Safe Spaces

In the Guest Room

The house in Silay City, Negros Occidental, that my father's family grew up with was one of the declared heritage houses in the country. I would always be secretly proud of it, but there was a reason my father kept his hands off this property—such houses carried a deep, dark history.

There was a reason no one could ever make me go back.

When I was seven years old, we visited Negros Occidental to spend our summer vacation. My grandparents wanted to keep me for one night, and since I was too shy to disagree, I left the decision to my parents, who eventually agreed. Papa only had one request: "Never leave Jamaica alone. You know what happens in this house."

Before they left, I asked Papa, "What happens in this house?" But he only replied, "Let's just say there are many people who liked the house, baby, so they want it for themselves."

"So you mean bad people, Papa?" I remember asking. To which he replied, "So always stay close to Nanay, okay? Don't loiter."

Nanay and Tatay, my grandparents, treated me well. In fact, I was spoiled to bits and was treated like a princess. I was served my favorite cornsilog (corned beef, garlic rice, and sunny side eggs) for breakfast and was allowed to watch my favorite Barbie movie while eating Tatay's delicious beef brisket during lunch. Mid-afternoon, Nanay cradled me while I was on the hammock, and she fanned me until I fell asleep. When I woke up, they let me play with other kids in their front yard. At dinner, we had Nanay's special stewed beef.

When we were about to sleep, at around eight in the evening, Nanay led me upstairs. It was then that I realized that we only stayed on the first floor the whole day, so I bugged her what was on the second floor. Nanay just replied, "Just rooms, Jamaica." But when I looked around, there was a chained room at the right wing, which was the only room there. Other bedrooms seemed to be on the left side.

"What's on that door, Nanay?" I asked.

She held me tight and firmly replied, "That's for guests, Jamaica. Never disturb them."

"So a guest room?"

She nodded and then led me to their bedroom. I turned back to take a glimpse of the room again, but Nanay held the sides of my head to stop me from doing so.

Nanay hummed me to sleep, and so I did. But I wasn't sure how many hours had passed when I woke up. Nanay and Tatay weren't beside me, though I heard them talking with each other downstairs. I looked at the clock; it was past eleven.

I tried to go back to sleep, but I heard Mama and Papa's voice. So I got up and peeked at the door, hoping to hear them downstairs with my grandparents, when I realized their voices were coming from the guest room. Although Nanay warned me to stay away from there, I still proceeded, thinking that Mama and Papa were no guests in this house.

I slowly walked toward it. The chain and lock were no longer there. "Mama? Papa?" I whispered. Behind the door, I heard them say, "Come in."

Gently, I pushed the door. When it creaked, I heard Tatay calling me and his loud steps rushing upstairs like there was some urgency. But before I saw him, I was already pulled inside.

Darkness—I could remember how dark and cold the room was. The bed was by the corner, and the two windows that were decorated with lace white curtains were open.

Then, the lights flickered. In each flicker, I saw images of dying people. A dead man tied on the bed. Another dead body thrown outside the window. Countless bodies decapitated. Women and children screaming and being killed. These images played right in front of my eyes as if they were scenes in a film roll.

I screamed and tried getting out of the room, but the door wouldn't open. There was banging on the other side. I heard Nanay and Tatay cry my name over and over.

But the lights suddenly went out. I kept on begging my grandparents to help me open the door.

Then I felt a chilling, soft blow by my ear. I didn't want to turn back, but circumstances forced me to when I realized I was thumping on hardwood. The door was already gone.

When the lights came back, they were all staring at me. Angry. Vengeful.

I might have fainted. I couldn't remember. But when I woke up, my father was furious, though I could sense that he was trying to control his temper. Nanay was crying. Tatay was just smoking a cigarette.

When Nanay saw me staring at them, Papa shut his mouth, leaned on the wall, and placed his palms on his face. Nanay, on the other hand, walked toward me and led me to the hammock. "Jamaica," she whispered as she tucked hair strands behind my ear. "Your father will bring you home now."

I was relieved, but when I remembered what happened, I immediately clung to Nanay as if I were still inside the room and wept. "'Nay, there were dead people inside the guest room. I saw them."

She just smiled. "What can we do but stay here? Just as long as we stay away and never bother the guests, we're safe."

I never understood what Nanay said and why they would still stay amid what I saw.

Her words resonated within me until we returned to our house in Manila. I was sent to a doctor to do sessions of therapy, as I was never the same after the incident. I was scared to sleep alone, easily triggered by hardwood walls and chained doors.

A few months after, Papa sat with me and explained that our family was liable for these guests—guests who were not given the chance to leave the room. I learned that the first owners of the house, our ancestors, pretended to befriend enemies of their faction and lured them into the guest room during the nineteen hundreds, only to torture and kill them. Years had passed, but the room stayed cursed; although numerous priests have attempted to drive them away, their angry souls decided to remain. In my father's own words, "No matter how clean the next future generation is, it does not dismiss the fact that our bloodline was responsible for the bloodshed that happened inside that room."

That alone was enough to haunt me forever.