainted spirit to regain its foothold over the room putting Samantha and Darrell at its mercy. Samantha wasn’t holding the candle when she shoved the book into the center of the runes.

“When you rock that chair and suddenly hear it creak… run away…”

The rocking chair kept rocking, kept creaking. The imaginary wind was blowing again and Samantha shivered. Samantha put a hand on her shoulder and rubbed it for warm and comfort, but it did not seem to work. But as the wind picked up and the coldness in the room dropped lower and lower, the noise from the rocker stopped. No creaks, no sound, no something. When she looked over to the rocking chair, Samantha met eye-to-eye with an apparition.

“The book… The Truth…” it said in a slur. The ghost was sitting on the rocking chair initiating the infernal rock. He—it was undoubtedly he—was wearing a formal suit that looked old, torn and weary. The right sleeve was slightly cut around the biceps revealing a stained white undercoat. The tie was loose and only hung around the collar because of some sticky substance keeping it there. The rest of his clothes were so disheveled you’d think he had been wearing them for a whole year after getting brutally beaten by brutes. He raised his boney hand from the armrest.

More spirits appeared out of thin air right before Samantha’s eyes. There were about a dozen of them, all dirty, all disheveled, all frightening to the bone. There were tall ones and short ones, dark ones and even darker ones, but passing through their differences they all have one thing in common: They were each holding a book.

A red-haired woman, who Samantha thought of as eye candy for young men when she was still alive, was donning a white one-piece summer dress that reaches her mid-calves. Her eyes were black, the color of death and darkness. The book she was holding closely to her breasts with both arms was a classical novel by Jane Austen titled Pride and Prejudice. She was smiling wickedly at Samantha. Those haunting black eyes seemed to stare right through her fleshly façade and into the very core of her soul, gripping it as if some kind of play toy she gets to play with. She was filled with the aura of betrayal and guilt.

There was another person standing right behind the redhead, a man that had the same eyes as her: Black as pitch. He was bald but his scalp was stained with so much blood, from afar you’d think he has short red hair. There was a large gash protruding from the right side of his head, flesh wide apart but still looked like a very deep crevice. He was wearing a suit quite similar to the sitting apparition but it wasn’t torn or old. From the limited light, Samantha can still make out the color of his blazer which was blue… midnight blue. That was the only thing her eyes can see apart from the book he was holding with one arm over his left breast. The book was a copy of Oliver Twist. And somehow relating to the book, the blazer guy emanated a weak aura filled with struggles and cruelty. No happy ending for this orphan.

To the rocker’s left stood a short, obese man wearing glasses with cracked lenses, eyes the same as the others. The fat man was crying in black tears. In his hand placed over his left chest was a worn out little pocket book titled Frankenstein. It suited his overall presence: Lonely, alienated, self-hatred.

There were many more different people with the same eye color each holding a fictional book that somehow resembles their appearance… or more specifically, their former personality. They were souls once upon a time before the thing possessing the rocker took them from their normal lives and decided to add them into its “collection.”

“The Truth… the Truth…” the chair ghost chanted. His raised disheveled arm pointed at Samantha as if accusing her of adultery. The rest of the ghosts followed his lead and pointed accusingly at her. “The Truth… the Truth…” they all said together, a morbid chorus in every tone.

Samantha really didn’t have any idea what they were talking about. They were still pointing at her—hold on… no, they weren’t pointing at her, so to speak. When she realized this little fact, she looked down to find her free hand occupied with a thick leather book; the same book she had plunged into the door almost a lifetime ago. It was then she knew what these ghosts were after, yet Samantha didn’t know what to do. She can give them what they want but will it actually help her in here, in their domain? She can deny their orders and protect the book, though she doesn’t even know how exactly she can defend it with a baker’s dozen of ghosts pointing at her like she is the freakshow around here. It was a decision she had to make in under just one minute, but with choices like these, it may not really matter one way or the other: She might actually die either way. No, not die… but preserved. She shivered inwardly.

While she was thinking it over, the ghost in the chair made his move appearing in front of Samantha without warning. She reacted like anyone did and tried to get away from the horrifying face of the apparition but he grabbed her by the shoulders and snarled at her face. His teeth were dark and yellowish, decaying, and incredibly sharp. His breath wasn’t of any concern because Samantha didn’t feel any breath spat at her face when he snarled. He was dead after all. But even with her nose still inhaling nontoxic air, it did not stop her from cringing farther away from the sight of his canines. Samantha was reminded of fangs from those vampire movies she watched when she was fifteen or sixteen after seeing those teeth colored in rotten bile; with that thought in mind, she had a sudden thought of the implications to his advancement. Was he planning on eating her? Biting her? She did not need a good reason to push the ghost away. He was dead after all. That was reason enough. But it was in vain.

He had a really good grip. Samantha could no shake him off no matter how many times she tried to get away. What’s even worse was his advancement; she didn’t take kindly to that. The ghost shifted his hold on her shoulders down to her hips, his face moving ever closer to hers. She thought of Dracula and how he would near his victim’s face and bite her neck. The ghost stopped at about two inches away from having lip-to-lip contact with Samantha. She couldn’t do anything. There was something about the ghost’s closer presence paralyzing her on the spot.

“The Truth…” it said slowly… hypnotizing… shivering… mouth agape. “The Truth… the Truth… give me the Truth…”

“I’d rather give you this: ‘We don’t have it, bastard’!”

Samantha was taken out of her paralysis by those eight words, spoken out of the mouth of her savior. Darrell gently pushed her aside, swung a Swiss Army knife (He kept it in his left back pocket) to the rocker ghost wounding him in the face with a gash that started from the left eyebrow to the right cheekbone. The ghost twisted his neck to the right due to the sudden impact of the attack but there was no hint of him reacting to the blood oozing out like a leak in a dam. Darrell, however, already took that momentary distraction and grabbed the book from his sister’s hand. He opened it in a random page then started ripping off the pages. And there was the reaction he was planning on.

The ghost writhed in shouts of pain after Darrell torn off the middle pages. When the ghost crawled over to Samantha again, the older brother took another stab at him which was useless. The pocket knife embedded itself into his left eye, black blood dripping from the socket. There was no painful expression when the knife sunk through the eye and clashed on the outer edges of the skull’s sphenoid. Darrell pulled out the knife, wincing as he supported his weight with his crushed right hand. The blade was stained in black liquid that was thicker than oil. Darrell looked at it for a second before plunging it into the book.

The rocker ghost again shouted in pain. His companions were all rooted in their spots, not even bothering in helping their ‘master’. For that, Darrell was slightly thankful because there was no way he can fight with all of them going after him. He kept his left hand holding the pocket knife as tight as possible since the book was shaking… shaking to be rid of the stabbing blade piercing through its pages and pages of dark secrets.

Darrell remembered RED, remembered her sister pushing him away when the ghost did one final course of action before disintegrating into dust, remembered waking up in a hospital bed wrapped in bandages and casts, and remembered Hailey standing up from her seat at the side of his hospital bed and asked if he was alright. It was only after a nurse requested Hailey to leave and when she left him alone in the room did he remember her sister…

Her sister…

During that moment… when she pushed him away from the ghost…

… was she smiling?

“Once again, I am very sorry for this,” Mrs. Nexus told Darrell as he intentionally dropped the old rocker on the floor. The wood almost cracked but he didn’t care if it did. “The spirits are still inside it, though.” She ran a hand over one of the armrests. “They are forever trapped within the spirit’s grasp.”

“Mrs. Nexus,” Darrell called, the old lady whipping her head up at the taller man’s cerulean eyes that looked deader than any spirit she had seen in her lifetime. “What do you know about ‘The Chosen Truth’?”

“I cannot tell you that,” Mrs. Nexus retorted, hate attached in her tone. “You can no longer retrieve what the tainted spirits have already taken. Doing so will only be an effort in vain.”

Darrell didn’t say anything. He only gave the rocking chair a snarling glance and left the shop.

The chimes didn’t ring when he opened the exit door.

Mrs. Nexus sighed and said, “This curse can no longer be broken it seems.” She heard a THUD coming from the seat of the rocker and when she turned around she saw a book held firmly in pale translucent hands. “A new soul?” She looked closer, not cringing even when the new ghost blinked its pupil-less eyes and cocked its head as if confused about the old lady’s behavior. “Yes, yes. I knew it would be you. The bastard always had a thing with eccentric people.”

The ghost presented its book to her, an old leather bound copy of UNCLE TOM’S CABIN. It smiled.

Mrs. Nexus sighed yet again before taking the book away with a reluctant hand. “I guess this is how things are suppose to be.”

A decade later, Mrs. Nexus died in her sleep. The book that came back to her like an untreated cancer was held in between her breasts, her arms protecting it in a crossed position. Medical records said her cause of death was cardiac arrest, a normal death for old age, but there was something that unnerved the people who found her in her deathbed.

Her face was distorted in a silent scream, eyes and mouth wide.

The rocking chair was never found again.

END . . .

A/N: I had this idea squirming around my head ever since I saw that Rocking Chair screamer from a friend's cellphone. I've been thinking of trying to write something supernatural except that there must be something that should be possessed. Human possession had been done already, and so had object possession. I'm merely trying to express my own idea with a definite twist to the usual angry spirit. But the idea was far more complex than I had first envisioned. So what was once a planned 8000 word short story turned into something that was far longer. If given the opportunity, I would make this longer and eventually make it into a novella (A novella no one'd read, I would say). Right now, it lacks a lot of character development, most of the scenes are right to the point without slowing down the pace at all, there are plenty of unresolved plotlines, I still haven't revised it, and most of all, the ending sucks. I mean really sucks.