A Moonlit Ghost Story

"Wait for me!" my sister shrieked delightedly, pushing her unfinished dinner plate away, blatantly ignoring the glaring look our mother was giving her. Scampering kiddie feet dashed across our dining room, out into a cool January air, where a golden full moon was waiting, promising mysteries and infinite possibilities. "Be sure to be home by nine," our mother called after us. "You better be on your beds already when I'm back home from the wake," she sternly added. "Yes ma, yes ma," we answered in unison, my sister Jensen winking at me naughtily. We both knew that the nine o'clock curfew she imposed on us was a joke. Our mother won't be back till midnight. She was going to attend the wake of our aunt, a distant cousin of our late father. Wakes usually lasts up to past midnight in our small town, what with those long prayers for the dead being recited night after night. Not to mention those non-stop mahjong sessions that lasts till the wee hours in the morning. "Hey, there they are," our friend Luisa exclaimed, upon seeing us. "Look," she said, pointing upwards. "The moon is just perfect!" "It was a beautiful, sparkling night sky. Our whole town, wherein electricity was still non- existent back in the seventies, was bathed with a haunting yet beautiful glow. It was no wonder then why it seemed as if the whole townsfolk were out of their houses in full force, basking in moonlight fun. Our group, composed mostly of neighborhood kids were huddled in a corner, looking lost, trying to figure out what to do. Some kids were just sitting on the ground, content with just watching townmates around. "So what are we gonna sing tonight," Vilan, a chubby kid asked. "Sing? You mean, play," I answered back. "You wanna play hide and seek again, huh?" she retorted. She has always been one bratty kid who always sees fault in everything and everyone. Plus, she has a temper to boot. I ignored her. "I don't want to play hide and seek. They say ghosts are lurking in all those hiding places during full moon nights like this," Grace, a very pretty kid with prominent cheekbones, said. "And those fireflies? Nah! They're actually ghosts' eyes flying," another kid piped in. "Why don't we just sit here instead and stare hard at the moon again, like we did the last time," said Marites, a kid seated beside Grace. "Yup, right!" my sister said joining the fray. "We'll see if the Philippine map is still there." As kids, we had this silly impression that if one stares hard and long at the moon, one would slowly see a shape of some kind, emerging on its surface. A shape somewhat resembling that of the Philippine map. For a time I believed it, and wondered if maybe, there's another world, another Philippines, another one of me trapped up there. It must be hard living up there in the moon, my eleven-year-old mind imagined. All that moon glow surrounding you without a day to break it. "Hey everyone listen," I announced. "Why don't each one of us tell ghost stories again. The one with the scariest story gets to win a prize. It will be fun." "No way!" they all chorused. "Why?" "We didn't like the ghost story you told us before," Vilan retorted, pouting. "Our father is not a ghost," my sister protested, coming to my rescue. "He was only dead." For some reason, my friends found my story quite distressing. I can't blame them though. I also felt the same way. It was a childhood experience that my siblings and I had to go through during our father's wake. I was only six years old when it happened, but to this day, I still remember vividly every single detail that had happened. During the wake, the oldies of our clan told my siblings and me to go kiss our father's hand, as a gesture of final respect, before they carry his body to his casket. And obediently we did. Like meek lambs, we lined up, heads bowed, heartbeats racing, hands trembling. I vaguely remember the hushed silence, the captive audience we had in the people attending the wake. I looked at my father's hands. They were clasped, in which a rosary was placed dangling, intertwined within its fingers. I slowly began to touch them. They were cold and hard! Like granite! Heavy and unmoving too! (but of course!) I was terrified! I remember our youngest sister Jensen getting restless behind me. I turned to look at her and was not surprised to see this raw fear written all over her four-year-old face. In fact, it looked as if she was about to burst into a cry! I remember a relative approaching her and carrying her away. I was silently wishing someone would come and take me away, too. But nobody did. So with all the bravado that my six-year-old heart could muster, I did what I was told to do. What an oppressive funeral custom especially for kids like us. Strange, but to this day, the sight of the Rosary, with its blue and white beads, that was placed on my father's hand is still so vivid in my memory up to this day. As if, it was engraved at the deepest recesses of my mind, and heart. "You okay, sis?" my sister whispered. "You seem lost in your own thoughts." "Why are you whispering," I said, surprised but pretending anger. I got a bit embarassed to be caught musing unaware. I glanced at my sister. For a ten-year-old, she has this tendency to ask the most unexpected questions. "Let's get back to staring at the moon then," I finally said, to break the sudden stillness that have seemed to envelop our group. "Hey, there it is Luisa!" Adonis suddenly exclaimed. "I found it! I found it!" "Where?" Luisa asked, looking upwards, following her cousin's gaze. "What did you find?" I asked, curious. "Yes, tell us," came a chorus of voices behind me. "The Rosary," the cousins answered. "The Rosary?" I asked, perplexed. "You know, those group of stars forming like a Rosary, remember? It didn't show itself the last time the moon was full. The stars weren't as many." Luisa explained. "Oh yes, the Rosary. We knew about that too. Mother told us about it. It was already there even when they too were just kids like us, right sis?" my sister Jensen said looking at me. There was something about the look she gave me as if she was analyzing me or something. "Yeah," I answered absently. " There was also the big and small dipper," I added trying to locate them. The moon instead caught my attention. I stared, transfixed. There was something different about it. I stared again. And for some reason, i suddenly felt queasy. "Are you stargazing or staring at the moon," Vilan suddenly asked, breaking my reverie. From the looks of it, it was obvious she was becoming her bratty self again. I ignored her. Maybe she is sleepy already, I thought. "Hey kids, its getting late. You all go home now. Stop staring at a full moon. It will make loonies out of you, you'll see," a laughing, male, teen-aged voice boomed out of nowhere. We all turned to see where it came from. A group of teen-agers were passing us by. They were noisy and boisterous. I noticed some pairs, boys and girls, walking hand in hand. "Did they remove the Rosary?" "What?" "The Rosary, on father's hand, did they remove it? Or was it buried along with him?" my sister was still looking at me with quizzical eyes. For a few seconds I didn't reply back for I was rendered speechless by the very unexpected question. I glanced at my younger sister again. Is she a mind reader or something, I asked myself. Maybe she has sixth sense. "I'm not sure now," i said slowly, the queasy feeling in my stomach returning. "Why that question all of a sudden?" I added. "How do you know of these things anyway. You were just a baby when father passed away," I said wryly, to hide the growing uneasiness I was feeling. "I was already four," she protested. "C'mon sis, we all knew about it, okay? It's an open story in our family. So, the Rosary, what do you think happened to it," she persisted. "Well, I have a vague memory of some oldies cutting or severing it," I finally said. "But hey, I was only six when it happened, ok? So I'm not really sure." I felt uncomfortable. It seemed as if I suddenly have all the kids' attention. Numerous pairs of small eyes looked at me, some of which I imagined glinting in the dark, caused no doubt by the moon's golden glow. "Hey, I know why Rosaries placed on dead persons' hand were cut or severed," Ruby, a very thin kid offered. She had been silent all this time, I was not even aware she was around. "Why?" asked another kid named Lou. She, Ruby and Vilan were a trio, a friendship that I noticed were formed during our past full moon nights together. Sometimes I wondered why the other two had to put up with Vilan's bossy and bratty personality. "Yeah, why," I asked too, when I noticed Ruby's hesitation to answer. "My aunt told me once that its purpose was to ward off a possible bad spell that may befall someone who attended the wake of the dead person." "Really?!" someone said whom I realized now came from Grace. There seems to be a concealed battle of sorts that have formed between these two group of friends. Marites, Grace and another kid named Noemi on one group and Vilan, Lou and Ruby on another. "Yeah, really," came Vilan's reply. I caught one eyebrow of hers raising and directed it to Grace who for once, never looked her way. "But that's ridiculous," one kid said. I silently agreed. How could something as holy as a Rosary, be a symbol of something as silly as a bad spell, I thought. "It's nothing but a superstitious belief," Luisa finally said. "You know how it is with oldies." "Yup," everybody said. Suddenly, a very loud voice reverberated from out of the blue, jolting us all. "Somebody get us a tricycle please! Help us please!" A man in sleeveless shirt, and loose shorts was running frantically in the streets, as if he was being chased by some rabid dog. The sight of a man in houseclothes running panicky on the streets under a full moon night, was both comical and scary at the same time that I was not sure if I'll laugh or I'm scared. Suddenly, people were coming out of nowhere, causing some sort of commotion and confusion. That part of the street where we kids were, was starting to assume a marketplace ambience. "It's uncle Romy," someone finally said. "He apparently fell to the floor and was reportedly vomiting. He had to be rushed to the hospital next town." "Hey, isn't he your relative or something?" Adonis asked Vilanne. She ignored him. "Uh, oh.." my sister suddenly said. What now, I thought. "Sis, it's grandma. I think she is here to fetch us," she whispered, pointing to an old woman emerging from the darkness. She was carrying a long stick. It's grandma alright. She never walks at night without her long, hard stick. She was scared of stray dogs. "Yes, It's grandma," I sighed. "Time to go home now sis." "Yeah, I know," she said somberly. "Mother won't be back from the wake yet, but I want to go home now." I got up from where I was sitting, and as if on a cue, other kids started doing the same. I heard one kid saying it was not a happy night. "To think I was looking forward to this full moon night," another kid said. Me too, I silently agreed. As we were about to leave, I took one discreet look at the moon again. I was amused to see it partly hidden by some night cloud. I suppressed a grin. It looked like a bald pate peeping down on me. I looked at it intently again, trying to figure out what was about it that made me uneasy earlier. I thought there was a shape emerging on it's surface alright, but this time it was not the shape of the Philippine map that I saw. Instead, I think I saw a shape resembling that of a pair of clasped hands, with a Rosary dangling, intertwined within its fingers. I stared again at the Rosary-like shape. Then I looked away. I stared back again, hoping this time, its the shape of the Philippine map that I would see.. But it's not. Oh.. was it cut? Or severed..? I broke out into a cold sweat.. E N D.