Story Sent in by Daniel:
Angela and I had been seeing each other for a couple of months when we made plans to have a late lunch at a nice, mom-and-pop diner where I had brought her around the time when we had started dating. I arrived there first, and after 15 minutes, I called to see where she was.
No answer. I left a voicemail and tried her again a few minutes later. Still no answer. After waiting close to an hour and trying her once more (this was unlike her), I took a drive to her place, not far off.
No one was home, but there was an overturned rocking chair on her porch. I had never recalled seeing a rocking chair there before, much less an overturned one. Nothing else seemed amiss, and I tried her phone once more. No answer. Without much else to do, I went home.
I didn't hear from her that whole day, and that night, I even called a mutual friend, to see if he had heard anything from her, but he hadn't. Concerned, but trying to remain positive that there was a reasonable explanation, I went to bed.
The next morning, there was an overturned rocking chair on my front porch. It was different from the one that had been on her porch. It was much older-looking, had chipped white paint, and was larger.
I immediately called Angela. No response. I drove to her house. No one was home, but the rocking chair was gone. I decided to wait there, and after a little while, she pulled into her driveway and walked right up to me. She looked as if she had been awake for 72 hours. "What's up?" she asked, as if nothing was wrong.
"Where have you been?" I asked, "We had plans yesterday. And do you know anything about these rocking chairs?"
She stepped away from me as if I had physically threatened her. "Plans yesterday? With a rocking chair?"
I said, "There was a rocking chair here, yesterday, when I came to see you after you didn't show up for our date. It's gone now, but–"
"I don't own a rocking chair. Sorry."
"There's one on my porch. It was overturned in the same way. You're telling me you don't know anything about it?"
She said, "Show me."
She climbed into my car and we returned to my porch. The large rocking chair was gone.
"It was here," I said.
"You're insane," she said, "I should break up with you for this. I'm exhausted."
I didn't mention above that, with the camera on my phone, I had taken photos of the rocking chair on my porch from two angles. I pulled it up and showed it to her. Her eyes widened, but she said, "You could've gotten that rocking chair from anyplace. Do you have any idea what's happened to me over the past day?"
"No. Why don't you tell me?"
"Drive me home. I want to go home and go to bed, and then maybe I'll call you."
I dropped her off at her house and returned home. I resolved to not contact her until she reached out to me, first. It's been four years, and at this point, I'm guessing I'll never find out what the rocking-chair affair was all about.
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