Group Story

1. Group Story
The Third Floor Window
A new spring and a new family is moving into the third floor of my building. Well a
mother and a daughter. She’s a simple woman, with caring brown eyes and straight brown hair.
When she came to look at the rental space she held the hand of a bright eyed little girl who
would often try and break away to wonder.
As the mother tried to get settled and start rebuilding the toddler’s railed bed, her daughter ran
around the room admiring the dove wallpaper singing “birdy, fly, fly.” The mother would watch
her for a little while chuckle and get back to work.
After about a week or so the mother was finally settled on her third floor suite.
Everything went fine until an accident occurred. It was a beautiful summer day. I had come up
from the floor below to fix her leaky faucet. Her daughter was laying on her bed reading a
picture book. The sweet summer breeze from the open window filled the room. I left the room to
work on the sink, while the mom returned to her daughter in the room a couple minutes passed
and I was almost finished when I heard the house phone ring from the living room. I could hear
the mother walk through and answer the phone. The next thing I hear after the footsteps passed
me once more was the mother questionably calling for her toddler, and then a scream. I rush into
the room, where I see half of her hanging out of the window screaming. I quickly ran over and
grabbed the hysterical mother away from the window as she fought against me. She quickly ran
out of the room and I heard the front door slam shut. I then took this time to see what happened. I
peered out the window to see the distorted body of the toddler. The mother came out of the
downstairs door and flung her body on the small body crying. She was gone.

2. That weekend she held a funeral, and I attended. It was a small service. I felt obligated to
go. I’m glad I did go because unfortunately I was the only attendee, other than the mother and
the preacher. That’s when I realized that her baby was the only person the poor mom had in the
world.
A month later the poor mourning mother was the talk of the building. The gossiping
woman on the fourth floor complained of sobbing late at night. It seemed she never left the
building anymore. Out of concern I visited her. It was almost winter now as I climbed the stairs I
could feel the heat from my floor and mix with the frigid breeze of hers. I knocked on the door
and it swung open at my touch. My stomach sank. The room was so cold I could see my breath
in front of my face. I carefully walked through the floor looking through every room until I came
to the deceased toddler’s room. It was closed, unlike all the other rooms. I. knocked, when there
came no answer I tried to open it. When I found that it was locked I quickly rush to the other
room and call 911.
Again the funeral was little to no attendance, the other six residence in the building and
the preacher. Afterward, while cleaning out her floor to make room for a new tenant I actively
avoided the toddler’s room that had turned into a place of mourning for her mother. That room,
the only room still furnished, haunted me. When I finally gathered enough courage to enter the
room of death I was taken aback. I hadn't remembered the condition that the room had been in
the last time I was there. When paramedics surrounded the bloody body of the distressed mother.
Her self-inflicted wounds showed me her pain and loneliness that she felt. But in all the rush I
had not noticed the torn wall paper and the destroyed hard wood floor. Fingernail scratched dug
into the wood where the little girl sat reading her book, moments before her passing. And that's

3. when I looked at that open window, that blew in the cold breeze so peacefully and chilling. And I
thought to myself "That, open window is what started it all."