The Empty Swing

 

Chapter 1: The House with a Garden

The moving day for Alina and Faraz to the old colonial house in the Murree outskirts was like a dream. After their simple city wedding, this house—gifted to them for peanuts by an old family friend—was a godsend. The house was filled with antique furniture, wooden floorboards, and a large garden where a lone wooden swing pendulumed off an old tree.

It swayed softly in the breeze, even when the air was not moving.

"That swing sends shivers down my spine," Alina said on their first evening, as it swayed back and forth on its own while they were standing by the window.

Faraz laughed. "It's most likely the mountain wind. This house has a certain character to it."

But Alina wasn't buying it. Something about the swing felt. watched.

Chapter 2: 3:00 AM

The first couple of nights, they acclimated to the groaning wood and the stormy weather. But on the fourth evening, Alina slept bolt upright at exactly 3:00 AM. Something had whispered in her ear—soft, childlike.

"Mama…?"

She turned around, her heart pounding. Faraz slept peacefully beside her. The room was quiet, but outside the window the swing creaked maniacally—without wind.

She stared for a couple of minutes. Before she could wake Faraz, it slowed… and stopped.

Chapter 3: The Voice Returns

The next night, it happened again.
"Mama… play with me."
Alina jumped out of bed and ran to the garden, barefoot. The swing was in motion again, but the garden was empty. No person in sight. The air was warm. Still.
She was foolish. Maybe it was stress, maybe hormones—her mother used to say a bride's mind plays tricks in a new home.
Why did the voice ring so familiar?

Chapter 4: Faraz Begins to Worry

Alina did not sleep on the next night. She remained quiet until 3:00 AM. When the time arrived, along with it came the whisper.

"Mama. are you still angry?"

Alina wept in secret, not of fear—but confusion. She sensed something within her heart, as an awakened old grief.

Faraz found her on the floor at dawn. Her eyes were swollen, her hands trembling.

"You must sleep," he whispered. "We may need to get your mother."

But when Alina insisted that he hear her, to the voice, to the exact moment, and the swing, he paused.

"Strangely enough…," he panted. "The man who sold me this house said that it had stood empty for 20 years. Because a woman was emotionally broken… after her baby died in the garden."

Chapter 5: The Portrait in the Attic

That afternoon, Alina climbed up into the attic, drawn by a force she couldn't define.
She found dusty boxes, old yellowed newspapers, and one solitary, framed photograph of a young woman and a baby—on the swing.
Alina gasped.
The woman… was her identical twin.
She ran her shaking fingers over the glass. A wrinkled letter was lying behind the frame, dated 1994.
"To whoever reads this:
If the child says Mama, answer her with love.
She died waiting for someone to push her one more time."
Alina let go of the letter. A blast of wind closed the attic door behind her.

Chapter 6: Whispers from the Past

Faraz tried to talk it through. "You resemble someone, that's all. The house is old. Old houses have histories."
But Alina grew colder every day. She paced in the garden for hours, gazing at the swing. At night, she began talking to someone who wasn't there.
One night Faraz overheard.
"I'm sorry I left you alone. I did not realize you'd go all the way up there."
Pause.
"Yes, we'll swing tomorrow. I promise."
White with fear, Faraz rang the local registry. His eyes widened when he saw the name of the last owner—Zehra Hassan.
That was the name of Alina's biological mother. The one she'd never met.

Chapter 7: The Adoption Truth

Confronted with the name, Alina cried. Her adoptive parents had not told her, but she had memories—transient ones, but genuine ones—laughter, a swing, a baby sister who vanished one day.

"I dreamed it," she gasped. "But I remember. she fell. And my mother screamed until her voice broke."

Her adoptive parents had told her it was brought on by trauma from a fever. But it hadn't been. The girl's name was Areeba. She was her little sister.

And she had died. There. On the swing.

Chapter 8: The Last Push

On the 7th night, Alina stood alone in the garden. The swing wasn't moving. The full moon.
Faraz stood watching her from the window, heart thudding.
She crouched on the ground and said softly, "Areeba, I remember you."
The swing began to creak.
Tears streamed down Alina's face. "I'll push you, like I said."
She stood at the back of the swing, raised her hands in the air—and the swing began to move, as if an invisible child had climbed aboard.
Alina pushed once. Twice. A laugh was heard in the darkness.
Then instantly—silence.
Faraz ran out. Alina stood there frozen.
"She's gone," she said, quietly. "She said she's happy now."

Chapter 9: Peace

The morning after, the swing remained still.
Not even when the wind blew.
The garden was lighter. Warmer.
Alina smiled for the first time in weeks. She placed a small stuffed animal at the base of the swing.
"A promise kept," she whispered.
She and Faraz decided to stay. Not out of fear—but respect. The house was hers in so many aspects. There was sorrow, yes, but there was also healing energy.
She began to write. To remember. To forgive.

Chapter 10: The Visitor

Months passed and there was a stranger at the gate. An elderly woman, frail and trembling.
"I was told… Zehra Hassan used to reside here," she said.
Alina nodded. "She was my mother."
The woman began to weep.
"I lived next to her… I entered her house the day her second child died. And how she was removed, crying that daughter would come back someday."
Alina tightened the woman's hand.
"She did."
And in the far distance, a faint laugh cut through the gust of wind. The swing groaned once.
Once.
And then it hung motionless forever.

***** THE END *****

Disclaimer : 

This story is a fictional work created for storytelling purposes on Storyistan. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is purely coincidental.