The Unfinished Game

The humid air of a summer afternoon hung heavy as my energetic niece Lily bounced at my feet. "Uncle Larry, please play hide and seek!" she begged.

The old house welcomed our game, its twisting hallways and shadowy corners concealing our laughter. With each round, Lily's hiding spots grew more clever. But when my turn to seek arrived, dread gripped me.

Thirty agonizing seconds passed as I recited the rhyme, my voice echoing ominously. I called out, "Ready or not, here I come!" Each room was silent and empty, my fear rising with every unproductive search.

The backyard shed was my final hope, its feeble porch light barely reaching the dark corners inside. Apprehension gnawed at me, recalling the unsettling tales surrounding the shed. Still, it was the last place to look.

The rusty hinges groaned as I entered the musty shed. The stale air was suffocating, thick with dust and decay. In the doorway, a lone rocking chair swayed gently, propelled by some unseen force. Its slow, rhythmic creaking set my heart racing.

"Lily? Brother?" My choked plea went unanswered, the chair falling still. Thick silence engulfed me. Terror clawed at my throat. I fled the shed, its rocking resuming as the door slammed shut.

Inside, relief flooded me finding Lily and my brother. "There you are!" I exclaimed with false cheer. But my brother's trembling whisper silenced me: "We weren't playing anymore."

An oppressive pall settled over the house. The rocking chair kept its vigil, a chilling reminder of the unseen things that lurk in the shadows. Our game remained unfinished, a testament to the darkness that waits patiently to be found.