The Magic Stool

Ana had gotten the stool from a garage sale. She hadn’t planned to stop. She’d just happened to drive by and thought she might find some baby stuff.

There wasn’t anything she needed.

But when she saw the stool, standing forlornly in the yard beside a dresser missing a door and a frilly lamp with a crooked shade, she was drawn to it.

She didn’t really know why.

The three-legged stool was tall and sturdy, with a round top. Its wood was weathered, with odd dents and strange markings all over, as if it had endured decades of secrets.

And now it was sitting in her living room, looking rather out of place.

With the busyness of being a stay-at-home mum, she quickly forgot all about it.

Her 4yo daughter and 2yo son were always up to mischief. And her latest addition, her 3mo son, was still not sleeping through the night.

Since her firefighter husband often worked night shifts and emergencies, most days she felt like a single mum. A single mum who was barely treading above water.

Dishes always piling up. Never-ending laundry. Crayon scribbles on the walls. Chocolate-milk spills on the carpet.

There had been days when she’d sobbed in the bathroom while a screaming baby and toddler pounded on the other side of the door.

Once, she’d thrown her baby onto the bed harder than she’d meant to.

Another time, she’d slapped her toddler.

Each time, she hated herself.

**

It was a Saturday. Jake got called in for an emergency. She was home alone with the kids.

The baby had barely slept last night—so neither had she. Jude had woken up at the crack of dawn, asking for pancakes for breakfast. Jill had somehow spilled flour all over the countertop and floor.

Then, as she was breastfeeding the baby, the two older ones had a fight. Jude ended up bumping his head on the edge of the table, needing an ice pack. Jill, of course, screamed for half an hour.

All this, before even 8:00 AM.

She put the baby in his bouncer, where he immediately started whining.

Slamming the ice pack onto the kitchen counter, with the other two still crying and screaming, she went into the living room, Jude already following after her.

She sat down on the stool in the corner, held her face in her hands, and cried.

I just need a break. Just give me a break!

Sudden silence.

She looked up… and there was no one there.

Jill, Jude, the baby—gone. The house was still.

What’s going on?

She ran into the kitchen. Where were her kids? She screamed.

She frantically ran into every room in the house, searching for them. In the beds, closets, bathrooms. Then she ran out into the yard, looking under hedges, in the garden shed.

It felt like a terrifying game of hide-and-seek.

Just as she was about to call her husband Jake, she heard the baby whining.

She turned around to see the baby back in the bouncer, and Jill and Jude sitting on the living room carpet, colouring.

“Where have you been?” she yelled, grabbing Jill by the shoulders.

She pulled her and Jude into a tight embrace. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God!”

“What’s wrong, Mummy?” Their eyes were wide.

“Y-You… Didn’t you… You weren’t…” Ana stuttered. She didn’t know what to say.

Had she just imagined it all? Had they been here all along?

Ana stared at her children, her hands shaking.

**

It was another typical day—kids were screaming, the house was a mess. She was slowly unravelling.

She sat on the stool again to gather herself.

And once again—the children disappeared.

This time, she was calm. She didn’t run around screaming and searching for them. She just sat there, quietly waiting, taking deep breaths.

It must have been five minutes. Five minutes of quiet.

Then they all reappeared—Jill was reading a book on the couch, Jude was playing with his blocks, the baby, sleeping in the cot.

It’s the stool, she realised.

She pored over it, from top to bottom, looking for answers.

But aside from its strange scratches and grooves, there was nothing out of the ordinary.

**

Jake was away again. It had been a challenging day with the children. Ana sat on the stool and closed her eyes.

Immediately, there was quiet in the house.

When she opened her eyes, she smiled. Then she laughed.

Over the next few weeks, she hopped onto the stool whenever she felt she needed a break.

She took a shower, washed her hair.
She drank her coffee while it was still hot.
She went to the toilet—alone.

It felt like heaven.

At first, she only used the stool when she got to a breaking point.

But soon, even when the baby was just a little cranky, even when Jill and Jude weren’t being particularly naughty, she wanted time to herself.

She read. She painted.
She took her time eating her meals.
She went shopping.

The times she got on the stool became more and more frequent. The minutes seemed to stretch longer and longer. But she didn’t care.

She felt like herself again.

**

That morning, for once, everything was fine.

Baby was clapping his hands in his bouncer. Jill and Jude had uncharacteristically finished their breakfast without fighting or breaking something and were on the couch watching cartoons.

But Ana felt like getting a manicure. It had been a while.

So she got onto the stool, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

Silence again.

Her eyes swept through the empty house before she left. Mummy will be back, darlings.

But long after she did, the kids hadn’t returned.

She cleaned the house, did the dishes, hung out a load of laundry. And they still weren’t back.

When night fell, her heart started pounding. Why weren’t they back yet?

Something was wrong. Maybe she had to wish them back this time?

She looked for the stool in the living room… but it was gone.

She collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath.

“Jill?”
“Jude?”
“Baby?”

Nothing.

This time, the silence was deafening.

-THE END-

(C) Copyright Lisa Kwan 2026

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Part of my creative writing project. Had to write a story based on a randomly generated story title: The Magic Stool. Wanted to incorporate some experience of postpartum depression as well.