Once, Ten Chairs

A lone red chair beside a table with an old coffee pot in a run-down, decrepit house.

Mrs. Baker’s house was always the spot.

The Invincibles found a safe haven in that little, time-worn house. It was old and abandoned, sure. It had a litany of rotting structural issues and no shortage of eerie, dark corners. Still, it hid the Invincibles from bullies and ne'er-do-wells. Ricky—who was usually last to show—arrived to find only Jimmy, Ester, and Rachel inside.

“Where’s the rest?” Ricky asked.

It was then that he noticed the solemn faces.

“W–Where’s the rest?” he repeated, a stutter gripping his words, trying to stop the pain from escaping too soon.

“There... there was an accident,” Jimmy said, voice shaking. “The others... they—” He stopped, unable to relive the pain all over again.

Ricky didn’t need to hear the rest. He knew. Rachel sobbed into Ester’s shoulder, while Ester tried—and failed—to console her.

——-

Ten chairs.

Ten chairs filled the room sixty years ago.

Now, only one remained.

Ricky returned to Mrs. Baker’s house all these years later. He hobbled up the sloped entryway, leaning heavily on his cane. He sat at the only chair left at the table and glanced over his shoulder at the other nine, stacked neatly in the corner. Dust and cobwebs whispered their age.

He smiled, eyes lowering to the ring on his fourth finger. He spun it slowly, remembering.

“Ester... I’ll always love you, dearly.”

A single tear traced the path of countless others before it.

“And to the Invincibles,” he whispered. “May we never succumb.”

He drew in one final breath, deep and sharp. Then he leaned back in the chair, eyes closing with quiet grace. His fingers let go of the cane. It hit the floor with a soft thud—unnoticed, undisturbed.