Safe Spaces

In the Storage Room

In our house, we have a small storage room located below the stairs. When I asked Papa why they didn't choose to build an attic, he explained that the Philippines almost experiences constant temperature throughout the year, unlike other countries with four seasons; thus, others need extra insulation, which high ceilings—and, therefore, attics—can provide. Basements, on the other hand, might be troublesome during heavy rains. While he also mentioned the cost of maintenance, his emphasis was on this: "And they're the rooms evil spirits mostly hide."

So I thought ours was immune to them. For a long time, I didn't care about monsters, demons, and ghosts, believing that they wouldn't be able to harm me not only because our house was blessed but also because there were no rooms where they could stay.

One day, my brother's friends stayed overnight at our house. I was a curious little kid, so when I heard whispers in his room, I quietly listened behind the door. One of his friends was telling a story about a certain Nenita. He continued, "Nenita was an odd woman who wore a black veil all the time. People would often see her in dark places, holding a rosary, uttering incomprehensible words, not prayers, as if she were cursing someone or summoning a demon. She was blamed for the plague in the nineteenth century just because public officials needed someone to blame, and was labeled a witch, which she denied until she was captured and burned alive."

"That's shitty, man," I heard my brother say.

"I know. Her vengeful spirit still lurks in dark places, they say."

"That's not a scary story," another one inside the room complained. "Next!"

"I'm not yet done," the speaker interrupted. "You see, no one ever saw Nenita's face. They just knew it was her because of the black veil. Even when she was burned alive, it was said that a muslin cloth covered her whole head that was still covered by her veil."

"Then what's scary about it?"

"Those who have claimed to encounter Nenita said that they would feel something unnatural and chilling until they see a figure wearing a black veil standing behind them. And then it exposes its face, and its face is what you imagined it to be."

"So what's scary about that?"

"The wilder your imagination is, the scarier she will be."

"Then simple," another voice commented. "I'll imagine Chris Evans instead."

They all laughed.

Regretting that I even bothered to listen, I went inside my parents' room and squished myself in between them. Mama was deeply asleep, while Papa was still half-awake. "What's wrong, Alisa?" he asked.

I told Nenita's story and apologized for eavesdropping. Papa softly giggled, trying not to wake Mama. "You know how ghosts become true?" he asked. "When you think of them over and over until their physical features become distinct in your mind. So try not to think of them. Because when you do, you wish for them to come for you."

What Papa said made things worse, I guess, as the next day, I kept on thinking about Nenita. And whenever I did, I would slap my cheeks and try replacing my image of her with happy thoughts.

Eventually, because of my errands and tasks, I had forgotten about her—and so I thought.

It was around August, late at night, when my classmate Janina asked if anyone had an old scrabble set. She was willing to buy it. I knew I had one before, which I kept in a box, so I presented to give her mine since I wasn't using it anyway.

I looked for it under my bed, but the box wasn't there anymore. Then I remembered Mama included this box containing the toys I rarely use inside the storage room. Just as when I was about to lie, Janina privately messaged: Thanks! It's for my deaf cousin. I really want us to get to know each other and bond, so this will greatly help. You're amazing, Alisa!

I felt guilty for even thinking of lying, so I sighed, went downstairs, and opened the lights. Then, I moved the sofa that was blocking the storage room.

For a clearer visualization, it is only about seven feet long, four feet wide, and four feet tall. It was so small that I had to bend down to enter. We often place stuff that we don't use at the moment but will be used later, such as holiday decorations and construction supplies; undamaged ornaments that were replaced just because my mom likes to, such as paintings and framed cross-stitches; or anything that was unnecessary to show but too precious to throw—just like my unused scrabble set.

I searched for the switch. But even before I could touch it, it suddenly dawned on me—I was alone. I was alone inside the dark, quiet storage room.

Images of a black-veiled woman appeared in my mind. Next was a vision of a pale-skinned creature with yellow eyes and a small black pupil in the middle. No nose. Sharp teeth. Black hair that reached its shoulders.

I, afraid and paranoid, tried to push the door. Unfortunately, it did not open.

I screamed for Mama, Papa, and Kuya. For help. No one came.

The lights flickered.

When it stopped, there was already a black-veiled woman in the corner.

No voice came out. I just froze. We were both silent.

Then . . . darkness.

When the lights opened, I felt a chilling sensation behind me. When I looked back, it was staring back at me—a pale-skinned creature but with black hair that reached its shoulders, a small black pupil in the middle of its yellow eyes. It had no nose, but I heard it breathe.

And when it smiled, I saw its sharp teeth.

The next thing I know, I was already on the sofa, with Papa and Mama beside me. They explained how they kept looking for me when they didn't see me on my bed and were horrified to see me inside the storage room, sleeping.

I told them what I saw, but they both told me I must have hallucinated images of this Nenita. For my sake, however, the space that was once the storage room had been turned to a wall. What they didn't know was I see "Nenita" every time, anywhere . . . whenever I think of her.

My brother, unfortunately, believed me. His "Nenita" was a bald, one-eyed male, with grimy teeth and a body full of scratches.

So next time you try to read and listen to ghost stories, try not to visualize them. They might come for you.