Vince Tayoto
When they call, do not
ever look outside. Neither do you reply.
Never.
* * * * * * * * * *
Our new house is
situated as one in a row of 30 other houses, numbered as 27.
Our new house is a
small simple one with a space outside for the cage and our dog, a rusty gate we
lock at night using a big padlock with eight numbers, four out of eight numbers
there as the password, red-cemented terrace, creaky door that is locked by
pressing the doorknob, white walls, and glass windows just beside our sofa
inside.
Facing the sofa is a
wooden container for the TV, for the DVD player, for books, and for CDs. Just
two to three steps from the sofa is another creaky door leading in the room
containing a bed and a cabinet as storage of our clothes. Even if it contains a
bed, we do not sleep here for two reasons. First, the bed is too small for the
three of us. Second, we sleep by having cushions on the sala because the TV is
there. Facing the creaky door then is a mirror.
Two steps from the
mirror is the comfort room (which is also our bath room) in the left with its
lights broken thus the room always being pitch black. At last, at the far end
of the house is the kitchen, the sink and the kitchenware container on the
left, the stove beside another window on the center, and the refrigerator and a
wooden table on the right to where we do not eat but just place our food. We
eat in the sala so that we can watch TV while eating.
* * * * * * * * * *
That night I was
texting Jamie while watching TV. It was nearly 10 pm.
I felt thirsty that I
went to the kitchen to get some cold water from the refrigerator when all of a
sudden...
"Mark?
Mark?"
It was neither my
mother nor my sister for they were both in Dreamland in those times. It was
Jamie... How could I not recognize that sweet angelic voice?
"Mark?
Mark?"
But what was this all
about? Going to our house in this time? 10 pm? And with greater surprise, she
lives far from here. And I already locked the gate. Was it enough to say
visitors cannot be entertained anymore? But well, how could I refuse the call
of a muse?
"Jamie?"
I opened the door to
which with a small pause of confusion, I stopped because the doorknob was
unlocked yet as far as I remembered, it was.
"Mark?"
Hearing this beautiful
voice, I opened the door but alas!
There was no one
there. I came closer to the gate to look outside but there was no one. Did she
run out of nervousness or being shy to see me?
Was she playing a hide-and-seek to thrill the man out of me?
But all these
smile-providing thoughts disappeared upon checking our padlock. Someone pressed
the numbers and the hair on my back felt cold and stood for the numbers that
were pressed were exactly our password!
I pressed them back,
checked the outsides again and seeing there was indeed no one, went back inside
when...
"Mark?"
I hurriedly opened the
door. There was no one. I hurriedly closed the door.
"Mark?"
This time, I peeked by
opening the glass windows. There was no one. Our dog is still asleep.
Trying to forget this stressful fear, I retreated back to my cellphone and found messages from Jamie.
"Good night. You
were not replying."
In hope that I could
ask her where she really is, I texted her, "Where are you?"
And she was indeed
still awake for she responded, "Is it a wrongly sent message? Of course I
am in our house. Good night."
And I dropped the
phone.
Yesterday, at early
morning, I told my mother and sister about it and I garnered different
reactions from them. My sister simply laughed saying I was just so madly in
love that I was having hallucinations in my head or that maybe, it was a wet
dream. On the other hand, my mother gave a more mature yet whispering answer.
"Maybe, there is someone who finally knew our password. Some outsiders.
Some planning neighbors..."
And when my mother was
about to leave, she enlarged her voice and called me in the terrace.
"Did you really
lock the door?"
There was no
padlock. We checked the shoe box to
which we keep it and there it was- gone.
That day, Jamie was
absent. And with concern for her, I visited her house but like our padlock, she
was gone. Her mother was the one who opened the door for me.
"I was about to
see you."
"What?"
"I woke up
without Jamie. Her friends said they did not see her in school."
"Was Jamie here
last night? Yes she was, sleeping."
"Sleeping? What
time?"
"About 9
pm."
"What?"
"I heard her
calling me last night. 10 pm. But there was no one outside. I swear to God it
was her."
"That was
they."
"They?"
"The pied pipers.
The sirens."
"What?"
"When they call,
do not ever look outside. Neither do you
reply. Never."
And on that day, we
never saw Jamie or heard anything from her. Not a text. Not an appearance of
her or her shadow. Never. It was as if she was really lured by a Pied Piper or
the sirens.
* * * * * * * * * *
Saturday afternoon. My
mother was expecting my aunt. She was in the kitchen, cooking. My sister and I
then are playing scrabble when-
"Ate? Ate?"
"Ma, here is
Auntie," my sister said.
My mother, even in the
kitchen heard it. My mother enlarged her voice and said.
"Wait a
minute."
"Open the gate
for her."
My sister was about to
open the door when I opened the glass windows to confirm her presence. With me
opening the glass windows and my sister opening the door, what we confirmed was
not her presence but her absence.
My mother, wiping her
wet hands on her clothes, hurriedly came and she stopped wiping her hands when
she saw what we saw- Auntie's absence. And our mother joined our confusion.
"Did you hear it
as well?"
My mother asked this
while she was dramatically holding the curtains of our glass windows, still
checking the outsides, still waiting for her sister who that day did not pay
any visit nor any text regarding her whereabouts. Not just that day but of any
day from now on.
* * * * * * * * * *
Another night. I came
late. There was no one in the house. My sister was on a trip and my mother, I
thought, visited a friend of hers. I was changing my clothes in the room when
the dogs from the outside started barking.
"Hide," said
a voice from the comfort room. It was my mother.
"Hide. Here they
come," said my mother again.
So I hid under the
bed.
"Do not listen to
her. Get out there, son. I am your mother. She is tricking you," said
another voice coming from the outside.
"No. I am your
mother," said the voice from the comfort room.
And so they both
argued into each other and argued inside my head. Which one is the real one? A
wrong choice leads to danger. I tried to ask them both questions that only my
mother knows yet this seems ineffective in determining who the real mother is.
My heart pumped faster
when the sound of our gate opening reached my ears. Footsteps.
"Where are
you?" asked the mother from the outside.
"Hush dear,"
advised the other one.
And so the sound of
the first creaking door came.
Louder footsteps.
Louder. Louder.
Louder.
I could now see her
shadow for her feet already reached the creaking door of the room to which I
was hiding. And there I was, hiding under the bed, just in front of her feet-
her bleeding feet.
"Help me.
Help," said the mother with the bleeding feet.
Is she my mother, my
real mother?
Thinking I could not
stay in my hide-out forever, I went out and found that this bleeding mother was
indeed a human, alive.
"Mark!"
cried my mother.
"What happened to
you?" I asked.
"They got
me." We welcomed each other in open arms.
"Mark...,"
said the voice from the comfort room.
And we detached
ourselves from each other.
We slowly opened the
door of the comfort room and there we found an old woman and it screamed.
"Mark, hide. Hide. They got me. They got me!"
* * * * * * * * * *
And the house is not
ours.
Image Sources:
Image Sources:
No comments:
Post a Comment