(Image is AI generated)
I twisted and turned while on our bed. I did not mind the hardness of the bamboo bed on my back. All I wanted was to take the blanket on my feet that time because it had been unusually cold for a summer month. Not only the atmosphere was prickly and icy, but it was also eerily heavy.
It was the month of May in 1998. I was eight years old. We went home to my father’s province to live there for good. It was the first time we had met Uncle Rene.
He was a nice and diligent guy. He worked as a farmer, but despite that, he was always generous to us.
One day—his birthday—he told our grandmother that he had to work across a river at a relative’s farm. When my father and Uncle Jun heard that, they stopped him, saying it might be dangerous for him. One of the superstitious beliefs in the Philippines was that those celebrating their birthday, or those whose birth date was just around the corner, were prone to danger; therefore, they must stay home and not go anywhere.
Uncle Rene shrugged at his siblings’ warning; instead, he still went off with his plowing machine.
That afternoon, when I was at school, one of my classmates ran to me and said,
“Your uncle Rene had an accident!”
Shocked, I rushed home since our house was only some meters away from school.
When I got there, I only saw Mama, my siblings, and my cousins. Grandma, Father, and Uncle Jun were at the hospital.
I didn’t go back to school then. I stayed home with my family and waited for any news about our uncle.
Night time came, and it was a little creepy for us since Mama was the only adult in the house. Uncle Rene’s dog, Brownie, kept barking at the stock of newly harvested sacks of rice where his battery-run radio was placed. The dog’s tail waggled, a common gesture he had whenever he saw Uncle Rene. He was excited and happy. But the thing was, his master wasn’t there.
' So, who was he barking happily at?'
Goosebumps crawled all over my body when Mama and I peeked at the dog. Mobile phones were not yet accessible then, so we didn’t have any idea what was happening at the hospital. It was almost midnight when Father arrived with a piece of unpleasant news.
“Rene passed away,” he said with a blank stare.
I was young, and still couldn’t process what I heard. But I had a glimpse of the unsaid poignant words Father was holding back. He was trying his best not to break down.
After a week, we sent Uncle Rene to his last resting place. We only had met him a few days since we went to the province. We were getting to know him, but he was gone just like that. Tragically like that. I heard from the elders that the rakes of his plowing machine hit his stomach and damaged his organs, which caused his sudden demise.
It had only been a few days after his burial. And on the seventh night, my mind screamed the thought that someone was staring at me.
I got up to pick up the blanket. But when I looked behind me, I froze. Someone was standing at the door! I knew what I saw because the room was bright.
My mind also stopped working that time; I didn’t even bother to think about where the light was coming from, despite knowing that the room should’ve been pitch black then.
I shared the room and the spacious bamboo bed with my parents and siblings.
I gathered all the courage to stare back at the man standing at the door beside Uncle Rene’s radio—we brought it into our room.
It took me a little while to recognize who it was.
‘Father?’
No. It couldn’t be him because when I looked at where he should be lying down, he was there, beside Mama. My brain was pulling tricks on me.
Chills ran down my spine. I hurriedly pulled the blanket, covered my siblings beside me, and hid under it.
A few moments after recovery, I peeked while still under the blanket. When I lifted the covers, the man was still there. And he was staring at me with somber eyes. He was wearing white long sleeves and a pair of black pants. He looked like my father. However, something on his face made me realize he was someone else.
He had two dark swollen eye bags!
It was the feature that made him distinct from my father. Papa didn’t have those… only Uncle Rene!
When that thought struck me, I hid under the blanket again. But while in hiding, questions flooded my mind.
‘Why was he in our room?’
‘How long does he plan to stay?’
‘What does he need?’
For the second time, I urged my cowardly self to be strong. I peeked again, and Uncle Rene was nowhere to be found. He vanished!
Making sure that he was no longer around, I woke my father up.
“Pa, is your flashlight switched on?” I asked. He used to sleep with his flashlight every night. In case he would need them, he could instantly get it.
He responded, “No. Why?”
“I was just wondering why the room is so bright.”
“It’s the moonlight. It’s a full moon,” he said, pointing at the huge triangular gap between the roof and the wall of our room.
I didn’t respond because my brain was still processing the realization that I just saw my uncle’s ghost. I never told my parents about that experience until I was an adult.
