Safe Spaces

In the Living Room

Living in this house for more than two decades assured me it was the safest place. Then five years ago, my boyfriend Tristan—now my fiancé—and my gray Siberian cat Goyo joined me. Nothing had changed.

But the other day was different.

I came home from work, sweaty and exhausted from beating the deadlines and commuting. Goyo seemed to wait for a caress, so I did before I placed my shoulder bag on the center table and took my shoes off so I could rest on the sofa. I fell asleep immediately.

At around nine in the evening, I felt Tristan's kiss on my cheek. "You up?" he asked. But because I was dead tired, I softly mumbled "hmm" and shifted positions. I thought it was sweet of him to put my head on his lap so I could sleep better.

It was not long before we heard Goyo's continuous purr. I ignored it at first, thinking it was nothing. But I had to get up when it suddenly—violently and loudly—cried, its tail puffed and rigidly extended. It ran toward the entrance and continued to purr; its yellow eyes locked in on me.

"What is wrong with you?" I asked, walking toward Goyo. I stopped midway, beside the center table, since I just heard my phone beeped. When I checked that it came from Tristan, my heart raced.

I did not finish reading. I ran outside, with my phone in my hand; Goyo followed. No, I did not look back.

Outside, now with Goyo in my arms, I read Tristan's complete message: I'm coming home, sweetie. The meeting was so long, sorry. I have dinner with me! For you and Goyo. Stay safe. I love you!

I waited for Tristan's car at the end of the street. Did something happen? Was it Tristan's soul? But come to think of it, I did not see it was Tristan; I just assumed that it was him.

When I saw his car, I gave a sigh of relief and hurriedly stopped him. Frantic and trembling, I explained to him what had happened. We decided to book a hotel room that night and then get some clothes the morning after to sleep in his sister's house for the whole week. We were not able to sleep soundly during these times, as we spent nights looking for a medium and an investigator who were willing to help us figure out what had happened.

Today, after a medium and an investigator went to my house—the house I have been living in for twenty-eight years—we found out that the house and lot happened to be owned by a man whose wife left him with a glass of water and a note:

Maybe after 30 years, but that wouldn't happen.

So don't wait for me.

Apparently, this man died of poisoning.

The investigator found out that the previous owners of the house apparently sold it to my parents after the same thing happened to them.

On the other hand, the medium assured us that this spirit returns after thirty years, but they also told us that they were not sure if it would leave if we decided to stay.