The Attic

Chapter 13 - Time Management

                  Never in my life did I imagine that I’d see an actual ghost. Honestly, I wasn’t even certain if it was one. That’s just how I could call it - a ghost. If not, then I didn’t know what it was.  I mean, come on! I went out and saw no one. What else could it have been?

                My house was literally plagued with unexplainable behavior that drove me insane. Just a little more and I would have considered leaving, driving my humble car to the ends of the Earth. I wasn’t good at handling paranormal stuff. I have experienced yelling as the door to my room closed and opened by itself, but I got over it once I discovered that it was my nanny when I was four to five years old, scaring me to take my afternoon nap. Anything worse than a self-moving door was impossible for me to handle – things like the jingle of chains being dragged across the floor and a ghost passing me by.

                I felt like a retard the longer I stood outside with a jar of cookies, so I decided to drag myself back inside to continue working.

                 Not sure if I’m becoming paranoid, but everything inside my office seemed to posses eyes that followed me wherever I went. I couldn’t possibly work with an untidy environment, irritated by the mess caused by the clumsy mug which slipped from my fingers.

                Broom in hand, I didn't know how I managed to sweep the broken porcelain on the floor while my mind was clearly drifting away. I just noticed the pan get full with sharp mug pieces as the bristles directed them into it. It was a pretty mug. What a waste. My foot was at the pedal when I heard the noise of the coffee-soaked pieces hitting the bottom of the trash bin. Mopping the splatter on the floor was easy, but to forget why I dropped the mug in the first place was a lot harder than Calculus (I agree when one says what I said was exaggerated. Calculus was hell).

                 There was a good amount of coffee in the carafe left but I wasn’t in the mood for it anymore. I wasn’t in the right condition to continue work as well. I was tired, not because of physical exhaustion, but because of psychological torment.

                The house was forcing me to believe that I was insane. I knew I wasn’t, at least not yet, but I’m pretty much on my way there. Almost there. I looked at the amount of work I left for me to attend to, and I was glad that I was able to pat myself on the shoulder for I’m nearly through. It’s almost five in the afternoon, and my neck has never been this stiff. I rubbed a palm onto its side to somehow compensate for the discomfort when I tried to turn it to one side. Spending half of the day drowned in hundreds of ink strokes as I worked on my project was no ordinary task, and I was done for the mean time.

                I checked my phone for the first time today since I couldn’t remember, my screen flashing at me an unread message about an hour old. Just as I was about to open it, the Blackberry vibrated violently as I held it, indicating an incoming call. Looking at the caller’s ID, I smiled as I learned that the message’s sender and the current caller was the same person.

                “Hello?” I said as I accepted the call.

                “Hi, how are you?” Camille asked, her lovely voice unchanging even over the phone.

                “I’m good, you? Is everything okay?”

                “Yes, everything’s fine. Did you get my message? I was just wondering if you’re busy tonight. Could I come over? I’ll bring us something for dinner,” she sounded serious about the two of us, which made me glad deep inside.

                I looked at my work desk and the plate spread atop its plain surface. I told myself earlier that I’d resume working on it tonight once I’ve relaxed a bit. I didn’t want to pressure myself. All work and no play makes a dull person.

                “Sounds great! I’ll wait for you,” I agreed without hesitation.

                “I’ll swing by around, maybe six thirty. See ya.”

                “Okay, take care,” I said before she hang up, but I wasn’t sure if she heard it because there was a beep right when I was about to do so. I checked the sms and it said a similar thing. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to notice my phone blinking, so I wasn’t able to reply.

                The design could wait. I told myself, assuring myself that I’d get it done no matter what.

                There was hefty amount of time before she got here (Yes. An hour for me was hefty). I thought of what I could do to pass the boring minutes of waiting for my angel to come. My first thought was some television, but I found myself under the shower yet again for the second time today. I didn’t want any more shadows lurking behind the curtain so I endured the outside of the shower area getting wet, the semi-transparent curtains that veiled me during a bath pulled to one side. I was so careful not to get soap in my eyes again.

                As the water landed on the back of my neck, I remembered what I saw earlier. The sight of it has made a home somewhere in my brain and I would be helpless in thinking of it every now and then.

                Thankfully, nothing strange occurred as I was covered in suds. I managed to reach my room in one piece without hearing chains or seeing things – phenomena that I guessed I’d be used to the longer I stayed in this house. Hopefully.

                Wrapped in a black towel by the waist, there was still ample time before Camille got here. Marla entered the room without my permission, surprising me as I found it rubbing itself against my feet, its fur gently caressing my skin. She must have enjoyed the treat I got her. I could say that I and my new cat were getting along well, and I loved how she’d make this bubbly face when she looked at me.

                She sprang onto the drawer where I remembered I kept Wilfredo’s diary. Marla purred as she sat above the adorned wooden surface, her weight sagging lazily.

                There was still time.

               Suddenly, I found myself inching towards the drawer until my hand pulled out the leather-bound notebook. With nothing to do until dinner arrived with dessert, I caught myself reciting the first words of the next entry quietly in my mind. As I ran my eyes over the first few lines, Marla jumped onto my lap, as if she wanted to read with me.