The Wicker Chair

The day passed by ordinarily, without the strangest of happenings. The chair did not once more that day groan like it had done before. Maybe the man was crazy in thinking that the noise it produced sounded human, or was even alive. Inevitably, night came and the two slept soundly: a benefit of a southern summer’s night.

The next morning, however, was different. Instead of awaking to the smells of his wife’s cooking, he was instead awoken to the sound of his wife’s shouting.

“What is it, what’s going on,” the man asked, eyes still adjusting to the morning.

“Get down here and explain this to me,” she shouted back at him from the bottom of the stairs.

“Explain what,” he replied.

She moved out to the side, holding her shin, groaning and cursing. There at the bottom of the stairs was the chair and, to beside that, his injured wife.

“What happened, are you okay,” he asked.

“Not at this moment. This goddamn stairwell was so dark that I didn’t see that fucking chair and nearly broke my shin running into it!”

She just looked up at him.

“What? You think I moved it in the middle of the night to play a prank on you?”

She looked at him as though he had.

“That’s a terrible thing to accuse me of! You know I don’t play pranks!”

“Fine,” she conceded. “I’m, I’m just pissed and hurt, is all.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “We all get that way, I’m sure.”

“You know I’d never do anything to cause you harm of any sorts, don’t you?”

She nodded and forced a smile in between painful groans.

The man came down the stairs and tended to his wife’s wound. He took her over to the couch and sat her down to look at it.

“It’s definitely bruised, but there doesn’t seem to be any breaks. It’ll be fine in a day or two.”

Painfully, rigorously, the man dragged the chair along the kitchen floor, over the threshold, and into its rightful place on the porch.

Later that day, the afternoon sun called out to him. And once more the man found himself in the presence of the chair with beer in hand and the desire of comfort in mind. He carefully sat in it and leaned back to receive the rays of sunshine. He opened his beer and drank generously. When he was finished with it, he got up to get another one, but as he looked over at the chair, it leaned back into the position it had been before. It looked as if someone had sat in it! But he could see no one. There was no explanation. No wind, nothing attached to it to make it top heavy. Nothing.

In a brief moment of excitement, he called out to his wife.

“Dear, come quick,” he shouted hysterically.

She came limping and cursing.

“What, what is it?” She looked at him. He just pointed at the chair, which was back in its upright position.

“The chair, it leaned back on its own. As if someone had sat in it!”

“Honey, how long have you been out here,” she inquired.

“Just, just a half hour,” he replied.

“Been in the sun this whole time?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, maybe the heat has got you seeing things,” she concluded.

“What?” He looked at her puzzled.

“I saw what I saw. I know it.” He answered sincerely.

“Well, I’ll just have to take your word for it then. But, what do you want me to do?”

“Believe me,” he replied.

“Okay then, I believe you. But how does that make the situation any better?”

“It doesn’t, I guess,” he answered.

“I see your point. You need to take it easy on that leg. I got excited is all.”

She limped back inside, leaving him standing there alone, staring at the chair.

The next night, too, came without incident. It was the morning, however, that brought yet another irregular wake up call.

“Honey,” she shouted. “Look!”

He woke up and stared, eyes wide in disbelief. They were both looking at the chair, which was now sitting right outside of their bedroom door.

She looked at him.

“I didn’t do it!” He jumped from the bed to his feet.

“I know, I know,” she said. “I honestly believe you this time.”

“Okay. I really would hate to go through all of this again,” he stated.

“Well, should we call the police or something, honey?”

He shook his head.

“And tell them what? They’d never believe us.”

“You’re right,” she replied.

They both picked up the chair and moved it back onto the porch.

The rest of the day was spent in absence of the chair. They were legitimately unnerved and became a bit more than uncomfortable around it. After much discussion, they decided that they couldn’t destroy the chair. It would be considered sacrilegious. And they couldn’t take it back to the old man. The flea market that his shop was at was almost certainly gone. Therefore, the two concluded that they would have to sell it. It would take a few days. Until then, they moved it into a nearby shed and padlocked the door.

Though the daylight had increased in length, the night came a little sooner than expected. And so did a desire for rest. With chair safely locked away, the two retired to their room. As the night progressed and they slipped slowly into a comfortable state of sleep, something interrupted this process and caused them both to stir and wake. Instinctively, they both looked over to their left to the doorway where a strange, eerie light was present and visible through the open bedroom door. It, however, was blocked by something standing in the threshold. As the two adjusted their eyes to these contrasts, they saw that the once silhouetted figure now focused and had became defined. It appeared as though it were the figure of a man. The more they examined it, the more it even appeared to resemble the little old man who had sold them the chair not a week before.

It was upon further examination that it wasn’t completely a man at all. One of its arms was long and slender. It resembled wood and knotted and bent like that of the arm of a piece of furniture; some kind of inferior replacement for a legitimate, human appendage. And one of its legs, too, curved and bowed upright, not unlike that of a rocking chair’s. Its face, however, was most definitely human, and it even wore human clothing. Upon its chest and arms were torn and ragged remnants of what appeared to be the uniform of a confederate soldier. Even the cap it wore on its head was significant to its regiment. And in its human arm it cradled a rifle, its bayonet reflecting the eerie light that flashed along its slender blade. The couple just sat there staring in disbelief as the thing that stood in the doorway vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared.

The next morning they found the chair sitting on the porch as usual, basking in the Louisiana sun.

END