OUR FABULOUS TEAM MEMBER AND AUTHOR, LORRAINE CAREY, IS SHARING HER LATEST FLASH FICTION TODAY. A CHILLING LITTLE TALE - 'ONE LAST SWING'. #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat

One Last Swing

When Brianna’s family moved into the quiet neighborhood, the silence felt wrong to her—too still, as if the entire street held its breath. Bri, as her parents called her, tried to hide her unease. She already missed her old school, her friends, the familiar noise of downtown Pittsburgh. Her parents assured her she’d make new friends quickly, reminding her how bright and outgoing she was. She forced a smile, but something about the new house made her stomach tighten, as though the walls themselves were listening.

Mark and Linda Hastings had long dreamed of escaping the bustle of thecity. With Mark’s new remote job and Linda’s editing work from home, they finally had the chance. The neighborhood seemed peaceful—rows of small brick ranch houses, trimmed hedges, and lawns that almost looked too manicured. Their newly remodeled home boasted a wooden deck overlooking tall, shadowed pine trees and a flower garden that Linda had promised Bri they would be planting new flowers together.

But there was one unsettling feature: the dying playground at the end of the street. A skeletal relic. Rusted metal. Peeling paint. A place that looked abandoned by time itself. The realtor had mentioned it would soon be torn down, but that didn’t ease the way Bri felt when she first saw it—like something was waiting there.

Despite her mother’s warning that the equipment wasn’t safe, Bri couldn’t stop glancing toward it. Even on the day they moved in, she felt a tug… a strange pull she couldn’t explain.

The family was invited to Saturday’s neighborhood Block Party, and the residents greeted them warmly, though Bri couldn’t shake the feeling that some smiles were a little too relieved—as if they’d been waiting for her.

She met Elise and Enya Bronsen—identical nine-year-old twins with matching cold-blue eyes and immediately hoped they might become her friends. Their mother kept a close watch on them, her gaze flicking often toward the street’s dead end, where the playground sat like a forgotten grave marker.

More neighbors introduced themselves, including Marissa Barone and her shy son Jacob. The familiar sounds of grilling food, laughter, and clinking plates should have felt comforting. Instead, the breeze carried a faint metallic squeak—like an old swing moving with no one on it.

Then an elderly woman appeared at the edge of the gathering, slowly descending her driveway. She carried an old foil-covered dish, her steps stiff, her expression unreadable. Marissa leaned toward Linda.

“That’s Mrs. Dorsey. Lives alone. Her family left… a couple of years ago.”

Mrs. Dorsey’s gaze lingered on Bri a beat too long, her eyes soft yet oddly hollow.

“My, what a lovely child,” she said in a wavering voice. “My granddaughter has hair like yours. Red… and bright.” A shadow crossed her face. “Just like yours.”

Bri felt a chill creep up her neck.

Later, after dinner, Bri begged the twins to go to the old playground with her. They hesitated.

“Mom says not to,” Elise murmured. “She said… bad things happened there.”

Still, after enough pleading, both mothers finally relented—but with worried glances and hushed warnings to stay only a few minutes.

The moment the girls walked out of earshot, Mrs. Dorsey leaned in close to Linda.

“You haven’t heard about the playground, have you?” she whispered.

Linda shook her head.

“A little girl died there six years ago. Her name was Emma. Accident, they said. Fell from a swing.” The old woman’s eyes glistened. “But some children… don’t leave a place. They linger.”

A hollow silence settled over the adults. Mark swallowed hard, suddenly regretting letting Bri go.

At the playground, the air felt heavier—colder. The metal structures groaned softly in the settling dusk. Bri walked straight to the swings, drawn as if by invisible fingers. The chains rattled despite the still air.

Enya and Elise climbed the old slide, but before either could go down, a sudden gust ripped through the trees, swirling leaves in frantic spirals.The broken swing beside Bri jerked violently, its chain slamming against the frame.

Bri’s swing surged forward as though someone—or something was pushing her. Her red hair whipped across her eyes.

"Bri!” Elise shouted. “Stop! Something’s wrong!”

But Bri only laughed, exhilarated by the unnatural force lifting her higher and higher.

Enya and Elise rushed to steady the chains, struggling against the strange gale. When the swing finally slowed, all three of them stood trembling.

“My mom said this place was bad,” Elise whispered. “We should go.”

Bri didn’t argue, but she didn’t mention what she had felt—a soft pressure on her back, small hands that weren’t her own.

That night, Bri lay awake. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard the creaking swing… the giggle on the wind… the whisper of her name.

When her parents finally drifted to sleep, she slipped out of bed and followed the pull she could no longer ignore.

The playground stood in darkness, yet Bri saw a faint glow near the swings. A small figure sat there—feet dangling, hair tangled, wearing a faded sundress.

The girl looked up slowly.

“Will you be my friend?” she whispered. “Push me?”

Bri’s breath hitched. Her hands were trembling, but she stepped forward. The moment she touched the chain, the swing groaned…and began moving all on its own.

“What’s your name?” Bri whispered.

“Emma,” the girl said softly. “It’s been so long since someone played with me.”

The wind rose again—cold, unnatural—wrapping around them like icy fingers. Bri staggered back, realizing she needed to leave. Now. Before her parents found her gone. Before something else did.

She turned—but when she looked back…

Emma was gone.

Only the empty swing rocked gently, as though someone invisible still clung to it.

For a week, Bri avoided the playground. But on Friday morning, her mother casually mentioned the bulldozers would arrive to tear it down.

Bri nearly dropped her juice.

That afternoon, she walked to the end of the street. The workers sat in their machines, preparing to begin.

Bri’s gaze drifted to the swing set.

And there—just for a moment—she saw a small figure, her outline flickering like a candle flame. A child gliding back and forth without touching the ground.

Emma.

A faint laugh curled through the air, followed by that familiar, chilling breeze.

Bri understood then.

Emma wasn’t ready to let go.

Not of the playground.

Not of her swing.

Maybe not even… of her.

The End.

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COMING SOON: On Wednesday, 10th December, we introduce our guest author, Tony J Forder, who will be sharing Chapter 1 of his novel, 'The Stonemason's Song'.