CEMETERY ROMANCE

It has been a month and two since our family moved in to this little and silent subdivision in a silent corner of Muntinlupa. It’s freaky, though, why the folks chose this subdivision, which is very near to this well-known memorial park. I admit, I’m a scaredy-cat, so every time I pass by this memorial park on my way home, I swear I’d hear freaky things and I’d go bananas and bolt all the way to our whitewashed bungalow surrounded by santan shrubs.

But I’m not your average loser kid. You see, since I turned sixteen, they had an article written about me published on a magazine. You never have heard of this magazine, because it’s so well away from the mainstream. So yeah, I am kind of a loser. But hey, at least I’m not being bullied by jocks, partly because those are scenes that only happen in American teen movies, and largely because they just don’t care about a short brown guy with unkempt hair and high-graded glasses. Plus, I think I scare them off.

But then, three weeks after we moved in, the house next door had a new occupant. They were a family of three—a mom, a dad, and a cute daughter just about my age. As soon as their lipat-bahay truck moved in, Ma and Pa immediately made an attempt to socialize with the new neighbors. From their short conversation, I’ve heard that they are the Sison family—the mom being Esther, the dad Rudy and the pretty dark-haired daughter who will definitely never notice me is Erica.

What surprised me about Erica was that she was holding a copy of that magazine where the article about me was published! To my bigger surprise, my mom noted that Erica was actually reading that article. The girl smiled a bit, maybe because she was interested in the subject of that article, and not about me. Her parents just smiled and took the copy away from their daughter’s silky hands. Yeah, cute girls should stay away from those publications. It messes their minds up.

Weeks passed and I could do nothing except to stare at Erica’s window, hoping she’d take a peek too. Sometimes, she would, but most of the time, she wouldn’t. Thank God for that one very lucky day when one of her handkerchiefs were flown away from their clothesline to our side of the fence.

She peeked from their fence, looking for her green handkerchief, still wet and not yet fully sun-dried. Within seconds, she found the handkerchief but she never saw me, sitting and observing her. I looked at her, and saw the rosy cheeks and long black hair illuminated by the afternoon sun. She bit her lip—her thin yet rich red lips—because she didn’t know how to get her hanky back. No, she wasn’t dumb, but she was too shy to ask for help. She could’ve called her parents; but they were away. She could’ve called my parents; but she was too timid for that.

I took the initiative, picked up the hanky from the ground and handed it to her, who was shocked (really) to see me. Thankfully, she wasn’t one of those girls who’d shriek in a very shrill voice when afraid.
“Th-thank you,” she stuttered.
“Y-y-your welcome,” I stuttered back.

She forced a smile as she slowly backed away into her house. Just as their door slammed shut, I heard ours swing open. It was my mom and she was shaking her head, saying, “Carlo, ano na naman ang ginawa mo?” I just smiled back and disappeared into my room :)

One October day, Erica knocked on our door and I let my younger brother Raul answer it for me. She was holding a copy of that magazine where the article about me was printed and she looked rather excited.

"But why?" I asked.

As it turned out, the magazine published two of my photographs. Wow, what could they possibly get from me?

“Woah, look at Carlo!” Raul said, handing the copy over to my mom, who just came from the kitchen. Like any normal person’s reaction, my mom was shocked upon seeing my pic on a magazine, but Erica was never shaken. Rather, she looked pretty excited and had wanted to contact me, but mom disapproved, citing that it would be a violation of the family’s privacy. The poor girl just turned and left, crestfallen, and I couldn’t make a move.

Days after that incident, I never saw Erica by her window or by their front yard. She must’ve disappeared somehow. More days passed and there was no trace of her, until one day, I heard her mom shout, “Wake up, young lady! Look what time it is and you're still asleep? Wake up!" So, she was staying up late.

But for what?

That night, I decided to stay a little bit late to wait for her. At about 11 pm, her room’s lights came to life, signaling she was awake, and then the lights were turned off again. Perhaps she left the room. After a minute or so, my assumption was confirmed as she went out of their house, clutching a flashlight on her left hand and a notebook with a pencil stuffed inside on her right.

She was going somewhere, and I had to follow her. Luckily for me, getting unnoticed is a natural skill of mine and I followed her from their house, out of the subdivision and through the… the MEMORIAL PARK?! Whoa, there’s something definitely fishy around here.

She was able to get thorough the memorial park’s guards by telling them she was doing a research and by bribing them with two boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts. No, I think those were three boxes.

“Thank you, manong!” she thanked, as the gates swung open for her.
“You're welcome,” replied one of the guards.

I didn’t have a box of Krispy Kreme donuts with me, so the only way for me to get in was to sneak in—something I’m very adept at. I followed her as she pointed her light on the gravestones, as if she was looking for someone—or something. After five minutes, she stopped where I prayed she wouldn’t, opened her notebook and took down notes. As she opened her notebook, the page from the magazine where I was featured fell. She was researching about me all this time!

She likes me… kinda. I could tell! So I never hesitated and crept up to her, trying so hard not to get noticed but trying harder not to scare her. But she noticed me as I was about ten inches away from her. She was obviously chilly and was shaking.

“Erica,” I called her. She turned around and saw me. There was an awkward moment of silence, and then she fainted. After a minute, she awoke, and much to her chagrin, I was still there.

“So you found me,” I told her, pointing at the gravestone.

“Y-y-yeah,” she stuttered, “Carlo Flores, the 16 year old boy who died exactly during his 16th birthday,”

“Yup,” I confirmed. “I was featured at Nginiig magazine, right?”

“Here, there are pics showing your ectoplasm in their Halloween issue,” she told me.

“Wow,” I told her. “So you wrote this article,”

“Th-thank you,” she said, apparently blushing.

For three weeks, we met in my gravestone night after night, and the stars did just the right effect everytime to illuminate her sweet face as she talked to me about her encounters with people like me. She told me she had even encountered a headless woman in this park, with whom I told her to stay away from, because she’s dangerously in need of a new head.

“Carlo,” she told me one night, “I was your schoolmate when we were just first year high school,”

“Really?” I asked, very surprised. “That's why you really followed my story,”

“Yep,” she looked away from me, “Remember that girl whom you unknowingly paid for in the trike last September? That was me!”

“Haha,” I reminisced. “So you're like a stalker, eh?"

"Haha," she laughed back. "Not much. Just a little bit,"

Then our conversations were cut short by a bloodcurdling wail of a woman. It seemed to have come from far away, but it felt like she was very close.

“Quick!” I told Erica. “Get out of here! I'll handle this!”

I had to protect her from Mrs. Perez—the headless screaming lady. Nothing should happen to her, especially not before I would tell her how I feel about her. For a second, I looked at Erica making her way towards the gates, then for another second, I realized how stupid I was to let her run in the dark, with Mrs. Perez around.

I then ran as fast as I could towards her, calling her back with a voice slowly faltering. I was just a few paces from her when I was put into an abrupt halt. I seemed to have lost the ability to move. I then looked down, and saw that bloodied and bruised hands sprouted from the ground and were pulling me down, inviting me to their home in Hell. At the same time, Mrs. Perez was closing in on me, with her gloating head cradled in her patched-up arms, calling my name and murmuring other God-knows-what-morbidities.

I wasn’t paying much attention to them; instead, I was looking at Erica, who was then nearing the gates. She was calling for the guards, but nobody seemed to respond. Perhaps the guards were already fast asleep, thanks to Krispy Kreme Doughnuts. I was relieved to see that she was away from these infernal creatures now huddling around me.

But in a snap, my fears were reborn as a dark winged figure closed in on her, with sharp talons about to grab her. She was obviously aware of her assailant, for those huge wings made a sound that nobody could ever miss. All my hope was lost when I saw her lose her footing over a protruding gravestone, which brought her closer to the winged spectre’s ghastly claws. Thank the heavens, she instinctively lit her flashlight on the shadowling; stunning the spectre just enough for her to get out through the well-lit gate.

Upon seeing Erica leave the premises, Mrs. Perez screamed in frustration, then throwing her head to the ground, she and her companions vanished, leaving only a brown and decaying skull on the ground. I then went out of the gate to check her, but the only thing I saw was a motionless Honda Vios. I presumed that she was back in her home, but by morning, I was proved wrong.

I was startled by the presence of people in black in their house, as if they were mourning the death of someone. My heart pounded faster as I went in and checked who the deceased one was—a drop of tear fell from my right eye. How could she?

I discovered that mom and dad were there, too, sharing their condolences for the family. As it turned out, Erica was saved from the creatures of the night, but she wasn’t able to dodge a car which zoomed past the memorial park, leading to her untimely demise. As mom and dad were about to leave, Mrs. Sison handed my mom a note—a note written by Erica which has my name on top, and the words I LOVE YOU at the bottom.

“I saw that in her room,” said Mrs. Sison to my mom.

I was dumbstruck by that note—she did really like me a LOT. Dumber thing we didn’t have the chance to tell each other about that. That fact alone made tears stream from my ethereal eyes.

But then, something touched my hand and hugged me from behind.

“I love you,” whispered a familiar voice to my right ear.