The Rocking Chair.

 

Sarah could feel a curious sensation when she entered the house. It was dark and dusty and damp; no, not so much damp as cold. As far as she knew - though the agent was not very forthcoming beyond this - the old cottage had been empty for years. There was certainly an atmosphere about the place which no doubt had influenced other previous viewers who might have been thinking of 'doing it up'. Quite clearly the house was in a state and some ‘doing up’ was indeed needed; but more than that it needed some love. But those earlier prospective buyers, perhaps less imaginative than Sarah had all drifted away and so the cottage remained empty.

        “It’s not just an exercise of bricks and pipes and wires,” she told herself. “What some people can’t see in a house is its soul, its beating heart.”

        Sarah had known this cottage since she was a child and now, her wanderlust satisfied, her travels over and done with, she was home again; except of course she didn't have a home any more. In a nearby village her one time family home had also become a victim of 'doing up' when her parents moved on to be guests in the mansion in the sky. She had not wanted it then so it was sold and some of the money paid for her travels. Now, those days behind her, what was left would, she had hoped buy her a nice little home.

        Perhaps she was naive or simply out of touch but it was soon apparent that such monies that she had would not buy her the home of her dreams. Neither, she came to realise, would it buy any kind of house that was in a condition that would allow her to move into without mountains of work. Those that were, and also some that were ‘not too bad’ were still beyond her purse.

        It was when she was enquiring in a nearby town estate agents that a chance remark by a young lady in the shop who no doubt thought that she was being a bit funny, or clever, solved her problem.

        "Don't forget Whither Cottage.” she called out to the young man who was going through the books of photos of houses with her (not for the first time) looking to see if there was anything we had missed.

        While the silly young thing shrieked with laughter at her 'funny' remark, her older colleague sighed. Was it exasperation at a non-professional joke, or defeat at the prospect of selling that property.

      “I doubt that Whither Cottage would suite you.” he murmured quietly “It is in a bit of a state”.

        "But I know Whither Cottage," she told the young man. "just outside the village. I’m surprised to find it’s still there. Is it on the market?"

        "It is," he replied, "if its still standing. Its been empty for nearly thirty years."

        "What is it going for?" she asked.

        "I'll have to check for you I'm afraid. The original owners seem to have disappeared and it really is run down; I’ll find out if you really want to know."

        He was as good as his word, but Sarah, impatient at other boring details asked only for the price. Although she discovered that she could afford the asking price, in traditional style she rejected that and made a much smaller offer, and, somewhat to her surprise it was accepted.

And so in the fullness of time she came to be looking around her new place of residence. Earlier the young man had insisted that she viewed the cottage before making a positive offer, Now, as then, she had found that everything was run down as she had been warned to expect. That is to say broken, falling down or both, and very dirty. But she had rejected suggestions to get someone in to clear the place. “No!” she had said, “I want to do it myself. Besides, some of this stuff might be worth keeping.”

        Sarah remembered the two sweet old ladies who had lived there and indeed she had been surprised to find that much of their old furniture was still there even after all the years since the house was abandoned. She did not of course know the details of the demise of the sisters, nor indeed did the young estate agent. “It was such a long time ago.” he said quietly.

        Only then did she realize that so far all of their conversation had been conducted almost in a whisper. There was indeed an atmosphere in the place though not one which Sarah found to be oppressive. If anything she thought it was pleading. She could not help but notice the curious way that things that had been dust covered and immobile for years suddenly decided to fall, and how and old rocking chair in a corner rocked slightly when she was near to it.

        "Is this place haunted?" she asked the agent.

        "Wouldn't be surprised,” he replied, “I’ve not been here that many times but it always seems spooky to me."

        "Well spooky or not this is now my cottage and I'll be staying tonight."

        "But there are no services yet; the water and electric people; they're all coming tomorrow." he said. "Are you going to be all right?"

        From where she was standing and not wanting to ‘spook’ the agent further she didn't mention that once again she saw the rocking chair move slightly.

        After shaking hands with Sarah he got into his car and soon he was on his way. She was smiling, thinking of how glad he seemed to be getting away from the old cottage, pondering no doubt about some crazy old lady who had just bought a pile of rubble. But Sarah’s big smile remained as she walked back into the house.

        "OK Isabella, Katerina,” she called out loud. “I know you can both hear me. Do you remember me? I'm Sarah from the village.” She paused and waited for the rocking chair to move as she knew it would.

        It did.

        “Do you remember I used to visit you years and years ago when I was a little girl and you used to bake cakes for me?"

        There was another little movement of the rocking chair.

        "And do you remember how I used to sit on the rocking chair while you used to push me backwards and forwards?"

        Sarah fondly caressed the chair sending many years of dust from its arms and seat to the floor before sitting down on it, remembering the fun she had with those gentle ladies, what seemed a lifetime before. She sat and waited for a while thinking that perhaps her imagination was running away from her. There was no sound, but then for an answer she felt the chair start to move beneath her with a small but easy movement. Gradually the movement increased almost to its full extent. Sarah relaxed, smiling and quietly laughing as the chair moved forward and backwards. She was remembering those childhood visits so long ago and soon in her mind she was that little girl again, laughing and giggling. The movement continued and she closed her eyes, dreaming, and in just a few minutes she was lulled into a deep sleep.

        The Electrician found her the next day. She was still in the rocking chair - quite dead of course. The rocking chair was still gently rocking and Sarah was wearing a most contented smile.

        The police were sent for as was the agent. "She was fine when I left her," he told the 'bobby' ", she was quite looking forward at spending the night here." he confirmed.

        There was no sign of violence on her or damage to the cottage. "Oh yes," the agent confirmed, "I know it's a mess but this is just how it was when I left her late yesterday afternoon."

        And so the little old cottage remained empty. Indeed, It remains empty to this day!

        But there are some people who have a sense of things beyond that which most of us comprehend. They will tell you different. They will tell of the laughter of a little girl. After peering in through a hastily wiped corner of a window they will recount how she happily ran around the rooms while two sweet old ladies pursued her with trays of freshly made cakes and buns. Some even claimed to smell the smell of new baked bread.

        Curiously however, few of these occasional visitors noticed the old wooden chair in the corner. If they had they might well have reported that it never stopped rocking;  a slow, gentle and seemingly content movement. The kind that would entice any little girl into a deep sleep.

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