Short Horror Stories

The wooden swing Part Two

heed the warnings from part one of this story please and thank you.

Thursday, October fourth

I had that same dream again. Same voices, Same door, same everything. It was clearer this time though. I could hear the adults more, and make out some of what the girls were saying. They were calling someone all kinds of insulting, degrading names, no these weren't names were they? They're slurs that go against my moral code to repeat here. Bullies, whoever these girls are, they are verbally abusive bullies. I remember trying to speak up, to scream, to shout, to do anything to get them to stop, shut up , but it was as though I had no voice. I couldn't speak, it was as if no words could escape the void that was my mouth. Bolting upright in bed, I decided I would look more into it this upcoming weekend, starting when I get home tomorrow. If nothing else, maybe figuring out what happened to the girl will end my nightmares. Francis, don't worry, whatever you want to tell me I will find it.

Friday, October Fifth

Alright, school is done. I have no other commitments, so let's do this. First, I opened my computer to Google, and typed three different websites into three different tabs. Familysearch.org, which is a death certificate finder, the Stockten Times, which is our local newspaper. It has been around for over a century at this point, so if there's a story, I'll find it, and finally Google maps, to find the old orphanage, of course, in case Google doesn't turn up any answers. First, I looked into the death certificate finder. After typing in her name, I searched through the matches that came up, until I found one that could possibly be a match.'' Francis M. Smith, born 19th of march, 1920, parents unknown, believed date of death 8th of October, 1933.'' Wait Believed? why is it registered as..." find me, and tell my story." I heard a very distinct feminine voice say from behind me, like she was standing right next to my ear. I turned around so fast, my chair wheels squeaked, no one was there. Cue an overly dramatic sigh of relief. Alright, so this is going down into my notebook, next onto the newspaper. I looked at their files and Put in the date, October first of 1933, just to help narrow down my search results. Searching until I found anything involving the orphanage... The Headline? " Orphans Go Missing. Matron arrested on suspicion of serial kidnapping."

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Trying to read the paper is difficult, as the different linguistics of the time period means I often must stop to look up the meaning of various phrases, but I get the gist of it. The story is about two girls and a boy, sixteen-year-old triplets, go missing after last being seen speaking with the matron of the orphanage, Mrs.Alexander. Blood and hair belonging to the missing teens was found in her private chambers, leading to her arrest. Realizing that there was a missing puzzle piece, I looked further down into the results, and almost a month after that first article , I found the next headline, one that only gave me more questions, with very few answers: " Bodies found inside Orphanage cellar, Seven sets of remains identified." The next article went along the lines of her being arrested for at least seven counts of murder after decomposing bodies were found in a section of the orphanage cellar barred behind a heavy iron door which only she had access to. Three sets of remains have been identified as belonging to the missing triplets." find the door, find the key,expose the truth, and set us free," Rings from behind me. This time when I turned around, there was a thirteen-year-old girl standing behind me. "Francis?" I called. She nodded her head in a yes motion, "look for the diary, room 39, I have to go. They are coming." She then fades right in front of my eyes. Diary and room thirty-nine are quickly written down into my notebook as I frantically look up anti- ghost protection, because I get this gut- deep feeling that whoever this" They" is or are, they will be dangerous to me, and That I am going to encounter them at some point. As I sit there, researching Ghosts to my heart's content, I realized I was too deep into this to back out now, Oh well, to the Orphanage I go.

End of Part Two.