A lonely swing swayed gently in the night, illuminated by a single lamppost which cast a moving shadow along the dirt floor. The rusted hinges creaked ever so slightly, growing louder as my footsteps crunched through the dry grass. Stepping up to the swing, a faint smell of rosemary entered my nose, sending tingles down my spine. I reached my aged hand out over the swing and felt the air turn from warmth to almost deathly cold.

It had been many decades since I had last seen anyone sit on this swing. And yet it swung. All day long. All night long. A child’s giggle brushed over my ears, like rose petals on a lake, brushing over my ears. I whipped my head around, scanning the empty park fro the source pf the noise, but to no avail. There was nothing. I shivered, the frigid air suddenly suffocatingly cold, carrying a much heavier scent of rosemary. Why wouldn’t she show herself to me? Have I angered her? Is she mad at me?

I retracted my hand in order to wrap my arms around my freezing torso and it all stopped. The temperature was pleasant, the air fresh and the only sound was the squeaking of the swing. Almost as if the world had been reset. I returned my gaze to the swing, and for a moment the air looked distorted, like I was looking through smart glass. After a blink, it disappeared.

“Mum,” a stern female voice spoke from behind me, cutting through the silence. A hand landed on my shoulder, and I jumped, letting out a cry of surprise. I turned and met the concerned gaze of my daughter, Alice, my heart attempting to escape my chest. “You know you shouldn’t be out this late on your own. Especially not with your condition. You could get lost.”

I took a glance around the park once more, searching for the voice. But the wind had stilled and the air above the swing had returned to its former state. Clear. Calm. Yet the swing still swung. Back and forth. Back and forth. As Alice led me away by my cold hand, my ears tuned into the rhythmic creaking of its rusted hinges. It would increase. Then decrease. Increase. Then decrease. Increase. Decrease. I heard it all the way hime, and into my bed like an earworm. After one final scolding about why I should not go out at night, Alice tucked me in for the night, flicked the lights off and closed my door.

In the darkness I felt a cool breeze tickle my nose and smelt the faintest hint of rosemary. Assuming it was a candle from the neighbour’s house, I closed my eyes. My dreams were filled with anger. A burning rage that could not be quenched. Betrayal. Hurt. Somehow I knew I was not the one feeling these emotions. They were almost childish, like a friend had borrowed their favourite toy and broken it. These emotions were pointed though. A knife of

fury was poised, carefully aimed at its target. The blade swung, and I felt its sharp edge hack right into my brain.

I awoke with a start. My hands leapt for my head, feeling for the blade that I had felt so vividly pierce my skull. When they found nothing, I let them drop to the bed, taking in shaky breaths. My body reminded me of the dream, my stomach sick with guilt. Darkness surrounded me and moonlight gleamed across the ground. A recurring thought whispered to me. Come … come and play … come … Throwing on a gown, I made my way tnrough the chilling night back to the playground.

My slippers crunched along the dry grass and my ears tuned in to the creaking of the swing, growing louder and louder as I came closer to it. Soon it was all I heard. I felt the pounding of my heart behind my eyes and a lump crept into my throat. Come … I was almost there. Every sound from the swing was met with icy fingers tracing my spine. Upon my arrival, it stopped. The swinging. The noise. It all stopped. Reaching my hand out, the slight smell of rosemary entered my nose and the swing swung again. Louder! Faster! I couldn’t escape … Come and play …

Two days later …

I found myself standing in the midday sun, staing at the infuriating playground I used to find my unstable mother staring and mumbling to the swing set, as if there was a child there that I could not see. The doctor warned me that the condition would make her see weird things, and to have patience with her. But this … My fist closed around the scrunched-up newspaper article: “80-year old Woman Gone Missing After Leaving House in Night-gown in the Middle of the Night.”

I gazed at the swing set. How funny, there was no breeze, and no children near to have played on the swings. Yet both of them swung, in complete synchronisation.