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Writing Prompt Repost: The Bench at the End

A repost from the original An Eighth Shot of Espresso on Wordpress.

Prompt: Write about a bench that is always empty...except that, over time, it has become the subject of an urban legend. They say that whoever sits on that bench will suffer a horrible death within twenty four hours. Is there truth behind this legend?

_____

"Don't sit there."

"What?" It was the only bench on this side of the park, with a gorgeous view of the ocean. "Why? We've been walking for almost an hour. My feet hurt."

"Anyone who sits there, dies. The damn thing is cursed."

I frowned. "You can't be serious."

"Take a closer look at it, but don't sit down."

I huffed as I sat on the grass right next to it. The worn wood curled at the edges, its dark brown sheen worn by the wind and the rain, places smooth by decades of use. Rust ate away at the frame, splotches of red like blood on dull grey metal. Someone had traced intricate carvings on the slats, strange spirals and notches, branches and leaves, spikes and blades. An odd piece of art being eaten away by the elements and reclaimed by nature.

The wind picked up and whipped up a fine spray of sand. I shielded my eyes as I caught words etched on the wood. Still legible, even as time softened their edges.

Sit at your own risk.
Adelia, 1984
Jose' , 1986. Vaya con Dios
Michelle, 1992

A long line of names and years, nearly forty years' worth. Rest in peace. Adieu, mon ami. Dia dhuit. A shiver went down my spine. This wasn't just a bench. It was a memorial. Instead of brass plates and a token donation to the Beach authority, it had hastily carved names worn smooth by time.

"What the hell? This is morbid," I muttered.

"Yeah, 'morbid' is one way to put it." He sat next to me. "Anyone who sits on it attracts bad juju. So bad that you end up with some mark on your back. All those names? They're all dead, within a day. Don't know how, don't know why, but I'm not gonna tempt fate."

"Bad juju, huh? Why don't they just take the bench out? It's nearly falling apart anyway."

He nodded at the base of the bench, to the rivets holding it to the concrete base on the hill. "They've tried. It won't budge." I stared at him in disbelief. He put up his hands. "Don't look at me like that. I was here when they came to replace the damn thing. Might as well have tried to uproot a thousand-year old tree with roots down to the seabed. It wouldn't budge. So they just left it as is. Something just won't let it go."

I shook my head. Curses weren't real. Urban legends weren't real. Those were the thoughts of people wanting to make sense of odd coincidence, a way to explain life's strange twists and turns. A cursed bench sounded so much more exciting than just saying "Everyone dies; it was just their time." People loved drama, loved stories. This was no different.

"No romantic stories attached to it? Some lover sitting on this bench, pining away for whoever they lost, only to be discovered dead on it at sunrise?" I hadn't meant to sound sarcastic, but it sounded like a likely reason.

He snorted, then smiled. "I wish. That sounds like a pretty straightforward story. Instead, we have rumors of vengeful spirits, scorned lovers, cursed slats of wood, a pissed off carpenter, and even dark rituals up here on the cliff. Gotta admit, it's the highest point here and the view is amazing."

"So basically, take your pick."

"Yeah." He chuckled and squeezed my arm and added, "but I still won't sit on that thing. Better safe than sorry."

I rolled my eyes. Maybe I should sit on the bench and prove all the naysayers wrong. After all, sometimes a cigar was only a cigar and not a smoking gun. Yet I couldn't get myself to actually do it. Maybe it was a feeling, maybe it was a healthy sense of self-preservation. Maybe it was instinct.

Maybe there might be a niggling hint of truth to all the rumors.

"C'mon, we've got a reservation at the Seaside. Heard the band is pretty good tonight." He got to his feet and extended a hand. I smiled and took it. We looked at the bench one last time, then retraced our steps down the path.

Someone shrieked and I jumped at the sound. A group of children raced by us, laughing and daring each other to be the first to the top. I shook my head and stepped out of their way, but I decided to warn them.

"Hey, careful! And don't sit on that bench! That thing's falling apart and it isn't safe!"

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