Shadow of the Rain

It’s bright inside. And I didn’t want to lose sight of the stars. Even when I was called in by family members and friends, I refused to make haste. There was no reason for me to be inside any more than for me to be outside. And because of this hesitance, to my unluckiness, I managed to get myself relatively drenched from the squall of driving rain.

Inside, the guests were gleefully enjoying themselves and expressing their surprise due to the sudden storm. I, too, was part of the latter. I was just admiring the stars in one minute, and in the next, a dark shroud enveloped the skies and brought about a downpour. 

While others were busying themselves with food and company, I stood at the roofed area on the balcony, being mindful that my clothes were still too wet to go inside. I didn’t want to soak any carpets or produce hazardous puddles that could risk the unsuspecting partygoer to slip and fall.

The possible repercussions of said incident would be ghastly, indeed.

As long as this spot is dry enough, I’ll be fine. I was perfectly content here. Present, and yet unseen. Well, until I started feeling shivers down my spine and I’ve sneezed a number of times in rapid succession. As much as I enjoyed solitude, I hated the idea of getting sick. So if the solution here was to join the crowd, where the warmth was well distributed amongst them, I shall put aside my desires for the sake of my health. But first, I needed to not be a dripping mess that comes barreling into the room.

I scrunched up the edges of my skirt and let it drip on one side of the balcony. The side where people won’t be walking along. I must have been standing in the rain longer than I thought, because this was more than superficial dampness. My clothes were soaked through! 

I cursed as I continuously squeezed water from the edges of my skirt. It seemed to have soaked more rainwater every time I wrung them. The excess rainwater from my garments left a trail as it made its way to a channel near the balcony railing, that I assumed was led to a pipe that would carry the water straight to a gutter on the ground. My eyes trailed the flow of the water and were caught on something I had never noticed before. 

It was a metal grate that was fixed to the floor with a sliding latch. The metal grate had gaps between them so I could see that, once opened, it would lead to a ladder that goes down.

But not to the gardens, as that was where the balcony was overlooking. It was so dark that even when I squinted my eyes, I could not make anything out. The path where this ladder would lead to was unknown.

Without thinking, I unlocked the latch and pulled the grate open. There wasn’t a hint of fear within me that was against what I was doing. After all, this was supposed to be my house on my estate. It’s been in the family for generations. Even when I don’t feel welcomed by my family and their friends sometimes. 

I was glad that I wore flats because stiletto heels may prove to be difficult when descending the rungs of a ladder. Especially in the state that I am.

As I climbed down, I noticed that the ladder goes deeper underground. The sounds of laughter and chatter were completely gone by the time I arrived at the bottom.

I studied the hallway that I’ve arrived in. This could be an alternative entrance, or exit, to our cellar. And perhaps it was due to the lack of contrasting bright lights, because I was able to see how far the hallway stretches.

My legs seemed to move on their own, but I didn’t protest. The worst case scenario would be that our family had secretly been hiding a crypt down here, which didn’t bother me as much as some people would be. After all, the dead could not harm the living. The living, on the other hand, have the possibility (and tendency) to harm each other.

At the end of the hallway was a thick oak door, which I then pushed to open. There was no indication of a lock but I left it open anyway. Beyond that, there were faint lights from the ceiling. They were barely illuminating anything in the room and one or two of them were flickering. Like desperate little fireflies trying to hold on for dear life. I had to carefully study the room to get an idea of where I actually ended up in: a cellar or a crypt?

“Welcome!” said a voice from behind me. I turned quickly and found a figure standing by the door that had creaked its way back to how I found it. Closed. “I didn’t expect company tonight.”

“Who are you?”

“You don’t recognize me?” the figure asked, making slow and calculated steps closer, and stopped when a face was visible under the dim lights.

It was a… man? Or a woman? I couldn’t tell. There was no clear distinction about the features. Nothing that I could put into memory. I could be walking out of here and I would not be able to recall how this person looked like. 

I shook my head to answer their question. They sighed. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter if you don’t recognize me,” they said, but the hint of sarcasm in their voice suggested that it did matter to them. They walked past me towards one side of the room, where they picked up pieces of wood and tossed them into the now visible fireplace. Now that the room was better lit, I could see where I am. It’s like a small apartment and we were in the living area.

They went to one of the two high back chairs and slumped in their seat. They made a long “Aaaah,” sound, like it was the most comfortable thing to sit on.

Everything that is happening fired up all sorts of questions in my mind. Has there always been a room here? Who is this person? Does my family know about any of this?

“Well, don’t just stand there,” they said and pointed to the other chair beside them. I wanted to protest due to my damp dress, but when I unconsciously grabbed the hem of my skirt with both hands, I noticed that it was dry. And warm. Like it just came out of a dryer. 

They were muttering that if I just wanted to stand around staring at them, I should just go back. Naturally, I couldn’t. So I rushed to the chair as they suggested. It creaked when I took a seat and it felt like I was sitting on a sheet of plywood. I took care not to put my entire weight on it and leaned to the sides just in case. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” they said drowsily. Their eyes were closed and their head was tilted to one shoulder. 

I said no.

“Good, ‘cause if you want any, you can use that kettle over there,” they said, jutting their chin to a nearby table. It took me a while to find the kettle that they spoke of from where I was sitting, because there were dozens of other items strewn all over it.

Between my uncomfortable sitting position and the curious case of this mysterious inhabitant in our house, it was hard to think of the perfect question to first start off with. But I couldn’t wait for long, or else they would drift off to sleep. Then I would have no one to answer my questions.

“Why are you here?” was what I decided to start off with. 

They opened their eyes and looked at me. They raised an eyebrow as if to remark on how ridiculous my question was. “‘Cause it’s raining outside.”

I scoffed. “That’s not what I meant-”

They got up from the chair and went up to me. It surprised me so much that I stopped myself from continuing. Turns out, it wasn’t me that they were approaching, but a turntable next to my chair. They removed a vinyl record that was placed there and carefully slipped it back into its jacket. Or at least, I think that it was its designated jacket. They went to a shelf and slipped it in between a multitude of other LP jackets stored there. Then they ran their fingertips across the extensive musical library that they had at their disposal. 

“What music do you listen to when it’s raining?” they asked while continuing their search.

“I beg your pardon?”

Without turning, they continued, “The music you listen to when it’s raining outside says a lot about you. So tell me, what songs do you listen to?”

“I… I don’t know,” I answered. I don’t really listen to music when it’s raining. Especially during thunderstorms, when I can’t hear a thing unless I hide under the covers with earphones plugged into my ears. And I do not have the privilege to do that every time it rained, as I had things to do and places to go.

“And to this simple question, you could not provide me an answer?” they asked, before they brightened up and pulled out a jacket from the shelf.

“I don’t listen to music when it’s raining,” I said, feeling a bit irritated by what they said. To this, they shook their head. And they approached me with the jacket that they selected earlier.

“Oh… everyone listens to music and songs when it’s raining.”

I furrowed my brows. If this was going to a philosophical discussion, I was all ready to move on. But before I could respond, they handed me the jacket. It was white and shiny, and when I held it, I could feel the circular object inside. There was nothing on it that indicated the name of the album or even the featured musician. 

It was just a blank.

Two fingers tapped on the stark white, and they pulled my attention to their smiling face. 

“Would you like to know what’s really contained in there?”

My mouth fell open but nothing came out. I tried to train my eyes on them, searching for the right answer to their question. And as they intended, there was none. I could barely see their face and before long, my grip felt loose. “I- There’s nothing here.”

They chuckled. “Oh, you know that I didn’t mean what’s on this. Well, figuratively, they’re the same thing.” They extended their arm to my forehead and gently laid their fingers there. “I meant here.”

In the midst of my mind growing distant from the current situation, I was surprised that I could let out a scoff. But on second thought, I would be out of character not to scoff at such a display. They must’ve taken that as my answer and their interpretation of it must have been ‘yes’. Because from there, I lost all control and felt as if I was warped into a wormhole, where I had my first-hand experience of how the expression ‘at breakneck speed’ came to be.

The voices of my family and friends were calling out to me. It took me a while to realize it and another second to tell myself to turn from the skies to the bright interior.

“Come on inside! You’ll be drenched out there!”

I wasn’t one to repeat the same mistake, well, at least not intentionally. So I made my way towards the hall where all the people are. As I predicted, the warmth was well distributed here amongst us all. And although I wasn’t comfortable socially, at least I wasn’t drenched. 

Although, something was clearly missing. I couldn’t place what it was, really. I tried to remember what it was, but recalling things was a difficult task indeed when you’re surrounded with people who are all demanding your attention.

At that point, I could only recall one thing. Right when the rain started pouring outside, I smiled at our guests around me and asked, “So, what music do you listen to when it’s raining?”