The Park Swing

Yui worked as a part‑time librarian. She often took a short walk through the neighbourhood park on her way back to her apartment. The park was small, with old cherry‑blossom trees, a worn playground, and a pair of rusted metal swings. Most evenings, the place was quiet, with only a few dog‑walkers passing by. She would sometimes stop for a few minutes to rest on a bench before heading home.

The strange events began on a windy autumn evening.

The sun had already set, and the sky was deep indigo. Streetlights cast pale yellow circles across the grass. Yui was walking across the park, ready to leave. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed one of the swings was moving.

It swayed back and forth gently, as if someone was sitting on it. Yet the seat was completely empty. No one was around. The wind was blowing, but it was not strong enough to make the swing move in that steady, rhythmic pattern.

Yui paused, staring at it. The swing kept swinging, slow and smooth. She told herself it was just a trick of the wind. She hurried past and went home, trying to push the odd sight out of her mind.

The next night, she returned to the park.

The swing was moving again.

This time, it swung further, its chains creaking loudly in the still air. Yui glanced around. The park was empty. No children, no other visitors. She hesitated, then walked closer. The empty seat continued to rock to and fro. When she stepped right beside it, the motion stopped all at once. The swing hung perfectly still.

She breathed out in relief, thinking the wind had finally died down. Just as she turned to leave, the swing started moving again, without any breeze at all.

From that day on, the swing would be in motion every time she visited the park.

Sometimes it would swing softly. Other times it would rock violently, the metal chains scraping against their hooks. Yui tried to avoid the park altogether. She took a longer detour around it, but the route was tiring, and after a few days she had no choice but to go through the park once more.

One night, she heard a faint, quiet giggle coming from the direction of the swing set.

It was the sound of a young child laughing, light and high‑pitched. There was nobody there. The playground was deserted. Yui’s heart raced. She kept her eyes fixed on the path, refusing to look toward the swings. But the laughter followed her, echoing across the empty grass.

On a misty Friday night, she stayed late at the library. By the time she reached the park, it was nearly midnight. The fog hung low over the ground, blurring the edges of the trees.

She walked along the path. The swing was swinging wildly. The chains screamed as they moved. And this time, she could see a faint, small silhouette sitting on the seat.

It was the shape of a little girl, her head drooping forward. Her figure was translucent, barely visible through the mist. She did not move, only sat there while the swing rocked back and forth.

Yui froze. She wanted to run, but her feet felt heavy on the damp grass.

A soft, childish voice floated over to her.

“Will you push me?”

Yui did not answer. She stood rooted to the spot, watching. The little girl lifted her head. Her face was hidden in shadow. She held out one small pale hand toward Yui.

“Please push me. I want to swing higher.”

Yui turned and fled. She ran as fast as she could, out of the park, not daring to glance behind her. The creaking of the swing chains chased her all the way to the park gate.

For three days, she never stepped foot inside the park. She told herself she would never go near that swing again.

But one rainy Sunday afternoon, she had to cut through the park to deliver a book to a neighbour. The rain was falling lightly. The park was wet and quiet.

When she reached the swing set, the swing was still. The seat was empty.

Lying across the swing seat was a small, faded red hair ribbon. It was damp from the rain.

Yui’s stomach tightened. She knew she should leave it alone. But curiosity got the better of her. She stepped forward and picked up the ribbon. The moment her fingers touched the fabric, the swing began to move.

It swung back and forth, faster and faster. The chains rattled loudly. The little girl’s silhouette reappeared on the seat. She was looking straight at Yui.

“Thank you for pushing me,” the child said. “Now it is your turn to sit.”

Yui dropped the ribbon and turned to run. Behind her, the swing kept accelerating. The creaking turned into a shrill screech. She could hear small, pattering footsteps chasing after her across the wet grass.

She burst out of the park and did not stop until she reached her apartment building. She locked her door and leaned against it, gasping.

That night, as she lay in bed, she heard the faint creak of swing chains coming from outside her window.

And when she checked her jacket pocket the next morning, the red hair ribbon was inside.

It had come home with her.1