Safe Spaces

In the Garage

Whenever asked about fears, I always say "anything that reflects and my cousin Isha."

Including mirrors? Very much yes. Water? As long as I do not see my reflection, I'm okay with it. And then I proceed to tell my story, which happened when I was eight years old.

My cousin Isha and I were very close when we were kids. We would often play with our toys in my room when she would go with Uncle and Auntie—my godmother and Dad's sister—to visit us every weekend. They would park their car in the garage, beside Dad's motorcycle.

During one visit, however, I felt something off with Isha; she seemed to be different.

Although she emitted this intimidating aura that day, I still invited her to my room to play, but she only looked at me for a long time before saying a sharp no. Hurt, I locked myself in my room, asking myself if I did something that disappointed her.

It was the same in the next few weeks. She became a cold, distant kid who would stare at me from her place and then smile eerily. I found this really uncomfortable, so I avoided her since then. Dad acknowledged my observations, but he just concluded, "Maybe Isha just don't feel well today," with Mom adding, "Isha might have outgrown playing already."

A day before they migrated to Australia, our family carried out a farewell party for them. My other cousins were there too, though they were very much older than me. I felt out of place, so I decided to go outside of our house, where I found Isha in the garage. She was talking to herself in front of the car's semi-tinted window.

"And what can you do? Go out?" I heard her whisper.

"Hi, Isha," I greeted. "Who are you talking to?"

She looked back at me, raised a brow, and replied, "Nothing. Do you want to play?"

I was surprised that she asked me that, but more surprised that when she looked back, I still saw her face on the car's window.

"Isha! Your—" I pointed at her reflection.

Then it looked back, just as when our parents came out of our house. Maybe Auntie heard her, so she told Isha, "No more play, darling. You should've done that a while ago. We're now leaving."

I ran toward Dad and gripped his shirt tight. I was about to tell him what happened when I saw Isha glaring at me; it made me so afraid that I was unable to speak.

She sat in the backseat of the car, while Uncle and Auntie sat in the driver's and passenger's seats, respectively. Mom went back to the house to accommodate other relatives, while Dad opened the garage gate.

I was just there, waiting for Dad. I lifted my head to take a last glimpse at Isha, but what I saw horrified me—my reflection on Isha's tinted window had no head.

And just as I thought it was over, Isha bumped her head on the window, her nose and mouth slowly sliding onto it. Then, she smiled uncannily—this image has been tattooed on my mind ever since.

What bothered me most was, as their car moved away from our garage, I also saw her from the tinted backseat window. She seemed to be crying for help.

Dad listened to me as I shared everything I witnessed, but both of my parents did not believe me. They even called Auntie and asked how Isha was doing in Australia, and I heard Auntie say through the speakers, "She's doing very fine. She has made a few friends."

Ten years have passed. Auntie still calls, but I never heard her talk about Isha, or maybe I was somewhere else whenever she did. Now we have our own car parked in our garage, but every time I try to look at it, I still see myself headless, though others would not.

Good news is, nothing bad has happened to me yet.

Bad news is, I heard that Isha and her family will be visiting us next month.