Uncle Jeff's Bedroom

Uncle Jeff’s bedroom was orderly. He put the blankets, pillows, bed sheets, curtains, clothes, and business suits in the right place. Uncle Jeff was orderly too; he rose from the bed, took a pee, brushed his teeth and gargled for three minutes to eliminate bad breath, had a shower, put on a pressed business suit, walked downstairs to sip a cup of black coffee prepared by Vivien, cat-walked across the passageway between Bermuda grass, go outside the gate, and left the house for his office job. He always prepared for everything except one thing.

Uncle Jeff had been sleeping like a log every night in his present bedroom since last month. The proximity of the house to his office was the only reason he leased the place. He had paid Vivien a ten thousand pesos rental fee convenient for two months. Vivien was thankful that a man as tidy as Uncle Jeff rented one of her vacant-over-a-decade bedrooms.

Vivien was bereaved of a spouse. Her husband, a half-Chinese drunkard, had died in the nineties because of incurable cirrhosis of the liver. She lived with her two teenagers Omar and Ophelia, in the only riches her husband had left; the two-storey house with a small sari-sari store. Vivien crowded her store with sundry products, from sachet types to wholesale types.

Vivien could send her teenagers to college, yet she still regarded their condition as scarce as her customers who loaned items for credit and paid her on payday.

The house had five bedrooms. Two on the ground level and three on the second level. The rooms on the ground floor were occupied by Vivien and her teenagers, who were seldom seen for they always hung out with their friends in town. The rooms on the upper floor had been unoccupied until Uncle Jeff rented one room.

The middle bedroom was Uncle Jeff’s preference. It was connected to a not-so-wide living room. The other two bedrooms that sandwiched his choice were still deprived of a chance to be lodged in a single night. Besides, there was a mere question whether or not one would like to rent them upon learning this ghastly story I’m about to tell.

“Belle, do you want to stay at my boarding house on Friday night?” Uncle Jeff asked his niece, Annabelle.

“Why Uncle Jeff? Are you going somewhere?” she answered with questions. Belle knew Uncle Jeff’s way of prefacing an urgent solution to his mindless problem. She knew what he meant by his question.

“Yes. My colleagues invited me to a party. I want someone to take good care of my belongings. As usual, it’s you or Felvin. You know, it’s really hard to trust anyone nowadays. Don’t worry, I’ll give you my salary for one day.” He winked, trying to convey the idea that he would not tell Felvin if she accepted the offer.

Belle looked up and pondered for a moment. Friday night was the only night she would meet her boyfriend, tease and talk to him while he pillowed her thigh under his head and they rolled over the lawn kissing and hugging. But a one-day salary offer was eight hundred pesos, an amount which was difficult to obtain within a week or two in a country seized up by crises.

“Okay. Uncle Jeff, I’ve decided. I’ll be there Friday afternoon.”

“Cool! Just drop by at the office after school. Don’t worry, I’ll call your mother. I’m sure she’ll let you. She’s more business-minded than me.” He chuckled.

As soon as he turned to walk away, she delayed his leaving by a follow-up question. “Uncle Jeff, what time you’ll be around on Friday?”

“I’m not sure. Saturday in the morning? Why?”

“Will you make it earlier?” she pleaded confidently.

“I can’t promise, Belle.” He looked down for a moment and then glanced at her. “Okay. Here’s the deal so that you won’t worry about your task. If I get home later than nine on the morning of Saturday, I’ll give you a bonus. What about that?”

“Okay, Uncle Jeff.”

Three days of waiting afforded Belle time to daydream about how to spend the money. She considered buying a pretty and expensive dress that would fashion her into a more enticing grown-up to her boyfriend’s brown eyes. She imagined hanging out with her socialite friends in malls and satisfying their cravings for costly dishes in fine-dining restaurants. She fancied watching a new Hollywood romantic film with her boyfriend clutching her innocent body. Sometimes, maybe because of gene imposition, she saved the money instead, for the intention of exigency like the circumstance that would happen after staying in Uncle Jeff’s bedroom.

Friday afternoon had arrived. Belle showed up in front of Vivien’s house with a backpack slung around her slim shoulders. She looked through the steel-barred gate and learned that the door was closed. She went around the house and arrived at the small sari-sari store where a middle-aged woman waiting for buyers.

“Good evening, Ms. Vivien!” Belle greeted, leaning towards the window.

“Good evening. What do you want?” she asked her. Belle’s unfamiliar face made Vivien think she was a buyer.

“I’m Uncle Jeff’s niece. I’m here to stay until morning.”

“Oh, you’re Annabelle?”

Belle nodded.

“Okay. Just a minute.” Vivien gestured for her to move to the other side of the house. “You go to the entrance gate on the other side of the house. I’ll meet you there.”

Vivien led Belle upstairs. It was dim in there. No window was open in the small living room. Vivien opened the window overlooking the gate. The late afternoon sun rays seeped in through. She fumbled with the switch beside Uncle Jeff’s bedroom door and turned on the chandelier.

The small living room had six varnished bamboo chairs surrounding an antique, mahogany round table. Over the table was an old-fashioned flower vase. In it were fresh chrysanthemums married with glowing zinnia flowers. The floor was made from plank woods that seemed to be more than half a century old. The walls were also made of old types of plank wood. There were photos taken in the ’60s. There was a painting of a woman and a man at their wedding. It faced Uncle Jeff’s bedroom door. It caught Belle’s attention.

“Oh, they’re my in-laws,” Vivien interrupted her. “Come. This is Jeff’s bedroom. You’ve got the key? Just feel at home.”

Belle dug the key in her haversack.

“Anything you need, call me downstairs. Okay?” Vivien said hospitably.

“Thanks, Madam Vivien.” Belle inserted the key into the doorknob, and it clicked. She pushed the door and got in.

Vivien left her alone. Her footsteps slowly faded out as she went downstairs.

Belle was used to seeing things organized each time she visited Uncle Jeff. She was used to seeing kempt bed sheets, hair-free heaped-up pillows on the bed, ribbon-tied curtain upon the window, dust-free table and floor, and hung ironed suits and folded t-shirts and trousers in the wardrobe.

It was almost six in the evening. Before she sat on the bed, she reached for the remote control and clicked on the TV set in the varnish-shined divider across the bed. She switched channels and chose HBO. She couched with two pillows under her head. She glanced through the window and noticed twilight had swallowed the sun.

In a couple of minutes, Belle heard a knock at the door. She thought it was in the next bedroom. She did not know that the bedrooms bracketing Uncle Jeff’s had been unoccupied for more than a decade now. Vivien had never told Uncle Jeff about it. Another knock made her decrease the TV’s volume. She waited. And then there was a louder knock. She got up and opened the door. There was no one in the doorway. She took glances at the hallways but saw no one.

She looked straight at the painting. The groom in the painting wore a Barong Tagalog, an embroidered Filipino upper garment made from abaca fibers, and the bride on a traditional Maria Clara dress with a white lace cap on her head running down behind. She held a bouquet in her right hand. It seemed that the couple was in their early thirties. The groom who had china eyes winked at Belle. She was sure she saw it. She took steps forward to go over it. It winked again. This time, she was frightened. She rubbed her eyes in her hand to make certain she was not hallucinating. The groom winked again and again. The hairs on her nape swept up. She looked at the bride. It grinned at her. She was horrified to see a painting like that. She moved back into Uncle Jeff’s bedroom, slammed the door, locked it, and wrapped herself in the blanket on the bed. She sobbed while listening to her galloping heartbeat.

At seven, Belle heard the knock again. The TV suddenly went off. She trembled in consternation, perspiring inside the shroud. A noise coming from the bamboo chairs arrested the silence in the small living room. Someone dragged and rolled them over onto the floor. Belle was horrified. Belle cupped her ears, but the noise just became louder. In a minute or two, the noise stopped. Someone touched Belle on her shoulder.

“What happened?” It was a voice that Belle recognized. She came out of the blanket, still shuddering. It was Vivien.

“Someone was in the living room. I heard the chairs being dragged noisily. I saw the painting winked at me,” Belle explained tremblingly.

“Oh, I was the one in the living room. I was sweeping the floor and arranging the chairs. Then, I heard you crying, so I came here without knocking. I’ve thought to check you in. Is there any problem?” Vivien said. “Maybe you’re just tired from school, my child. Just take a rest. I won’t turn off the lights in the living room. If you need anything, I’ll just be downstairs.” She smiled, went out, and thrust the door shut.

Belle thought it must have been the stress that made her mistakenly notice the paintings were alive and hear the awful knocks. The fear was going away.

Belle sat up and reached for her haversack. She dug out her cell phone and texted her boyfriend. As she began pressing on the keypad, there was a knock on the door. She stood up casually to open the door, thinking it was Vivien. Before she held the doorknob, she heard the chairs being dragged on the floor again. And when she opened the door, there was no one in the living room. The chairs were neatly arranged. She got back in, slammed the door, and looked at her cellular phone nervously. She quickly dialed Uncle Jeff, but something disturbed her. This time, it was a clamor of harrowed large chains with a heavy stomp of combat boots on the floor.

Belle held the doorknob and slowly opened the door again. She took a deep breath. She slowly moved to check where the disturbing sound was coming from. She looked to the right and noticed a dreadful apparition.

Belle saw a Japanese soldier from World War II. His head had bullet holes and through it, blood streamed down his face. He was dragging a chained cadaver. In his right hand was a samurai, full of blood in its blade. In his left hand was a large chain knotted around the neck of the cadaver. The dead body’s eyes bulged out from his face.

The Japanese soldier walked to the bedroom next to Uncle Jeff’s. He did not seem to notice her. Maybe the frigidity of death deprived him. Horrified by the scene, Belle looked away. She unintentionally looked at the table underneath the painting that had frightened her. As she turned in the soldier’s direction, he was gone. Yet there were things he had left on the floor; the blood-stricken combat boots and the large chains. The boots and the chains animatedly moved back to where they had come. They climbed downstairs until the noise faded out. Belle was shocked. She succumbed to unconsciousness.

The door of Uncle Jeff’s bedroom swung open as Belle lurched on the floor. She got her consciousness back. She rose. She thought nothing had happened. Or maybe she thought it was just a nightmare. She went back to the bed and slowly lay down. She glanced at the wall clock. It was past midnight. The door was open. She walked to the door and locked it. She lounged back on the bed and wrapped herself in a blanket.

There again, the knocking that had terrified Belle. She chilled. The door jerked. It bounced back and forth. The utmost fear held her voice to shout for help. She was inside the blanket, yet she could sense a cool air filling Uncle Jeff’s bedroom. She noticed a shadow that blocked the fluorescent bulb. She thought it was Vivien. She forgot that she had the door locked. She moved out of the blanket, and what she saw was the ultimate reason for her insanity.

Belle saw the Japanese soldier standing across the bed and looking sharply at her. The apparition was real to her. Blood from the soldier’s forehead streamed down torrentially. They stained the bedsheet and the blanket. Thick blood running down from the samurai rhythmically fell and soaked the floor. Someone had stiffly entwined the large chain around the neck of a person who was struggling to liberate. He looked familiar. It was Uncle Jeff.

Belle exploded out of horror. For the second time, she fainted.

Robins chirped outside. A new and fair day had come. The sunrays seeped in through the window of the small living room. Fresh air in the room fondled the withered chrysanthemums and zinnia flowers in the vase over the table and wandered around Uncle Jeff’s room where Belle was on the bed, unblinking eyes staring up at the ceiling. The air went around the messy room, through curtains that were now dangling loosely. Pillows and bed sheets had been scattered on the floor. Wardrobes were empty and on the floor were Uncle Jeff’s suits. His bedroom appeared to have been attacked by burglars. It had become a contrast to his tactful attitude towards orderliness.

Vivien found Belle. She tried to wake her up. Belle did not respond. No word came out of her, not even a hiss. The trauma had caused her unresponsiveness. She was alive, but mentally dead and emotionally cold.

“I’m sorry for what happened to your brother, madam. He was the best boarder I ever have.” Vivien shook hands with Belle’s mom, who was crying in lamentation.

Belle was sitting silently in a wheelchair beside the coffin of her Uncle Jeff, who had been stabbed to death by one of his colleagues last Friday night.

Rumor had it; that Uncle Jeff was having an affair with his colleague’s wife. His colleague found them having a good time in the party hall’s comfort room. Uncle Jeff and the woman had been secret lovers even before he started working in his office. His colleague, Edgardo, noticed his wife entered the men’s restroom. He had doubted her for a long time, and so he took a table knife and went after her. He heard them moan. And that was it. He stabbed them to death.

Vivien knew about the affair. Her neighbors had noticed Uncle Jeff took the woman into Vivien’s house, into his bedroom.

Now, in Vivien’s small sari-sari store was a placard hung over the window with a caption: Room for rent: good for two.