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.