A far warning for anyone who reads this. This mentions child abuse and suicide. Take care of yourself. And maybe stop by at your local playground for a little advice?
The girl on the swing is a popular story in my area. A story of a young girl on a swing who reaches out to those in need. To help and comfort them and bring peace to all their issues. Over time the story was warped and changed. Suddenly you needed a blood sacrifice and a hundred other things to be able to call her. But the original story was much simpler. Just go to a swing at night and well, swing. Think of what is troubling you. She should arrive on the swing next to you, dressed in all white. She stays with you as long as you continue to swing or until the sun rises. Just about everyone who’s met her has had their problems solved. not many believed the story. But I did. And a few years ago I finally went to visit her.
It was a rather lonely Tuesday when I arrived at the playground at 12 am. Usually at least one kid would be there with their friends, to try and summon the girl on the swing. There were none that day. I guess I got lucky. So I did what I had come there to do. I sat there and pumped my legs up and down, staring at the swing next to me, waiting for her to appear.
The autumn breeze drifted through the air as I kept swinging, praying she would show up. As I looked around at the playground, it surprised me how different it looked. It was deathly silent and my own thoughts seemed a lot louder than they usually were. I wondered how long I had been there. Had it been at least ten minutes? I glanced at my watch. It had only been three minutes. I kept swinging. Swinging and thinking about the girl. I prayed to every god on the planet that she would show up.
And when she finally did I nearly started crying.
She turned around, dressed in pure white, radiating an aura of kindness and love. Her eyes were closed and she smiled before opening them.
”What brings you to my swing to-“ She stopped short.
Her eyes went wide with shock. Fear danced in her eyes for a second as she shrunk into her seat slightly, still swinging in rhythm with me. But then the fear and shock disappeared, replaced with burning rage. I could have sworn I saw hell’s gates in her eyes.
”Mother…….” She hissed at me like an angry cat. I gulped slightly.
There is a part of her story that nobody knows. How she got on the swing in the first place. But I knew why she was there. Why she was tied to this swing. Why she helped everyone. And most importantly, why there were bright red rope burns all over her neck.
The girl on the swing had a horrible childhood, all thanks to her abusive mother. A mother who truly didn’t even deserve to be called a mother. A ‘mother’ who drove the girl on the swing to suicide at 15 years old. I’d continue but I think my horrible actions are a story for another time. My daughter herself on the playground swing that she was ever so fond of, and stayed to help keep others from ending up the same way she did. I knew she hated me. But I needed to be here. I needed to apologize.
”YOU DARE COME HERE!” She screamed the words, they burned like acid. I winced at the sound. I had never heard her scream before. Her swing shook as if it was trying to mimic her anger.
“AFTER ALL YOU DID. AFTER ALL YOU DID TO ME AND-and……my sister.” She looked at me again, her anger flaring again as she brought the swing to an abrupt stop, getting off slowly as my heart beat out of my chest. She could get off the swing
”What did you do to her? Did you kill her? If you did anything to her I will make sure you won’t live another-“
”No!” I shouted. “I didn’t do anything to her! I came here to-“
”Shut up. I’m glad you haven’t done anything to her. And I’m going to make sure you will never do anything to her”
She stepped back as black shadows surrounded the swing, the childish playground turned dark and sinister with their presence. I didn’t know what the things were but I could tell that they were not here for a friendly chat.
“Wait! Wait, plea-please, a-allow me to explain myself! I came here to apologize! I have changed!” I screamed as tears flowed down my face. I couldn’t die here. My youngest was still dependent on me-and before I could think any further she held out her hand. The shadows stopped moving towards me and I relaxed a little.
”Really. Did you really change? Or are you just saying that to save your pathetic life? I bet you are still the same abusive, narcissistic bitch you were before. I bet you still abuse my poor little sister. You. Don’t. Deserve. To. Live.”
She said the words quietly but she might as well have shouted them. They felt like bullets on my heart. I stayed quiet for a second, staring at my feet. I had stopped swinging. It seemed that she could stay even if I stopped. The shadows moved like ocean waves in the background, ready to strike at any moment.
”Listen…..I’m sorry. I was a terrible person. But I’ve gotten better. I really have.”
It was her turn to go quiet. Suddenly she piped up.
”Look at my eyes. Look at them and don’t look away.”
I did as she asked. For a second or two nothing happened. It was rather awkward if I’m being honest. But suddenly I could feel her shifting through my memories. Opening them up like files and looking through them. Images flashed in front of my eyes. I smiled slightly. Maybe she would believe me after she saw the therapy sessions I started taking after her death to manage my anger. Maybe she would believe me after she saw the way I repaired my relationship with my younger daughter and my husband. And maybe, just maybe, she would find it in her heart to forgive me.
As she rewatched my memories it felt like I was reliving them. I felt like years passed by but when she snapped me out of the trance I realized that only an hour or so had passed. It was 1 am and the shadows were gone. My daughter stood in front of me, a slightly shocked expression on her face. But then she smiled. I missed her smile.
”Thank you. Thank you for taking care of her. Thank you for changing.”
That’s all it took for me to start crying again. I sobbed as she held me in her arms. I apologized over and over as she told me it was ok.
“You changed yourself for the better. That’s all that matters. And if you could, please send [my younger daughter’s name] to see me? I miss her and I can’t leave the area around the swing, unless I’m visiting a swing somewhere else.”
I smiled.
“Of course.”
The girl on the swing is still out there. Just yesterday her sister went to visit her before she left for college. So the stories are true, she is real. And also, for all those people out there who are struggling: somewhere out there, someone cares. And if you ever need a reminder of that, why not pay a little visit to my daughter?