He always said that when Amy left this world, he would too. He always said that, so much so, his children no longer doubted it. Neighbors checked on them every day, expecting that if one of them was gone, the other would not be far behind.
George and Amy Hargrove were 89 and 87 years young now. They had seen it all. The neighborhood wasn’t as safe as it used to be, but that didn’t stop them from sitting on their front porch when the weather was nice. He would read the paper, or a book on military history, and Amy would listen to the radio with ear buds, as they rocked back and forth. She had given up knitting a long time ago, because the arthritis got her, and it hurt her bad. They sat in their rockers, most warm days, and sometimes they talked. You don’t stay married for more than 60 years without being best friends.
Amy was a talker, and he loved their conversations about almost anything. If he wasn’t interested he would pretend to listen, so he wouldn’t hurt her feelings. They loved talking about the birds they saw come by. They always kept the bird book in between their rockers, when they were on the porch.
One summer day a young man walked up to their porch and said, “Give me all your money!” George looked up and smiled at the young man, who was maybe 15, and said, “Son go on home, before you get hurt, or get into trouble.” This only irritated the teenager, and he said while pulling out a knife, “Don’t make me hurt you!”
“Son put that away, someone could get hurt”, George said, as he reached beneath the seat of the rocking chair, and pulled out a loaded 38 caliber Smith and Wesson revolver (with the 6 inch barrel). He continued, “Ain’t you ever seen a Clint Eastwood movie?” The young man’s jaw dropped as he stared at the gun. “Now go on scoot.” said George. As the young man left hurriedly, George yelled, “If you come back tomorrow, we’ll fix you a meal, but leave the knife at home!”
The young man was too embarrassed to show his face around there again. After Amy told that story to the neighbors, the word got out to everyone in the neighborhood. No one ever bothered them again. Don’t mess with George and Amy they said.
One day, they did pass away. He was in the kitchen, and she was relaxing in the living room. They went just like George said they would, within minutes of each other. Neither of them knew about the other. He had been having heart problems but didn’t tell anybody. Cancer had slowly been eating away at her, and she was glad when the pain stopped.
Months later, no one would buy the house, because it seemed like George and Amy were still there. Two white images could often be seen, when the real estate agent, Lisa Thompson, was showing the house. Ms. Thompson was not scared of them, but the buyers panicked and always left quickly. The images were always together, separate, but side by side. Sometimes it looked like they were holding hands.
Speaking of hands, one time Ms. Thompson came to check on the house, by herself. When she went to the kitchen – she was certain that she saw a set of hands, on top of each other and holding one another, on the kitchen table. They were not just white images, they looked real, and she could see huge wrinkles of skin. She backed out of there, and locked the door. As she turned to leave, she noticed the rocking chairs on the front porch were moving back and forth, back and forth, yet there was no one in them, and there was no wind blowing that day.
She never went back there again. It was all just too much for her.
Blessings to everyone and PEACE!
Writing © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree
images from pinterest