Story 109: The Swing of Lost Souls

In the heart of the forgotten graveyard, where time itself seemed to wither away, two spirits lingered long after their earthly ties had faded. They were small, childlike in appearance, yet the weight of centuries clung to them like a shroud. The world had moved on, but they remained, bound to this place of eternal rest.

A gnarled tree stood at the edge of the graveyard, its twisted branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. From one of its sturdy limbs hung a creaky old swing, a relic from when the graveyard was still a place visited by the living. The swing had long been forgotten, but not by the spirits.

Every night, as the moon cast its cold light over the tombstones, the two spirits would gather by the swing. The first spirit, smaller and more timid, would sit on the swing, while the other, slightly taller and braver, would gently push it, their translucent forms glowing faintly in the dark.