May 27, 2011
By Anonymous

-2 Weeks passed and then it happened again…-

It happened again. It’s under the rug. I don’t know what it is, how it got here, who sent it, why is it in my house?! This keeps happening to me.

I jump up from the chair quickly and swiftly. Faster than I ever have before, only to find the “bump”, as I like to call it, moving about under the carpet. Staring blankly at the bump sent chills down my spine and a cold sweat began to seep through my forehead and down my arms. What is it?! What do I do with it?! My face becomes red hot with confusion, stress, and disbelief. I try to calm myself by closing my eyes and taking in the soothing aroma of warm hot chocolate with marshmallows that I had just prepared for my “relaxing” evening. I finish my deep breath and open my eyes to the bump giving a sudden jerk into the coffee table that was holding my wife’s prized lamp that was passed down from family generation to generation. The table begins to tip and the lamp becomes unsteady. Time seems to slow down and my adrenalin picks up and is pumping at full go. I need to end this. I have to get rid of that mischievous bump! I grabbed the only thing I could. My hand crafted wood chair that was made from triple “A” mahogany. I wield the chair above my head angrily screaming and yelling at the bump “go away!” I slammed the perfectly crafted chair onto the bump hard enough to shake the walls. Hard enough that the Books on the bookshelf shook, and the pictures on the walls became crooked. The feel of the perfectly sanded wood turned into sharp toothpick-like pieces of kindling in my hands and on the floor. Sweating and panting, holding the leg of the chair I wipe off the beads of sweat from my forehead glaring at the floor where the bump was. Once again it is gone, the bump is nowhere in sight. The mysterious bump that tormented my house for the last month has disappeared again… The first night the bump appeared was on a rainy September night about 4 weeks ago, when my son passed away in a car accident. I don’t know what to make of this. Is this truly my son contacting me? Or am I just simply losing my mind? The sound of a crackling fire eases my mind. I don’t know. All I can do now is gather up the splintered wood chair, place it in the fire, and sit. Sipping my hot co-co, enjoying the crackling fire, and listening to the rain beat down against the window seems like a good idea to me.

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