Note to self #1: Negativity

One does not see an empty cup filled but sees a filled one emptied.

So let me take this time to talk a bit about myself. I assume that if you’re reading this, it’s either you have already read some if not most of my posts, or you have not even read a single one of them and is clueless of what I’m going to talk about. It’s okay, but I recommend you read some of my stories and poems so that you would better understand my point here.

As you may have noticed, I am into the horror genre. I love horror stories, books, movies, and even poems. But this interest of mine has something to do with myself. Yes I admit it, I’m a pessimist. My life wasn’t bad when I was a child, I wasn’t molested or anything. In fact, my life as a child has probably been better than many others. I have a loving family, caring friends,great educators, and I got all that I wanted without even having to ask for it. To tell you the truth, all this time, I’m confused as to why I’m such a negative person.

When I see something, I always notice the negative side, no matter how little. When I do something, it’s always the consequences that I think of. This is probably one of the reasons why I don’t have a lover right now. And I don’t think I will have in 30 years or so when I’m actually ready to build a family.

What does negativity give you? Some say nothing, sadness, all kinds of bad stuff. But you see, it’s not really my case. In fact, I can sometimes see this negativity as a blessing in disguise. It helps me to make sure that all my moves and decisions are safe.

If you think that you are like me, a negative, pessimistic, person… don’t worry too much about it. It’s who you are, accept yourself and life a live worth living.

Advertisements

The Puppeteer

pull_the_string_by_bee_tea-d3czytk

Strings of white run down

into figures, comical like clowns

Faces white as ivory

emotionless, dancing into the melody

 

Only to the audience I smile

Only to th audience I act

Only to the audience I let go

 

For once I thought I was real

A memory etched in my heart

all those images I have seen

are they unreal

 

As far as I remember

I have been tricked

over and over and over

about a life that was never mine

 

“Relax”, he says

let your arms flow

let your legs fall

let your head down

Just as you have always done

Random Creepy Shorts # 20

I am in introvert. I feed off of my own solitude. For some reason, being alone makes me comfortable. It’s peace and quiet. I could focus on whatever task is at hand. But there are some moments when I wish I wasn’t alone, or at least knew if someone was there. This story is about someone alone in the house. I’ll let the story speak for itself. It goes like this…

Here I lay, all snuggled up in bed, warm and satisfied under the soft silk covers, watching some stupid documentary on TV I’d never heard of. I’d turn it over, but the gallon tub of cookie dough ice cream wouldn’t let me use my hands for anything other than shovelling the frozen treat into my mouth. Nights like these are rare, it isn’t often that everyone’s out of the house but me, so I make sure to savour them, in fact, I wasn’t expecting anyone back till the morning. That’s what made the sound of the door opening downstairs so alarming.

Panic hits me like a steam train, I silently leap out from under the covers, spilling the ice cream all over the pristine white carpet on the floor, and creak open the wardrobe next to the bed. I hear footsteps, heavy and indiscreet, like they want me to know they’re here. I pant, and pick up the spoon I had just been using to enjoy a relaxing night. The footsteps get louder, I force myself into the miniscule space remaining in the wardrobe, and close the door, just as the stranger opens the bedroom door, not sparing any seconds for silence.
I peer through the gap, his face looks familiar, but I can’t place my finger on where I know him from. He spots the spilled ice cream, and darts his head across the wide expanse of the bedroom.

“Hello?” he calls, not sounding vicious, but I’ve made that mistake before. Never, under any circumstances, assume friendliness from a voice.

He looks under the bed. Oh crap, he’s looking for someone. I hold back a whimper, and start bending the bowl of the spoon back and forth, hoping to snap it off and create some way of defending myself. It snaps, but it creates a metallic click, the man turns his head around, and makes his way to the wardrobe, I’m shaking now. Please don’t open it, please don’t open it, please don’t open it!

The door swings open, and he sees me, we scream simultaneously in fear and surprise. Without hesitation, I leap onto the man, and start digging into whatever stretch of flesh I can with the sharp edge of the spoon handle, he screeches in clear pain, but I won’t stop, I hammer the handle deep into his chest and neck, over and over, till he becomes motionless. I’ve killed him.

I cry in disgust, and sprint downstairs and away from the house, I charge down the road until I feel like I’m far enough away. I sit down for a moment, and exhale heavily before regaining my composure. Pulling out my phone, I open Twitter and search #babysitter, hopefully this time, I’ll find a household that isn’t lying when they say they’ll be out all night.

The H.A. Bordner Building

dsc09953

A little intro before I tell you my story.

The hallway you just saw is from the H.A. Bordner Building, the oldest building in Manila Science High School. It has been there since the Japanese Colonization in the Philippines. (I kind of… forgot the year, just look it up if you have some time.) In short, it’s very old. It was built, burned down, built, destroyed by the earthquake, and built again.

It is a three-story building with rumors of having a 4th floor at full moon (But I don’t buy the full moon b*llsh*t, cause it happened in the light of the day, you’ll know later). There are also rumors of an underground bunker (since it was war-time an all).

The Bordner building used to be a hospital which was turned into a comfort women brothels (you know, those women used by Japanese and Korean soldiers as sex slaves). Anyway, this was an experience when I was in seventh grade. No one actually knew about it because I fear they would laugh at me and call me a hoax propagator or something… anyway it went like this

I am inside this old, seemingly creaky building, forsaken by age. Devoid of anything new. The floor is rose-red, stained with the blood of time? Nah, maybe it’s just some floor wax. I observe the cement walls as the cracks run down from the ceiling. What a pity. This could have been something, but this is one sturdy building I must say. It has endured the grim reminder of time. Even though the whole thing could collapse at any moment if I punch a column or two.

Looks like the stairs made of stone and cement. They seem alright, except that I notice a steel bearing running down from the top floor. I guess the building has some support after all. It came all the way from the third floor I guess? I’m not really sure because I saw three floors outside but it looks like four in the inside. Boy this building is weird.

I climb up to the second floor. White tiles run across the hallway. No one is here and my god is it creepy. The silence is so disturbing. It’s like a separate dimension from the outside world. The windows are broken, I guess children did it. The doors are old brown wood feasted by termites. These little critters creep me out. They have always did since I was a child. There is a fork at the end of the hallway which leads to some place I’d honestly not want to explore.

I proceed to the third floor. The room suddenly feels like it expanded. The ceiling is higher than usual. I am a claustrophilic person. Meaning, I enjoy tight spaces or smaller spaces than the large ones. The floor is creaky wood, making a sound every step I make.

The building is devoid of people, but I feel something… It’s full of emotion. Not happiness but rather resentment and sadness. Like an old man abandoned by his children. I rushed down to the second floor. That is where I saw the first person in this building. It’s a child, holding a teddy bear facing away from me. It was a full three seconds before the child walked into the fork I mentioned a while ago. And oh my, I feel like my guts were blown inside out. I see the child’s bloody face stare blankly into the nothingness as it walks away.

I ran as fast as I could to get out of the building. But the building itself feels like it’s getting larger and larger by the moment. I finally get to the door and run out into the open area in front of the building. As I look back I see that the door is already chained. If so how did I get in?

The sky is crimson red. There are unmoving cars in the street, but I’m sure with one thing, there was no sound, not one. The silence was deafening. I was going mad, it was then when I wake up and find myself on a floor next to the third.

Did I make it out? Duh, how am I even typing right now… but some say that if you stay there long enough, the staircase will be endless and you’ll be trapped forever. I’ve got to say that incredibly hyperbolic right there but to be honest, there was a different air when I was there. It was very thin and I was having a bit of difficulty breathing. I couldn’t describe the whole floor since looking at it made me queasy and I focused on getting our as quick as possible, but if you want an explanation on how it looked like, the picture below comes close:

5900822144_da754edefb_b

Yes, it was an empty room with one window for some odd reason. It had a wooden floor. The room was huge. there was only once staircase that leads down and it feels like it’s gonna break any second.

Honestly, there’s more to this Building than what meets the eye. So far I’ve only been the to the fourth floor. If I have time (which I highly doubt) I’ll try to find the entrance to this “bunker” the old janitor once told me. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about it…

if I find it and make it back alive at least.

Random Creepy Shorts # 19

Do you miss your father, I sure do. Since I was in grade school, I had to live far away from my father because of financial reasons. But you see, I cannot help but be afraid. Afraid from what you ask? Afraid from bad things that may happen to him. But you know, I see the benefits of living far from my loved ones, this story is somewhat an emulation of it… and it goes like this…

A 15-year old girl named Donna lived with her father in a small house in the suburbs. Ever since her mother died, Donna had depended on her father for everything. They had a wonderful relationship and loved each other very much.

One morning, Donna’s father was leaving on a business trip. As they ate breakfast together, he told her that he would be home very late that night. With that, he kissed her on the forehead, grabbed his briefcase and walked out the front door.

Later that day, when Donna came home from school, she did some homework and watched some TV. By midnight, her father had still not returned so she decided to go to bed.

That night she had a dream. She found herself standing at the edge of a busy highway. Cars and trucks whizzed by at an alarming rate. She looked across the highway and saw a familiar figure standing on the other side. It was her father. His hands were cupped around his mouth and he seemed to be shouting something to her, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying.

As the traffic whizzed by, she strained to hear. Her father’s eyes were sad. He seemed to be desperately trying to communicate something to her. She could barely make out the words: “Don’t… Open… Door…”

Suddenly, Donna was awoken from the dream by a strange tapping noise.

“Tap Tap Tap.”

Then somebody began to ring the doorbell downstairs.

“Ring Ring Ring.”

She scrambled out of bed and put on her slippers. Then, dressed only in her nightgown, she ran downstairs and went to the front door.

Looking through the peephole, she saw her father’s face outside. He was staring right at her. The doorbell kept ringing insistently.

“OK, hold on! I’m coming!”, she shouted.

She pulled back the deadbolt and was about to unlatch the door when she stopped.

She looked through the peephole at her father again. Something about his expression didn’t look quite right. His eyes were wide open. He looked terrified.

She slid the deadbolt back into place.

“Dad!”, she yelled through the door. “Did you forget your keys?”

“Ring Ring Ring.”

“Dad, answer me!”

Ring Ring Ring.

“Dad, please! I need you to answer me!”

“Ring Ring Ring.”

“Is there someone else out there with you?”

“Ring Ring Ring.”

“Why won’t you answer me?”

“Ring Ring Ring.”

“I’m not opening the door until you say something!”

The doorbell kept ringing and ringing, but for some reason, her father refused to answer her desperate cries.

For the rest of the night, the frightened girl cowered in a corner of the hallway, helplessly listening to the ceaseless ringing of the doorbell. It seemed to go on for hours. Eventually, she fell into an uneasy sleep.

At dawn, she woke up and realized that everything was quiet. She crept over to the door and looked through the peephole again. Her father was still there, staring at her.

She cautiously opened the door and was confronted with a sight that filled her with unimaginable horror.

Her father’s severed head was hung from a nail above the door.

There was a note attached to the doorbell. In crude, scrawled handwriting, it read:

“Clever Girl”

Random Creepy Shorts # 18

I’d like to classify this short as more of an emotional one. I wasn’t really scared or thinking of scaring anyone while conceptualizing this story. It was more of sadness and stuff. So this story is not for the very faint hearted (well none of my stories are so far…) Anyway, it goes like this…

There was a young girl named Susan. She was playing in her bedroom when she heard her mother calling her from the kitchen. She raced downstairs.

“Susan, come here. I have something to ask you,” her mother said.

“What is it?” asked Susan.

“Do you know who ate the cakes that were meant for the guests?”

“Uh… No… I don’t know,” Susan replied.

“Did you eat the cakes?” her mother asked.

“No, Mama, I didn’t,” the little girl replied.

Susan was wringing her hands nervously.

“Susan, I know when you are lying,” her mother said. “A thief always starts out in life by lying. And the police always catch a thief. And the thief is always punished. Do you know what I am saying Susan?”

Susan couldn’t bear the guilt anymore. She started sobbing.

“Mama, I’m sorry!” she wailed. “I ate the cakes! I’m sorry!”

“There, there. Stop crying,” said her mother as she held her hand. “I was angry because you lied to me. Now you’ve told the truth, everything is going to be fine. I don’t like liars, so never lie to me again, OK?”

“OK,” said Susan.

“Now dry your tears,” said her mother. “We’ll go to the store and buy more cakes.”

“OK, Mama,” Susan said.

Susan’s mother had a baby. When she came home from the hospital, Susan was delighted.

“This is Nana,” her mother said. “You’re her big sister. You have to treat her with love and care.”

“I will, Mama,” Susan said.

But after the baby arrived, her mother didn’t seem to have any time for her. The baby cried all day and all night. Susan couldn’t bear to hear it screaming and bawling. She couldn’t concentrate. She couldn’t even think. Eventually, she had enough.

“Mama! I’m sick and tired of hearing her cry!” she shouted. “I can’t study with all this racket! Can you please shut her up?”

“You need to be more understanding,” her mother said. “Nana is just a baby. You’re her big sister.”

“But you’re always with Nana,” Susan cried. “You never have time for me anymore. I’d like to spend time with you too, Mama. I’d like to go to the store with you, to the park with you, to play with you…”

“You’re old enough to go to all those places by yourself,” her mother said. “So shut your mouth and stop being so selfish.”

“I hate you!” Susan screamed as she burst into tears.

She ran upstairs, slammed her door and locked herself in her room. That evening, she refused to come down for dinner. Instead, she stayed in her room and brooded about Nana.

That night Susan had a very disturbing dream. In the nightmare, she saw herself walking through the house in darkness. She went into her mother’s room and tip-toed over to the baby’s crib. Then, she picked up her little sister and carried her downstairs.

In the dream, Susan opened the back door and brought Nana out to the garden. There, by the light of the moon, she fetched a shovel from the shed, dug a little hole in the wet grass and buried her little sister alive.

When she woke up in the morning, Susan was shaking and covered in sweat. She felt sick to her stomach. The nightmare had seemed so real. She was horrified.

“Mom was right,” she thought. “Nana is just a baby. I’m her big sister. I need to learn to put up with things like this. I’m going to ask Mom to forgive me.”

Just then, her mother burst into her room. Tears were streaming down her face.

“Susan, do you know where Nana is?” she asked. “When I woke up this morning, she wasn’t in her crib. Do you know anything?”

The little girl shook her head.

“Are you sure?” her mother demanded. “You really don’t know anything? Do you swear?”

Susan gulped. “Yes, I swear,” she said weakly.

“Alright! Alright!” her mother said. “Help me find her!”

They searched the house from top to bottom, but they couldn’t find Nana. They ran up and down the street looking for the baby, but she was nowhere to be seen. Finally, her mother fell to her knees and began sobbing uncontrollably.

“Where did Nana go?” she wailed. “Where could she be? She doesn’t even know how to walk. How could she disappear like this?”

Susan was wringing her hands nervously.

“Susam you know something!” her mother screamed. “Susan! You know what happened to Nana, don’t you!”

“No,” said Susan. “I don’t know anything…”

“Susan, I warned you not to lie to me again!” her mother screamed.

“I’m not lying,” Susan mumbled.

“I know when you’re lying!” her mother shouted. “Tell me! Where is she? Where is Nana?”

Susan couldn’t bear the guilt anymore. She looked out the window and pointed at a little mound of earth in the garden.

“No!” her mother cried. “Dear God! No! This can’t be true!”

“Mama!” the little girl sobbed. She tried to grab her mother’s hand.

“Don’t touch me!” her mother screamed. “You killed Nana, didn’t you! You killed her because you were jealous!”

“I didn’t mean it, Mama!” Susan cried. “I didn’t mean it!”

Her mother flew into a violent rage. She grabbed her daughter by the neck and began choking the life out of her. She squeezed and squeezed until she couldn’t squeeze anymore. By the time she came to her senses, Susan lay dead on the kitchen floor.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

The mother got to her feet and answered it.

When she opened the door, she saw her neighbor standing outside. He was holding Nana in his arms.

“We found her crawling around outside,” he said. “She must have gotten out of her crib during the night. Good thing we found her before something bad happened…”

Slate Road Ext.

It is late afternoon. A soft breeze blows and rattles the leaves on the sprigs in a tree-strewn spot of earth in the heart of Manila. The sky is darker than usual and a shadow of a tall man is seen in the distance, in an isolated road. I take small strides into the alley. The sign reads, “Slate Road Ext.” I see the man, or rather “thing” standing. Moments passed by, I still am thinking, “am I really going to pass through here? I wonder what would happen.”

Before anything else happened, I felt more wind passing through his corner. it seems like all my happiness, if there’s any, my energy, and my positive vibes were blown away with it. I kept thinking, imagining, and wondering, would I stay here, until the sun goes down? I just close my eyes, trying to remember someone dear to me, to help me lessen my fear. Am I ready for this? I can’t handle it anymore.

I hear whispers, from where? I look around for the source. It is the shadowy man! He’s whispering “ten, ten, ten, ten…” Why, of all numbers, ten? I approach the man with all my courage and ask. He looked at me straight into my soul with piercing pitch black eyes. “You’re one of us now.”

Everything went black. When I returned to my senses, I find out that I, myself, was whispering, “eleven, eleven, eleven, eleven…”

 

P.S

This story was made by me and my friends. We passed the paper around every two sentences and tried to see what we would make. This isn’t the best story there is, but it sure has a deep meaning if you try to understand it. If you can’t, feel free to ask me personally 🙂