an upcoming sci-fi flick from Finland has been giving me shivers of anticipation... the movie, Iron Sky, is about one of the lost sci-fi topics ever to become circulated rumors, Nazis in Space... the trailers were so impressive that my friends and i were thinking of demanding to see it in our country... support Iron Sky, and the nazis-in-space would be revived...

living on the edge poem collection...

i have recently been collecting my poems to make it into a cohesive and together group... i have been thinking about branching out to other collections, but this really took priority... i don't know why... and since the Trese komix have been creating a huge hype, and because i like them, my stories have been leaning towards that kind of genre...  i was happy to learn that i was making progress with writing my stories, until i read karen's book... i found that i was really way, way out of my league yet... i need to get better in writing... and until next time, see you all later...

new story

Black

As Salvador Mortiz alighted from the tricycle, he could feel eyes watching his every move. An old woman was staring at him from behind the rusty gate, a hand-held broomstick in her hand; after paying the driver, he turned to face her. As the tricycle’s sound faded downhill, he felt a certain dread from the old woman’s hard gaze. He asked for Don Santino de Angeles, and then introduced himself.

“Ah, ikaw yung anak ni Myrna,” the old woman said as she unlocked the gate, a toothless smile replaced the reproachful scowl.

She pointed towards the three-storey Spanish colonial house, and he also saw a huge balete tree beside it. Salvador swallowed a lump of saliva, and then he went inside.

The interior was a passageway composed of wood, with a few touches of ceramic vases, bouquets of flowers, and some paintings. Five doors stood around a staircase that dominated the end of the corridor, they were all closed. One door opened to his immediate right, an elderly lady with a cane walked out. She smiled when she saw him.

“Ay, Andoy,” she exclaimed, enclosing him in a hug.

Doña Inez de Angeles ushered her grandson towards the room she came from. The living room was still how he had remembered it, his grandmother’s collection of wooden iconography complemented the narra chair-set. He saw an old man sitting on one of the chairs, he was shrouded in bluish smoke. His bleached clothes were styled like those of a haciendero, his Hispanic features still evident even in old age. His skin was burnt by the sun, and his grey hair was cut close to his scalp. A fat stick of cigar was between his lips, his moustache and beard peppered with grey ash. The old man stared at Salvador with cold steel-grey eyes.

Taking the cigar out, Don Santino de Angeles asked, “Bakit ka pumunta dito?”

Doña Inez looked at her husband with reproach, the old man just loudly cleared his throat and looked away. She turned to her grandson and fussed over him, much to the discomfort of the other. After chatting through the afternoon and eating their dinner, Salvador was ushered in to his room. It was located on the third floor, between two other rooms. As he prepared to sleep, he thought about the other rooms beside him, and what might they contain. With the thought of investigating them the following day, he fell asleep.

***

Salvador woke up in the middle of the night; there were no sounds except for the whisper of the wind outside his closed windows. He did not know what woke him up, until he could make out someone standing beside his door. All he could see was the outline of a person, he does not know if it was a man or woman. He felt he was being watched, and he could see two red dots from where its head should be. He shivered, despite having the blanket over his whole body. He waited for it to move, but it did not. Eventually, he fell asleep.

The next day, he asked his grandmother what the other rooms were used for. “Yung unang pinto library,” she answered without looking at him. “Nipisan mo yung mga hiwa,” she said.

They were in the kitchen, and his grandmother was supervising the two house-help. One was the old woman he had met at the gate, the other was a young girl of about fourteen or fifteen.  She greatly resembled the other helper, she kept on glancing at him from behind her curtain of hair.

He excused himself, saying that he wanted to go to the library, and then went upstairs. As his grandmother had said, the first door as he came up the stairs opened to a modest library. The crisp, musty smell of old books wafted towards him, when he looked around he saw that there was only one window. Beside it was a small, circular table, and two chairs. Upon inspection of the books available, he saw a copy of his short story collection that he had sent to his grandmother. He smiled.

He selected another book to read, and then sat on one of the chairs. After a while, he chanced a glance outside, and saw the young girl sweeping underneath the balete tree. He watched her for a bit, until he noticed the woman in black. She was standing near the girl, staring at him with cold, angry eyes. He shivered despite the heat of the day, how he could see her eyes from a third-floor window he does not know. He tried to read, but he could not shake the feeling of her hostile eyes. It unnerved him enough for him to give up reading, and since it was almost lunch time, he went downstairs.

***

All afternoon, he thought of the woman beneath the balete tree. He remembered her unruly hair, her long dress, and the cold, angry stare.  He shivered again, he thought he would never meet her again. When he asked his grandmother about it, she just stared at her husband, who was quietly smoking and looking out the window. He followed the old man’s gaze with his eyes, and saw the balete tree in the garden.

After dinner, Salvador went upstairs to the third floor, and tried to open the farthest door. It was locked. He wondered what might be behind it, and then he heard someone hissed, “Psssst.” He looked around, but he was alone in the corridor. He thought maybe it was the wind, when he heard it again, “Pssssst.” He saw a woman in the end of the corridor, dressed in black. Her face wore an angry scowl, her eyes were red with hostility. She was staring at him with such intensity that he ran inside his room, afraid that she would harm him in some way. He locked the door behind him, and uttered a silent prayer.

As he sat on the bed, he tried to remember everything about black ladies that he had read about. He thought of calling his friend who knew more about spirits and ghosts, but he remembered that that friend was off on a mountaineering activity. He thought of the woman, and her eyes that blazed with hatred. He felt that the encounter has just begun.

He awoke tired the next day. The woman in black haunted his dreams, her eyes were really burning red. In his nightmare, the woman stood beneath the balete tree bathed in moonlight. Her face contorted in a mask of hatred, and he felt that it was all because of him. Her long hair stuck out in different directions, each strand drier than the other. He shivered, and then he woke up.

He decided to read in his room, he might see the woman in black again. He skipped two meals, so engrossed was he in reading the book. The young helper had called him to breakfast and lunch, but he said he was not hungry to both encounters. He finished the book by early afternoon, and he went to the library to return it. Upon returning it, he chanced a look outside. There was no one outside, except for his grandfather who was walking about. He was a bit relieved, until he heard the hiss again, “Psssst.”

It had come from behind the shelves, and he knew that he was alone so he ignored it. It was repeated three more times. When he went to check it, he saw the woman in black from behind the open-backed bookshelves. He uttered a curse, headed towards the door, and ran out of the library.

***

During the rest of the afternoon and dinner, Salvador remained quiet. Doña Inez was concerned, but he said that he was alright.

“Para kang nakakita ng multo,” she said.

He visibly shuddered, as he remembered the encounter earlier. After finishing his food, he quickly went upstairs to sleep, hoping that he would not dream of the woman again.

He woke up while it was still dark, and immediately felt that he was not alone anymore in the room. He dared not open his eyes; he drew the blanket nearer to his body. He could feel waves of anger and hatred, the woman was back. He shivered again, he could feel sweat forming on his body and face. He decided to leave the following morning, cutting his visit short. He was supposed to research for another book he was to write, but his experience was numbing him to leave. Since he does not know why the spirit would always follow him, but he does not want to stay in the house any longer.

The next morning, he was packed to go back to Manila. He found his grandfather smoking by a second floor window, so he said goodbye. Don Santino, wrapped in his cloud of smoke, just grunted and waved him away, “Sige, sige.”

His grandmother escorted him out, as well as the two helpers. “Kelan ka babalik ng Laguna?” Doña Inez asked, as she hobbled beside him towards the gate. Salvador answered that he would probably spend the New Year there, but he was not sure. He kissed his grandmother, and then walked out of the gate. When he looked back, he saw five figures watching him go, until the one in black faded in to the morning light. 

~intermission~

i just saw maya's work of a story about a girl and a tikbalang... and i was like, they are coming alive... the character samantha was created as an alter ego to maya's original character... kudos, collaborations rock!

new poem

Hooked

It was always the same

with us, always ending as

strangers even within each other’s arms.

When I hold you

tighter, you slip away; when I dream

of nightmares, you always

disappear. I tried to seek you out,

for my own benefit, and even then

you cannot be found;

I cannot find you, always

dissipating from my hands, always

staying just at the edge of my fingertips.

Often, I think of just giving up, but

the memory of our days together

end up making me stay.

alimuom

it's raining very hard today, thinking that i was just about to step out of the house... it's like, come on... but, i really would like to attend the workshop later, and see all my friends again... i have been writing new poems and new fictions lately, and i am hoping to post it here in a bit... see you all again...