That's Not Me

As the lights went off, Kaye gasped at her reflection--- "That's not me!"

This particular story is of my friends' account. I can attest its truthfulness because I was there when it happened. It was not a firsthand experience on my part, but after hearing Kaye's first words after she had lost consciousness and seeing the horrid look on her face, I was convinced that everything she had said did happen. 

The seminary now

I would not say that it was a mental glitch that had occurred to her, since Kaye was one of the most sane and 'straight' students we know. Her strange story happened right after we had heard mass. The entire class was tired from the previous days' affairs--- listening to long sermons, exchanging thoughts after every passage from the Bible, seeking penance for past sins committed--- we were looking forward to a nice conclusion to what we then considered a 'spiritual camp.'

The bathroom now torn down

The place where we held our retreat was a secluded spot in the far reaches of Antipolo. It gave the impression of being derelict--- probably due mostly to the lack of maintenance funding, and not because of deliberate neglect. Nevertheless, the place had a rustic feel to it. It held a strong history for being witness to the lives and deaths of its former and present occupants--- tenants and  transients such as we were.  It seemed to have been built during the Spanish  times because the building exuded a Hispanic touch to its romantic architecture--- white washed walls-, brick- and terracota finish, large antique wooden doors that doubled as some sort of sound barrier,  high ceilings and arched windows, which were wide and open to wind and breeze, and very long bathrooms. I was drawn particularly to the latter. It was where Kaye's travails had begun.

Kaye was looking at someone else's face in the mirror!

The bathrooms had several functions--- maybe that was why they were built to be quite roomy. The girls' bathroom, particularly, had ten individual cubicles for the toilets alone,  a locker room and showers that could accommodate twenty bathers all at one time. The walls were tiled but there was nothing special about them. In the anteroom, there was a wide mirror. 


It was this mirror that's to change Kaye's perceptions, for life. 

***
Stepping out of the shower room, Kaye was glad to have finished ahead of the others; she would dry her hair while waiting for everyone else, as promised. Being in a place that was older than any of their great-grandparents, the girls knew that it harbored spirits. They did not care whether or not the spirits were friendly; they had to stick together so nobody's left behind. 

Grabbing hold of the towel, Kaye stood in front of the mirror that was strategically placed in the entrance of the bathroom. She would know if everybody had already finished; she was blocking the only exit. 

The room with its high ceilings echoed the conversations. 

"Keep it down, ladies, the whole building can hear us," Kaye smiled to herself while saying.


More giggles. 

Then without warning, the Kaye's towel, being loosely knotted, slipped down to the floor. While bending down to pick the towel, Kaye gasped when the lights went out. 



Something may have caused the power surge for the entire hall to lose electricity. As the lights went off, Kaye suddenly felt alone! The shrieks that were supposed to come after did not. It was dead quiet. 

Turning toward the mirror, Kaye was to see what would trouble her many times hence. 

Despite the pitch black darkness, the mirror showed her face--- luminescent as if light was coming from within! It was staring at her with utmost cruelty--- it did not twitch when she did. The face was hers yet not seemingly in so many ways. It seemed to be thinner with perfectly unblemished skin. 

She had no time to scream because the lights went back on. Kaye would have felt relieved but there was something amiss. 


"Where was I taken?"

She knew she was still inside the same room, although it looked awfully different, as if someone had come in to rearrange it while it was dark. 

"But it had only been seconds!"


She went to look for the others.

"The shower room!" 

It was not there! She turned to the left, "I have to warn the girls!" 

When she went inside, there was no one. The floor was dry. No water dripped from the shower heads. 

"Did I hit my head?"

As the towel dropped again, Kaye ran out of the bathroom, stark naked. She didn't care. There were more important things to think about.

"What time is it? I know it was seven."

She passed by the clock in the lobby. "Eight-seven!"

"Had it been an hour?" 

She continued to run--- across the courtyard, to the other building.

"The cafeteria!"

***

Everybody was in their high spirits. It was the last night. 

Our table sat ten people, five young men and five girls. We sat by the entrance so we could sneak out for a smoke. 

Suddenly, the cafeteria doors opened. We were met by a disheartening sight. Kaye, naked and soaking wet, was in tears and in no condition to care whether or not everybody saw her like that. 

She was raving mad. Angry at the company who had left her. Turning her head toward their table, she had almost lost it. Her friends were all open-mouthed, looking at her in disbelief, their hairs dry.

Someone from the other table heard one of the girls whisper, "She left us, first. I checked; she was not there! She could not have been, lest we would have bumped into her."

The Summer House

There it stood imposing against the sinking afternoon sun--- her literal dream house!

After Dad and Mom had separated, it was hard to reconcile fact from fiction. Since Mom won't be around to say that a particular story was real or not, I would have to reconstruct this one incident from rough memory.

During the last few years of her stay in our house, my mother would be described as a shy homebody. So, imagine our surprise when she started going out with some of her friends from church. This account is about one of the personal experiences of her closest, Rose.

It was one of those frequently mentioned blabs that come up every now and then in lazy conversations over cake and coffee. Rose would interrupt a rather juicy gossip with an anecdote about her strange dream. It was of this house found on top of a hill. With no address or popular landmark to use as a point of reference to prove that it did exist, Rose would feign exasperation for having been bothered by it, by such detailed realism, having dreamed of the same for several consecutive nights or so, for many, many years.

It had been so realistic, she could detail the grain of the oak table in the dining, to the rows of sunflowers that lined the picket fences of this particular summer house. There was something so homey about it that Rose had decided it was her literal dream house. If it did exist, she would find all means to acquire it for herself.

It would have been just a passing fancy--- a new-found attachment to house-hunting--- since Rose was ready to give up on her quest to look for it, when incidentally, during one of her spiritual trips in Tagaytay with Mom that they came across a familiar sight!

There it stood imposing against the sinking afternoon sun. Its back towards the scenic Taal. They had to stop. She parked by the curb and gasped. Along the white picket fences and rows of sunflowers, hanging was a signage that said, "For Sale. Inquire Inside."

Rose grabbed my Mom's arm, who then was dusting off pollens from her white baggie pants, immediately sending both of them hurling towards the fender. With just a look, Mom understood that Rose had found it.

A natural snoop, Rose pushed open the door that was coincidentally unlocked and ajar. There it was. To prove that her dreams were no dreams, Rose showed Mom every nook and cranny of the summer home as if she were herself the real estate agent. She detailed how, in several of her dreams, she had often opened the drawers of the kitchen cabinets, the doors leading to the different rooms and parlors, turned on the TV, the radio, everything she had set her hands on.

They were about to decide that the house was deserted when a graying old woman came out from the corners, probably from one of the rooms they had forgotten to look at. She was gaunt and from the expression of her face, unwelcoming.

"How can I be of help?"

"We are wondering if this house is for still for sale," Rose trailed off in apparent thoughtfulness.

"That's what it says in the sign I put outside."

Irritated, Mom interrupted, "How much does it cost?"

"Paid in full, it's 2.8."

"2.8. This?"

"Yes."

"But it's too big!"

"Why the price?"

"Well, it had been sold not very long ago, to a childless couple, who, after two weeks of living here, migrated to the States in a hurry."

"They bought it, only to sell it again?"

"They would have stayed if not for the strange occurrences around," her voice trailed off.

Mom grabbed hold of Rose's arm and pushed her to the side, "There must be something other than stupid stories to make this house 'too' available."

Then, turning to the old lady, "By 'strange' you mean..."

"Yes, ghost stories..."

"We don't believe in ghosts," answered both in unison.

"I would not have believed them myself until I decided to stay for the night, and many nights after that."

"You--- experienced the strangeness yourself."

"Yes, at first there were stories, about an apparition visiting--- making noises at first, then moving things--- then becoming frequently more 'seen'--- vi- visible..."

There were stories of an apparition visiting--- moving things and becoming more 'seen'

"...I would not have believed it myself, had I not seen the face..." the old woman continued.

"You don't expect me to buy that.," Rose said jeeringly.

Then, ignoring my Mom, the old woman turned to Rose and said, "No, I don't expect that you would. I would not have, until I just realized--- that the apparition was you!"

Rose forgot about the house and never mentioned it ever again.