My nana never let chairs stay empty in her house, always folding them up and putting them away if nobody was going to use them. She was convinced that any chair left empty would be used by a ghost and then she'd have to get the house exorcised to get the damn thing out. In her words she was "too bloody old for that ruckus and besides, the Clergy will steal my good silver!" and nobody wanted to start an argument with her so we just let it be.
All the while she lived in that house there was never a chair left unattended,not even on her 95th birthday. She had my aunt go around on chair patrol, folding the chairs whenever someone got up which caused no end of amusement and annoyance but again nobody wanted to start anything.
When she died I was volunteered to stay with her body overnight (another family tradition to stop demons eating her soul or something like that) and to open the doors for the morticians in the morning. They never tell you that when you're dead you empty every orifice and I mean every orifice. It's one scent I'll never forget and one I never wanted to associate with nana.
I left her bedside for less than ten minutes - just long enough for me to have some fresh air and make a strong smelling drink - and when I got back she had moved. It was like she'd just been asleep and if it weren't for the faintly stained bedsheets she'd just vacated I'd've believed it too.
And then her head turned in stiff jagged movements like a glitched video, her hands gripped the chair's arms so hard they began to splinter. I did what anybody would do in that position - bolted out, locked the door and sat in the hallway, unable to sleep until the morticians knocked for her in the morning. By then she was back in bed, her palms covered in splinters and the chair neatly folded away.
All the while she lived in that house there was never a chair left unattended,not even on her 95th birthday. She had my aunt go around on chair patrol, folding the chairs whenever someone got up which caused no end of amusement and annoyance but again nobody wanted to start anything.
When she died I was volunteered to stay with her body overnight (another family tradition to stop demons eating her soul or something like that) and to open the doors for the morticians in the morning. They never tell you that when you're dead you empty every orifice and I mean every orifice. It's one scent I'll never forget and one I never wanted to associate with nana.
I left her bedside for less than ten minutes - just long enough for me to have some fresh air and make a strong smelling drink - and when I got back she had moved. It was like she'd just been asleep and if it weren't for the faintly stained bedsheets she'd just vacated I'd've believed it too.
And then her head turned in stiff jagged movements like a glitched video, her hands gripped the chair's arms so hard they began to splinter. I did what anybody would do in that position - bolted out, locked the door and sat in the hallway, unable to sleep until the morticians knocked for her in the morning. By then she was back in bed, her palms covered in splinters and the chair neatly folded away.
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