"The Ghosts of Sinagtala" originally appeared in Unseen Moon, a book published in 2013. It had a limited print run, but it's available now as an ebook on Smashwords and Amazon.
For the book's availability, do visit http://elizavictoria.com.
Enjoy.
* * * *
It was Good Friday. The penitents were out on the street, flogging themselves, their backs covered with blood. When the jeepney stalled, Emma leaned forward and looked through the windshield. Four men, their faces covered in maroon cloth topped with wreaths of bayabas leaves, were lying facedown on the ground. Another man, in cutoffs and a cap and holding a whip, hovered over them and hit their buttocks with gusto. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. The man in cutoffs nudged them with his foot, and the men rose and changed positions. The man in cutoffs whacked them again. Emma could see the dust rising off the penitents' shorts as the whip landed. Their bloodied backs, glistening in the sun like oil, reminded Emma of gutted fish.
The group changed positions two more times. The penitents' heads faced north, east, west, south. They were arranging their bodies in the form of a cross.
Inside the jeepney, the other passengers craned their necks but quickly lost interest, save for one, a boy in a UP shirt, who took out his iPad and took a picture of the penitents. "It's been years since I last saw something like this," Ben said. One passenger wasn't patient enough to wait for the jeepney to start moving. Emma pulled their bags closer to let him pass.
"Are we going to ride another jeepney after this one?" she asked.
"No, just one more tricycle," Ben said. "Then we're home."
Home, Emma mused. The penitents stood up, genuflected, and took up their whips again. As they passed, the jeepney driver quickly drew the cloth covering his side of the vehicle. The passengers followed suit and shut the windows. Emma wasn't quick enough. A penitent scourged his back, the whip falling, oddly with a sound like that of gravel dropping, and a drop of blood fell on Emma's dress.
"Oh, no," Ben said. "Sorry, Em." He took out his handkerchief and dabbed at the stain near the neckline. Emma, embarrassed by this display of affection, pushed his hands away.
"It's all right, Kuya," she said. The jeepney started moving, and the siblings sat back and looked out the window.
"It always felt like this here during Lent," Ben said. Notes of pasyon drifted into the jeepney, the old woman's voice rising and falling like a wave. Pagdaka'y ibubulalas parusang kasindak-sindak sa harap ng taong lahat. "Like the town's hallucinating."
*
The tricycle drivers were playing chess beneath the shade of a mango tree, sweating and sleepy in the late afternoon heat. Emma could feel her temper fraying. She wished her brother had rented a car. She tied her hair in a tight bun, hoping for a cool breeze to caress her nape.
"Where are you off to?" one of the tricycle drivers asked.
"Sinagtala," Ben said. When that didn't elicit a response, he added, "Del Estrella?"
The tricycle driver had a towel around his neck. He mopped his face with it as he looked at Ben, thinking. The driver stepped back and talked to his friends. They talked in low, urgent voices.
Another man stepped forward, younger and slighter than the first man who had spoken to them. "Let's go," he said, and helped them secure their luggage on top of the tricycle.
Emma marveled at how fast darkness fell in the town, cloaking the dirt roads at half-past five. Ben wanted to check his mail, but there was no 3G signal, or any signal of any sort. He slid his phone back in his pocket. They passed by a sari-sari store selling halo-halo. They passed by a small house, white sheets on the clotheslines flapping in the wind. The road grew wider as the houses diminished in number. Trees on either side, their branches forming a roof over their heads. An impoverished cow feeding on the dying grass. The light was fading. At one point the boy (for the tricycle driver was really only a boy) made a wrong turn, and they ended up on an empty field.
"Are we lost?" Ben asked, apprehensive. "Let's ask someone." But there was no one to ask. The boy tried to find the road again, and did so after ten minutes that flowed like honey.
"You're not going to leave us in the middle of nowhere, are you?" Ben said, and the boy laughed nervously.
He asked if they were relatives of the mansion's owner.
"We inherited it," Ben said.
The boy didn't ask them anything else after that.
When Emma was finally able to see Sinagtala through the trees, an imposing stone house with windows made of capiz shells, the boy stopped the tricycle and said that was as far as he could go.
Ben was instantly angry. "What do you mean? The roads are level here. Drop us off at least at the gate."
The boy wouldn't look him in the eye. "I'm sorry."
"Unbelievable." He yanked the bags out of the boy's hands when they got off. "I should just pay you half the fare."
"Why won't you go closer to the house?" Emma asked.
"It's not allowed," the boy said.
"Says who?" But the boy just revved his motor and drove away.
Ben had taken out his flashlight. "Sorry," he said, and drew Emma closer as they walked with their luggage, their strollers making a soft whir. Ben apologized as though everything were his fault. Perhaps it was.
The house was blazing with light. Was the house lit when Emma saw it through the trees? She couldn't remember.
No, wait, I remember. I remember thinking, For a house named after starlight, it was very dark.
"Well," Ben said, switching off his flashlight, "that would fuck up the electric bill."
The gate was unlocked when they reached it. There was a folded note left between the bars.
"It's from the caretaker," Ben said. "It says here he doesn't stay after dark. Keys on the front porch. That's careless of him, isn't it? Leaves the gates unlocked, leaves the keys right out in the open."
"We don't have any neighbors," Emma said. "At least not nearby." And that tricycle driver won't even come near the house.
"Yes, but still." They stepped inside, and Ben locked the gate. They walked up the driveway and found a large set of bronze keys on the front porch, the keys all tied with a red ribbon. He picked them up. From that day forth he kept the keys in a black pouch on his person at all times, tied to his belt, or else wound around his wrist. "Come on."
Ben tried several keys before he was finally able to open the double doors. When he did the siblings were hit by a blast of cold wind, a breeze imprisoned within the stone walls, now finally set free. Emma expected to see a grand staircase, chandeliers, vases of flowers, but the ground floor was bare and had a low ceiling.
"Well, that's disappointing," Emma said.
Ben turned to her and smiled. "It's an old house. In most mansions during the Spanish era, the lower floor serves as the stables. The living rooms are upstairs."
There was a staircase straight ahead. Ben climbed it first, helping Emma with her bags. "Here we go," Ben said, when they emerged onto the second floor. They found themselves in the sala. The plump sofa and chairs were white and gold, the curtains silver. Emma finally got her flowers and her chandeliers. Gilt mirrors hang on the walls, along with portraits of the siblings' ancestors and Sinagtala's original owners framed in dark wood. Felix and Ernestina del Estrella looked out of one painting, watching the siblings with expressionless eyes. Emma looked away.
There were bowls of sampaguita blossoms on every table, and the room smelled sweet and bright.
"It's beautiful," Emma said. She went behind the sofa, which was facing the staircase, and pushed open the capiz windows. Acres of trees, then the blue of the river. Emma felt the cool breeze on her face and neck, and closed her eyes.
She heard the flick of a lighter. "Kuya!" she said, turning to him. Ben took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out of the side of his mouth. He looked sheepish.
"Sorry," Ben said. "Just one cigarette?"
"But you'll make the house smell like you," she said, frowning.
"Just one cigarette," Ben said. Emma sighed and let him be.
"When you were with Megan you stopped smoking," she said, and she stopped thinking of the cigarette and started thinking about Megan. Megan and her brother broke up just before the trip. "You never told me what happened. I thought you two were going to get married."
Ben shrugged. "It just didn't work out."
They stood together in silence for a while, looking at the dark trees.
"How old is this house?" Emma asked.
"Around two hundred?" Ben said. "It has always been known as Del Estrella. 'Of the star.' I think it's our great-grandfather who changed the name to Sinagtala, 'Starlight.'" He laughed. "In a sudden fit of Tagalog pride."
"Have I been here before?"
"Once. I was eleven and you were a baby." Ben smiled around his cigarette. "I've been here maybe five or six times. Summer vacations, to see our grandparents. Father's parents. The first time you were brought here was the last time we came here. Fifteen years ago. Just before Father died. Then our grandparents moved out as well, into their smaller vacation house in Baguio."
The Del Estrellas didn't like their mother very much. They only got in touch when she died six years ago – Ben twenty years old and Emma nine, suddenly orphans – and then stopped visiting after the funeral, making their existence known only through the occasional signed check and phone call. Their grandmother died a year ago and their grandfather mere months after that. That was when Ben got the papers and decided on taking the trip. It was summer, school was out, and he wanted to show Emma the ancestral home before she moved on to college.
"So no one's lived here for fifteen years?" Emma said. "Must be a bitch to clean."
"The caretaker oversees its cleaning every few months or so. I guess that makes up for his leaving the house wide open." Ben was planning to just flick the cigarette out the window but changed his mind. "Let's go get something to eat."
The kitchen was located to the left of the sala, past the huge dining room. They turned off some lights as they went. The charcoal stoves were still in place, but there was also a modern stove, an oven, a microwave, a toaster, and a refrigerator. It was startling to see modern appliances in a kitchen that looked so old. Ben killed the cigarette in the sink and checked the cupboards. Emma opened the refrigerator and peered in.
"Well, we're well-stocked," Ben said.
"We have meat," Emma announced. "But I'm too tired to cook. Can we just open up some cans?"
Ben opened a can of pork and beans and a can of sausages and dumped them in two bowls. The bowls were bone-white. He took a loaf of bread from the cupboard and stepped into the dining room.
The dining table could seat twenty people. There were cloth fans hanging from the ceiling, which could be moved by hand to shoo away flies. They sat in one corner, Ben sitting at the kabisera, the head of the table, and began to eat.
"What?" Ben said out of the blue halfway through their meal.
Emma looked up and frowned at her brother.
"Sorry," he said. "I thought you said something."
"I was just eating."
"Sorry."
"What time is it?" Emma asked. "I can't wait to take a shower."
"It's just past six."
"So early," Emma said. "It's so quiet here. Do you think they have a TV?"
"I don't think so." Ben took out his phone and turned on his media player. A pop song started playing, then stopped.
"Low batt?" Emma said.
"No." Ben picked up his phone and saw that it had gone back to home screen. He glanced at the doorway. Something white glided into the sala.
The lights went out.
"Oh, no," Emma said. "Tell me this house has a backup generator."
"It's okay," Ben said. He flicked open his lighter. In the glow of the tiny flame he saw Emma yawn and rub her eyes. Ben stood up and let her hold his left arm.
"Come on, sleepyhead," he said, walking to the doorway, the furniture barely visible in the darkness of the sala. The flame only threw a small circle of light in front of them. Emma's arms were wrapped around his, her dress swishing against his legs. "See how a smoker saves the day?"
"Where are you going?" Emma said in a plaintive voice. Ben turned around in shock.
Emma was still sitting on her chair.
"Well, don't leave me here," she said. "I'll get lost."
The pressure on his arm disappeared. The lights went back on in a blinding flash.
"Jesus," Ben muttered under his breath.
Emma yawned and rubbed her eyes, and Ben felt a chill.
"Let's get out of here," he said.
"But the dishes – "
"I'll get them in the morning. Come on. Let's get settled."
They crossed the sala to get to the rooms. There were two doors facing each other. Ben opened one. Inside was a simple king-size bed with a mattress and white sheets. On each side of the bed was a nightstand, each carrying a bronze angel figurine.
"I've never seen this room before," Ben said. He closed the door and opened the one facing it. Another king-size bed, but a four-poster this time, with an ornate headboard and curved legs. Near the windows, flush by the wall, was a wide table with a lamp.
"Here we go," Ben said.
"There are two master bedrooms?"
"That one must be the guest room. I'll show you something." He went behind the headboard and drew back a lace curtain that Emma had at first thought was wallpaper. Behind the curtain was a door.
"Oh," Emma said, delighted. They went through the door and saw themselves in another room, but with a queen-size bed this time.
"The girls' room," Ben said. There was a walk-in closet filled with mirrors. There was another connecting door to another room.
In the other room were two beds and a pair of study desks. "The boys' room," Ben said. Emma stood in the doorway and looked from one room to the other.
"How come only the boys' room has study desks?" she asked.
"Well, it was the Spanish era, and only boys –"
"Goddamn misogynists," Emma said, and Ben burst out laughing.
"So I guess you'll take the master's bedroom?" Emma said. She squatted with a grunt and zipped open her luggage by the queen-size bed.
"Yes," he said. "Each room has its own bath. I'll head out now and fix my things."
"Wait."
Ben turned back. Emma was clutching her towel and pajamas to her chest.
"Can you," Emma said, "can you wait outside the bathroom while I shower?"
"Oh," Ben said, "Okay. Sure. Let me grab a chair."
Emma left the bathroom door ajar. Ben sat outside, his back to the wall. "This house is so big," Emma said. "It's giving me the heebie-jeebies."
"You won't take an hour, will you?" Ben said.
Emma was indignant. "I never take an hour!"
Ben chuckled. Every now and then, while showering, Emma would ask, "Are you still there?" and Ben would say, "Yes, I'm still here, Emma."
She was bathed and dressed after twenty minutes, her hair dripping with water. Ben was quick to note that Emma donned her pajamas inside the bathroom instead of using the dressing room, with its dividers and many mirrors.
Emma held up the dress that was stained with blood earlier. "I was going to put this in a basin of water, but I can't find the detergent."
"It's in the laundry room, past the kitchen," Ben said, rubbing the cloth between his fingers. "It's okay. I'll take care of the laundry tomorrow."
Emma folded the dress and placed it on top of her luggage.
"All set?" Ben said. "Good night."
"I could sit outside while you bathe, too, if you want."
Ben smiled. "No, it's okay, Em."
"I'll do it anyway. I brought a book."
After Ben finished taking a shower, he asked, "Emma? Do you want to sleep here? We could share the bed."
"No, it's okay," Emma said, closing her book, suddenly embarrassed. "Good night." And they went to their separate bedrooms and turned off the lights.
*
Ben was able to sleep right away out of sheer exhaustion, but two hours later he was wide-awake, pulled to consciousness just when he was about to get his rest. He sat up, still groggy, and realized what was wrong. His bedroom light was on.
He debated with himself whether he should get up and turn off the light again, and decided to just leave it and try to go back to sleep. He couldn't. After nearly an hour of tossing and turning, he took out a book and tried not to think of the stories his relatives and his grandparents' maids had told him about this house, stories that his own grandparents branded as nonsense. "We've lived here for years and we never felt anything out of the ordinary," his grandfather used to say, though why did they move out after so many years? Why did they suddenly abandon Sinagtala?
In the other room, Emma, half-asleep, heard something rustling at the foot of her bed. She bolted upright, wide-eyed in the darkness, and heard a boy's voice say, very clearly, "It's going to be all right."
Emma jumped out of the bed and ran to the master's bedroom.
Ben looked up from his book. "Em?" he said. "Can't sleep?"
"I heard something," Emma said, and crawled under the sheets and fell asleep beside her brother.
*
At three in the morning, Ben, who had already fallen asleep, was awakened by the sound of Emma giggling.
"O?" Ben said, amused. "You're dreaming."
"Where are they?" Emma said.
"Who?"
Emma giggled. "Where are they?"
"Who, Em?'
"Felicia and Tomas!" she said, happily, and fell asleep again.
*
Saturday came. The morning light washed away the shadows and the unsettling fears of the night before. Ben, singing softly, washed last night's dishes and prepared breakfast. A proper one. Garlic rice and eggs and tuyo and coffee. Emma ate everything and marveled at how clear the sky was. She tied her hair, grabbed her point-and shoot, and announced that she wanted to go exploring.
Sinagtala only has two stories, but it was very wide, expanding from the sala to either side with all its rooms and connecting doors. "I wasn't able to show you this last night," Ben said, and opened a door that led from the sala to the azotea. In the middle of the terrace roof was a fountain, no longer working. There was bougainvillea all around, white and red and dark pink, as well as bushes of sampaguita and wild rose, and pots of cadena de amor and dama de noche. Emma demanded that Ben take a picture of her posing by the fountain and the flowers, scrutinizing each shot to see if they could be used as a Facebook profile pic or cover photo. They found a pair of watering cans in a corner, and proceeded to water the garden.
"What do you plan to do with the house?" Emma asked. "Are you going to sell it?"
"I haven't thought about it," Ben said.
"Call Megan. Maybe she'll agree to marry you once she finds out that you now own a mansion."
Ben didn't answer.
"Sorry," Emma said. "I liked her you know. She was good for you."
"I know," Ben said. "Let's get going?"
There was a hallway beyond the boys' room that remained dark despite the bright morning. From there they entered a room that served as an entertainment den for guests but looked more like a museum. There were photographs of various sizes in various degrees of fading on the walls. Coffee-colored doñas in baro't saya sat stiffly on chairs, large cuts of diamonds on their throats and earlobes. Men in amerikana stood with canes, hand on their lapel or tucked into their coats. There was a photo of a young girl, around four years old, lounging on a sofa, strings of pearls around her neck.
Inside the room, a piano sat darkly in a corner, a chess set made of yakal brooded between two tables.
Ben knelt to peer at the chess set. "Look at this, Em," he said, picking up a pawn. "Mahogany. You can still smell the wood."
But Emma was preoccupied with another photograph, smaller than the others. It was a photograph of a young couple. The woman wasn't looking at the camera. "Eighteen ninety-nine," Emma read the inscription. "Felicia and Tomas. You've heard of them?" Emma asked, noticing the look on Ben's face.
Ben, mute, shook his head.
"She looks too young to be his wife," Emma said.
"May-December love affair," Ben said, looking elsewhere.
They moved on. They peeked into the chapel ("They have their own chapel?" Emma said, impressed) and finally arrived at the library.
Books filled the shelves from floor to ceiling. There were some books in glass cases: the Old Testament, a copy of Noli and Fili, a first-edition Florante at Laura.
Emma peeked at the titles. "If you do sell the house," she said, "let's keep all of the books."
Ben laughed. "Deal." He spotted a pile of books in the deepest corner of the library. He sat down, sneezing at the dust, and picked one book, a thin volume bound in sheepskin.
It was a series of ink sketches. On the first page, a beautiful young woman with chains of dama de noche in her hair. Enero, 1899. Ben smiled.
His smile faded when he turned the page. Marso, 1899. It was the same sketch, but the young woman now wore thorns instead of flowers.
The sketch was transforming. Abril, 1899, black holes for eyes. Mayo, 1899, a black hole for a mouth, the young woman clutching the thorns and screaming in agony. Hunyo, 1899, the young woman, with claws for arms, rips the thorns apart, as well as the top of her head. Hulyo, 1899, the soft lines of the sketch disappear and were replaced with geometric shapes, the young woman reduced to triangles and squares. Triangle eyes, triangle mouth, square head. Little triangles and squares in her hair. The shapes were drawn on top of each other and looked like they were vibrating. Moving.
It was the last sketch.
Ben threw the book away with a shiver and picked up another one.
Mahal kong Tomas,
May daga sa ilalim ng ating kama may daga sa ilalim ng ating kama may daga sa ilalim ng ating kama may daga sa ilalim ng ating kama may daga sa ilalim ng ating kama may daga
My beloved Tomas. There's a rat under our bed there's a rat under our bed there's a rat under our bed. Over and over. For one hundred and fifty pages. Ben threw the book back on the pile as well and stood up.
"That's creepy," Emma said, who had been looking over his shoulder.
"What's that?"
Emma was carrying a thick leather-bound volume. "It's filled with old newspaper clippings," she said. "Looks interesting."
They walked back to the sala, but Ben stopped by the guest room. "I want to check something," he said. Inside the room were two doors. One led to the bathroom. The other was a connecting door. "Ah," Ben said, and walked through.
They stopped dead in their tracks. The room was empty, save for a painting that completely covered one wall. It was Henry Fuseli's "The Nightmare", with its white-eyed horse, its demon sitting on the maiden's chest.
"What the fuck," Ben said.
"That's horrible," Emma said, shrinking away from the painting. "What is this room for?"
"I don't know," Ben said. "Let's get out of here."
Ben locked the door on their way out, and realized that the door locked only from the outside.
*
Emma cooked lunch this time. Pork sinigang, which Ben praised to high heavens. Ben then gathered up all their laundry in a large rattan basket they found in the kitchen ("How quaint," Emma commented) and headed to the laundry room.
"Wow," Emma said as she followed, looking around at the laundry room's white walls and white tiles. "It's like stepping into the future."
Ben placed the basket on the floor and started sorting the few pieces of clothing. "Yes, it's a remodeled room."
"You know we could just wait till our last day here before doing the laundry." They had planned to stay for seven days.
"I didn't bring that many clothes," Ben said.
"Ugh."
"You brought that with you?"
"Light reading," Emma said, and sank into a chair with the tome she got from the library open on her lap. "It's not just newspaper clippings, apparently. It's newspaper clippings about the family."
"Oh?" Ben put Emma's stained dress under the tap and applied a paste of laundry detergent on the stain.
"Yes, there's even a family tree in front. Nice lettering." Emma turned the pages, the paper sounding crisp and ready to break. "Felicia and Tomas. They're the last entry here. Emma's ten years younger."
"Good on you, Tomas," Ben said, and Emma looked at him and wrinkled her nose.
"Felicia del Estrella. Daughter of Arturo and Elvira. Born 1884."
"Arturo is Grandfather's grandfather," Ben said. "Felicia's our great-aunt."
Emma was quiet for a moment. "Felicia and Tomas died in the same year," she said. "Eighteen ninety-nine. They were just 15 and 25. Fifteen's too young to get married, don't you think?"
Ben shrugged. "Not in those days, I guess," he said, and looked at Emma. "Fifteen's too young to die."
"Wait," Emma said. "There's supposed to be a symbol on the chart when you're married. This wriggly thing." She turned back a page. "Oh my God."
"What?"
"They're not married," Emma said. "They're brother and sister."
Silence.
"That's tragic," Ben said.
"They're our age," Emma said. "What's wrong?"
Ben was scrutinizing Emma's dress. The drop of blood still looked fresh. "This is one persistent stain," he said.
Ben wanted to have siesta to catch up on sleep. Emma got to the master's bedroom first. The door to the guest room was wide-open. Emma stood in front of it, wondering. Beyond the doorway, she could see that the door to the strange room with the strange painting was also wide-open, the room that in her head she called "the Nightmare room", the room that Ben had already locked that morning.
There was a girl inside the room. A girl in a black dress, sitting on the floor with her back to the door, her face on her knees, her arms around her head. The painting loomed over her, as large and as menacing as a full moon. "Stop," the girl said into her knees, and Emma thought, How come I could hear her so clearly? "Stop," the girl said, rocking back and forth. She was crying. "Stop. Stop. Stop."
Emma willed herself to move and run into the master's bedroom.
*
Megan came to Sinagtala. When Ben opened the front door, she was standing on the porch, carrying a bouquet of wild roses and dama de noche. It was early evening and the lights outside the house shone as bright as the sun.
"Megan?" he said. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm dropping by for a visit," she said, smiling.
"How did you know we were staying here?" He never mentioned Sinagtala to her. He never had the chance to.
"Emma called me."
"Emma called you?"
"I want to try again," Megan said. "Maybe we can work something out."
Ben stared at her.
"Won't you let me in?"
"You're not real," Ben said.
Megan's smile faltered. The lights died, and Megan's face was shrouded in shadow.
Ben stepped away from the door. He could only see Megan's silhouette. The shape of her hair, the flowers in her arms.
"What do you mean I'm not real," the shadow said.
When Ben woke up he was alone in the room.
*
"Couldn't sleep!" Emma announced when Ben found her in the dining room, spreading peanut butter on a slice of bread. "And I got hungry. Want some?"
"Is that coffee?" Ben asked. Emma slid the cup to him.
Emma had opened the windows in the dining room. The sky looked pale. The room was filled with a soft, yellow light. Ben looked at his sister and almost said, You look like someone from those old coffee-colored pictures.
His hand shook as he placed the cup back on the saucer.
"Are you okay?" Emma said.
"Bad dream," said Ben, putting his right hand over his face.
"Sandwich?"
"What time is it?"
"Five?" Emma said. "It gets dark here early."
"I slept that long?"
"Remember when you overslept and Megan cooked us dinner?" Emma said. The back of Ben's neck stiffened. "You two were supposed to go on a date, but she decided to come over and cook pasta."
"Emma – "
"Did she cheat on you? Is that it?"
Ben slammed his open palm on the table, making the saucers jump.
"Ben?"
"She wanted you gone!" Ben said, suddenly filled with an inexplicable anger. "All right? She never liked you. She said we couldn't get married if you're still living with me. She said how could I even think of having a child with her if I'm still raising a child. There. Are you happy now? Are you glad you finally knew the truth?"
Emma, who was still holding the peanut butter-smeared bread knife in one hand and her sandwich in the other, looked shell-shocked.
"Emma?" said Ben, surprised and horrified by what he had said. "Emma, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me – "
Emma stood up and walked around the table, giving him a wide berth. Ben reached out his hands to her. "Emma," Ben said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."
Emma slammed the dining room door.
*
Ben ran after her and found her enter the guest room. "Em!" he called. Emma kept walking and went into the room with the painting.
She stood in the middle of the room, staring at the painting.
"Emma, what are you doing?"
Emma whirled around. She looked confused. "Kuya?" she said.
The door slammed in Ben's face.
"Kuya?" Emma said from behind the door. Ben tried the knob. The knob wouldn't turn.
"Em?"
"Kuya?"
"Emma, let go of the doorknob."
"Kuya? Kuya?"
Emma's voice was rising in panic.
"Kuya?" Emma banged on the door."Kuya, there's somebody in here! Kuya!"
"Damn it!" Ben exclaimed. "Emma?"
Emma started to scream.
"Emma!" Ben shouted, feeling as though the ground had opened up and swallowed him whole. He started to cry. Emma was screaming like a person slowly being burned alive.
Something large hit the door, and the room fell silent.
"Emma?" Ben tried the knob again. The knob turned.
"Emma!" Ben shouted, but the room was empty. Only the painting, secure in its silence, was able to hear him.
*
Emma was in her bedroom, lying on her side, crying. She heard someone moving in the master's bedroom. Ben. He knocked on the connecting door. "Are you there?" he said.
"Don't come in here!" Emma said. "Go away!"
"I'm sorry."
Emma stood up and sat by the door, leaning her head against it. "You're not sorry. You're wishing what you've wished every day since I was nine: that I just died with Mother."
"Don't say that. Don't ever say that."
"You were twenty when she died. You could have lived on your own. Saved more money. Settled down. But I'm still here. The biggest cockblock in history."
"Emma?"
Emma looked up. Her brother was standing by her bedroom door.
"Oh my God, you're all right!" Ben said. Ben's eyes were wet. "Who are you talking to?"
Emma looked at Ben, at the connecting door, then back at Ben. "I was talking to you."
Ben shook his head. "I wasn't in the master's bedroom. I got locked out. None of the keys worked. I was hoping to get in through here." He tried to smile. "Oh God, I'm glad you're all right."
Emma stood up and wrenched open the connecting door. The master's bedroom was empty.
"Emma," Ben said, "about what I said earlier – "
Emma walked out of the room. Ben followed close behind, not daring to take his eyes off her back. She ran through the sala, stopped when she reached the azotea, and sat suddenly on the ground near the flowers, as though the strength had left her legs.
"I'm really sorry," Ben said, standing by the fountain. He didn't know what else to say.
"When we get back," Emma said, "I'll start looking for a place to rent."
"Emma – "
"I'll start looking for a place to rent," Emma insisted. "I'm going to college anyway. I'll find a cheap studio flat near the campus. I can use the money Grandfather left us to pay for the deposit and the advance and the furniture and appliances, then I can, I don't know, then I can get a job." Emma was doing something to the flowers but Ben couldn't see. "Tutoring. Writing papers. I don't know. I'll figure it out."
"Emma," Ben said. "You don't have to do that."
"You can stop supporting me," Emma said. "You'll finally be free to do whatever you want. You can go abroad. You can get married." Ben covered his face. "You can marry Megan."
She stood up and brushed past him. "You can call that cold-hearted bitch and ask her to spend a weekend here," she said as she walked back inside. "I hope the house chokes her to death!"
The sun was starting to set. The azotea looked like it was burning. Ben looked at the ground and saw with a shock what his sister had made – a chain of dama de noche.
*
Emma didn't want to eat dinner. She also didn't want to sleep in any of the rooms, so Ben brought out some pillows and a blanket to the sala, which she accepted without a word.
While Emma got settled on the sofa, Ben went to the kitchen and put the food back in the refrigerator. He was standing at the sink when he noticed someone peeking at him from the kitchen doorway. "Emma?" he said, even though he knew it wasn't Emma. The figure walked away. Ben hurried back to the sala. Emma pulled up her blanket and tried to get comfortable. Ben sat on one of the chairs, wondering how he'd be able to go to sleep.
Emma woke up in the middle of the night coughing and choking. When she got her breath back, she realized that she was sitting on the floor inside the guest room, holding one of the bronze angel figurines. She was wearing the dress she wore when she got to Sinagtala, the one with the blood drop, the one with the stain that Ben couldn't remove.
What am I doing here? she wondered, looking at the blood drop, and watched in horror as the blood drop multiplied
Emma felt a warm spray on her face. Her hands were wet and sticky. In her right hand the angel figurine felt as heavy as the world.
The figurine was covered in blood.
Her fingers were covered in blood.
There was blood on her dress, on her face, on her hair.
On the floor in front of her lay her brother, his skull cracked open. Blood flowed out of the wound in a regular pulse.
Ben was sitting on a chair when Emma woke up screaming on the sofa. He was watching her.
"Bad dream?" Ben felt sad, sadder than he had ever been. "Let's get you to bed."
"I don't want to," Emma said, but her voice was feeble, her muscles weak. Ben led her to the guest room and helped her lie down.
"I don't want to be here," Emma said. Ben smoothed back her hair. He was leaning so close he could smell soap on Emma's skin.
"I know," Ben said, and took a pillow and covered her face with it.
Emma thrashed wildly. Ben lifted his knee and lowered it on his sister's chest, his arms straining to keep the pillow in place. He was thinking, Emma would never be able to live on her own. She wouldn't get a job, or if she did, she wouldn't be able to keep it long enough to make rent. She'd go back, in the end, she'd go back even before I could live my own life. He cried. His sobs grew louder as his sister's limbs grew weaker. He screamed when Emma stopped moving. His scream echoed around the dark room.
He removed the pillow, placed it on Emma's side, and stood up. His back was turned to Emma when he heard a loud gasp, a series of coughs, the rustle of cloth as his sister sat up and clutched the nightstand.
He turned back. He couldn't believe his eyes. "Emma – "
"You tried to kill me," Emma said, her voice hoarse, her eyes bloodshot.
Emma lifted the angel figurine and hit him across the face, spraying herself with his blood.
Ben woke up wheezing and found himself on the bed inside the guest room. He clutched the nightstand and felt his fingers touch the base of the angel figurine sitting there. He cried out. "No," he said. "No. No." He cried into his hands.
Emma appeared by the door, wearing her pajamas. "Kuya?"she said, cautious. When she saw that it was indeed her brother, she stepped inside. "What are you doing here?"
Am I awake now? Ben wanted to ask. Emma switched on the light. Ben reached out to her, and Emma embraced him.
*
When Emma fell asleep again on the sofa, Ben took out the leather-bound book and leafed through it. His eyes ached. His tongue itched for a cigarette. On one page was a photo of Tomas with a curly-haired woman, flashing a smile to the camera. March 1899. Tomas del Estrella & Amanda Pelaez.
The sky was already turning pink when Ben was able to piece together a story from the photos and news clippings. At around five in the morning, Ben found a folded letter between the pages, yellowed with age.
The letter was written in an almost undecipherable scrawl:
Mahal kong Daga,
May Tomas sa ilalim ng ating kama may Tomas sa ilalim ng ating kama may Tomas sa ilalim ng ating kama may Tomas sa ilalim ng ating kama may Tomas sa ilalim ng ating kama
My beloved Rat. There's a Tomas under our bed there's a Tomas under our bed there's a Tomas under our bed –
"Oh my God," Ben said. The book fell to the floor with a thud.
Emma sat up. "What's happening?"
"We need to get out of here," Ben said.
*
As they hauled out their luggage, folded their clothes and put on their shoes, Ben told her the story. He spoke in a soft voice, as though afraid someone else might hear.
"Felicia was sick," Ben said. "Very sick. Maybe early-onset schizophrenia, but the term 'schizophrenia' didn't even exist then. Her parents kept her cooped up in here instead of sending her to an asylum. When they passed away in 1898, her brother, Tomas, was the only one left to take care of her. What we called the guest room was their room."
Emma stopped folding and looked at him.
"The room with the painting was where Tomas locked her whenever she turned," Ben bit the inside of his cheek, "violent."
"But that painting!" Emma said. "How does he think that will help – "
"The painting was her choice," Ben said. "At least according to the written accounts."
Emma shook her head.
"In March 1899 Tomas got engaged to a woman named Amanda. It was then that Tomas realized that he couldn't be married and take care of Emma at the same time."
"'Emma'?" Emma said.
"What?"
"Did you say 'Emma'?"
Ben thought for a moment. "I said Felicia."
Emma took a deep breath. "Go on."
"Tomas decided to send Felicia to a mental asylum in Barcelona," Ben said. "Relatives would help him with the transfer. Felicia found out, somehow, and became very hysterical and hostile. There was an account of her running out of the mansion and attacking a little girl on the street.
"One night, while she was sleeping, Tomas took a pillow and –"
Ben's breath caught in his throat. He sat down on the sofa. "He took a pillow and smothered his sister in her sleep."
"Felicia died?" Emma said, sitting down as well.
Ben shook his head. "Not at that moment. When Tomas thought she was dead, he turned away, but Felicia was still alive then. She took one of the angel figurines and hit him in the head."
Silence. Emma looked around the house with wary eyes.
"But of course it's all speculation," Ben said. "Police conjectures and so on. They're not exactly CSI."
Both of them decided not to mention their dreams.
"And Felicia?" Emma said. "What happened to her?"
"They found her on the driveway," Ben said. "She's covered in her brother's blood but she has no wounds. They don't know how she died."
"Poor Felicia," Emma said. "Poor Tomas."
They resumed packing.
"Emma," Ben said.
Emma looked up.
"I don't mind not getting married," Ben said. "I don't mind not having a family. I want to see you grow old. I don't mind if I end up in a house alone with just a pair of dogs and a bunch of cats, as long as you're happy." He was quick to amend himself. "But I'll live in a small house. Not this house." Ben looked up at the ceiling. "Nothing like this."
They were quiet for several moments. Emma leaned forward and gave him a small peck on the cheek, something she had not done since she turned twelve and became self-conscious.
Ben smiled and grabbed their bags. "Let's get out of here."
*
Darkness fell swiftly outside Sinagtala. Inside, Ben flicked on lights as they walked across the sala and down the stairs to the empty stables. "Stay beside me, Emma," Ben said, carrying a bag in each hand. There was the door, there was the open road, bathed in blue and violet. Emma was standing right beside her brother when the lights died.
The next thing she knew Ben was standing on the front porch and she was still inside. "Emma?" Ben said, stepping forward, but the double doors slammed shut between them.
There were windows in the lower floor but for some reason Emma found herself in complete darkness. "Kuya!" she screamed repeatedly. Ben was banging the door on the other side.
Suddenly he stopped. A suffocating silence fell.
"Kuya?" Emma said. She whirled around to face the stairs. She couldn't see. She walked slowly, arms stretched in front of her, praying fervently that no one was standing in the way.
If the lower floor was inexplicably dark, the upper floor was unusually bright, the sala dazzling, the chandelier as brilliant as a teardrop. She had to find another way out of Sinagtala, but she felt rooted to the spot.
"Emma!" Ben zoomed out of the dining room and practically tackled her.
Emma was relieved, overjoyed. She clutched his arms. "How did you get in?"
Ben smiled down at her. "The kitchen,"he said. But he led her away from it.
"Kuya? Where are we – "
Ben was taking her to the guest room.
"No." Emma struggled to slip away from his grip. She thrust out her hands to grab at a lamp, a table edge, the wall, anything to keep them from moving. "No! No!"
Ben lifted her up from the ground. Emma felt one of her nails break, felt her head fill with heat. They barged through the bedroom door and Ben threw her on the bed. You're not Ben, she thought. You're not real. She cried, knowing what was coming. The pillow fell on her face like a block of cement. He will put his knee on my chest, Emma thought in the face of that approaching darkness.
Emma struggled with all her might, kicking and clawing. Ben fell to the floor, still holding the pillow. "You're not real!" Emma screamed. She swiped the angel figurine from the nightstand and hit him across the face. Pretend-Ben fell back, a large gash appearing on his cheek, his mouth filling with a wet sound. "You're not real," Emma whispered, feeling the warm blood splash on her face and chest, and hit him again. And again. And again.
Pretend-Ben stopped moving. He lay there with his eyes open, his lips parted. Emma, crying, pushed him under the bed. My beloved Rat. There's a Tomas under our bed there's a Tomas under our bed there's a Tomas under our bed.
"Stop!" Emma pleaded. "Please, just stop." There was blood everywhere. She leaned her head against the mattress and saw her arms leave red streaks on the white cloth. She remembered the penitents, their backs slick like gutted fish.
"You're not real!" Emma said, but the blood felt and smelled real. The Nightmare room's door swung open, and the painting looked at her accusingly.
Ben's hand shot out from under the bed and grabbed her ankle.
Emma screamed and kicked him away. She ran – out of the hallway, past the sala, and down the stairs, where she almost fell. She hit the double doors with her shoulder and they swung right out into the night that chilled her skin. She kept running. In the middle of the driveway she fell to her knees and looked at her hands, her arms, her dress. The blood was still there.
Emma screamed. The trees and the sky and the stars and the daunting hulk of Sinagtala looked on, impassive, unmoved by her remorse.
Hours passed. Emma sat on the driveway hugging her knees. She rocked back and forth. She started to hum a song, forgot the melody she was humming, stopped, started again. Her brother's blood dried on her skin and fell away like petals. I will die here, she thought. I will die here like this.
"Emma?"
Ben – Pretend-Ben? – knelt in front of her, and Emma, whimpering, crawled away. Ben grabbed her from behind and held her close.
"Emma," Ben said. "Emma! It's me. I couldn't find a way into the house. I've been circling the mansion for half an hour when I saw you run out."
Emma stopped struggling. Half an hour?
She looked down at herself. Her arms and dress were clean.
"It's me," Ben said again.
Emma placed a hand on her brother's chest. He had no wounds. "Kuya," she said, cautiously, like a foreigner learning a new word.She sobbed in his arms, her chest heaving.
"It's all right," Ben said, and helped her up. "We're all right." They walked down the driveway and out of the gates of Sinagtala to the roads beyond, and did not look back.
END