LITERARY: “I Made the Mistake of Bringing My Younger Sister to Wake” By: Erica G. Ildefonso

 

“I Made the Mistake of Bringing My Younger Sister to Wake”

By: Erica G. Ildefonso

 

Eda had always been what other people deemed as queer. Her inclination to things that were not normally devoted by children her age was, perhaps, what compelled my parents to move her from traditional set-up to homeschooling. One might think she was bullied at school but actually, it was the other way around (the history of which I was not designed to disclose at this moment).

 

It was not patent at first, her strange disposition I meant, if not for the drawings taped across her room. From afar, it seemed child-like, the typical scribble of different crayons; a play of colors. Fun, right? But with a keen eye, you would have your stomach churned at the sight of the pictures… especially if you knew the stories behind them.

 

It was late October; the exact date had been pushed from the back of my mind but the queer events lingered still very vividly. Ana, my ex-churchmate, lost his father to COVID-19. The condition was made worse by his existing lung disease, and yet, quite absurdly, the blame was put on her. It was an ongoing belief of her family that her abjuration of the Christian faith had caused God’s wrath to dwell in their home; her father merely being the “sacrificial lamb.” Although a professed agnostic, the guilt that seeped through her heart gave credence to their preposterous convictions.

 

“Can you come later? It will be his last night.” I first balked at her request because I was alone to look after Eda that night (as my parents happened to be away on holiday) but eventually, I assented. I decided to let my sister tag along.

 

I called her name with the hope of summoning her downstairs, but I knew she was in her little bubble, drawing again on that sultry afternoon. I remembered knocking thrice at her door because she kept reminding us that two knocks were of the devils – and I and my parents being accustomed to her odd beliefs – just played along. When the door swung open, I was taken aback by her blank stare.

 

“Eda?”

 

She didn’t respond. Her glare was deadpan, almost penetrating me. That was when I noticed she was not actually looking at me but behind my shoulder. I felt my hair turn up. Maybe it was my imagination, maybe not, but I sensed an air on my back that swiftly passed by.

 

I called her again. This time, she reverted her gaze towards me as if she came back to her senses. With no uttered words, she hugged me tightly. Thinking it was just a prank she was trying to pull, I quickly brushed it off my mind.

 

It was already evening when we arrived at Ana’s house. The front porch was besieged with eight to ten people all dressed in white and there, stood before them a brown casket with its lid unlatched. At first glance, one would immediately feel the mourning of the bereaved members. My mind, however, was plagued with uneasiness I could not fathom. Maybe, it was because of the fact that we were attending a vigil and there was actually a dead body with us, or perhaps it was their plaintive cries that haunted my mind.

 

My sister, back in her old cheery self, jumped in joy the moment her eyes fell upon Ana who walked towards us.

 

“Hello there, little girl.” She first raised her eyebrows at me in recognition and then gave Eda a small pat. Although she tried smiling, she failed to conceal the wretch due to her father’s demise. How could she even grieve when they deprived her of the right to do so? As her emotion continued to betray her, I ushered ourselves in her room where we could talk in private.

 

I paid respect to the veiled woman in the living room. She only nodded at me because her eyes were fixed on Ana, the silent resentment emanating from her demanded to be felt. My friend’s gaze remained downcast, refusing to meet her mother’s. The second we were in the room, her arms twined around me. There were no tears that fell on my shoulder – to my surprise – only a heavy sigh.

 

“It’s not your fault, Ana,” I made sure I said it with much assurance enough to drown their indignation.

 

That started her off and she began rambling about her family again. Honestly, throughout the conversation, I could only make out one or two from what she was saying because my focus completely drifted on my sister. She was facing the window with her back on us. At first, I just let her with whatever she was looking at but as minutes passed by and I realized she was barely moving, I quickly moved towards her and pulled her aside. Ana was startled by what I did but just like me, she was dumbfounded to see my sister crying, albeit strange for no sound or whimper could be heard.

 

There was something chilling in her muted cries like a turmoil one would expect to explode but wouldn’t… or 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵.

 

What was even more terrifying was her blank stare at Ana even if I tried consoling her.

“Eda, what happened?” I had my hands gripped on her shoulder.

 

Just like earlier, she hugged me tightly and nuzzled into my neck. This time, she whispered, “Ate, I want to go home.”

 

Ana, hearing what Eda said, quickly accompanied us back on the porch. We bid goodbye to the family as I slid a ‘sorry’ to Ana. I promised to return the following day when my parents would come home from their trip.

 

The ride back to our house was silent. Eda quickly fell asleep beside me and only woke up when we arrived home. She stomped off to her room as I prepared our dinner. Once finished, I called on to her. There was no response.

 

I shouted once more. Deafening silence.

 

With my heart almost jumping out of my chest, I hurried to her room and was surprised to see it ajar. My sister was on the floor with a crayon in her hand. I heaved a sigh. She raised her head as she sensed my presence.

 

“Dinner’s ready,” I said with a smile. She smiled back cheerfully, showing her teeth. I admit that somehow eased my mind.

 

Without waiting for me, she rushed downstairs. I didn’t know if it was because of the nagging anxiety I felt since earlier or the queer coldness in her room that kept me still. There was an ongoing question in my head; Why could I not move my feet? Seconds passed and I felt a flat sheet touch my legs. It triggered my cortisol level to rise, yet, in naivety, I picked it up.

God, I wished I didn’t.

 

Ever since she was three years old, she had always been fascinated with drawing queer things. It seemed like an innocent hobby, right? The kind of hobby a child would eventually outgrow as years wore on: To her, it never did.

 

Drawn across the paper were three girls in a sort of a room. It didn’t take me long to realize it resembled my friend’s room. On a corner, there was a black figure, a humanoid for I could discern a face… with eyes sticking out (or was it crying?) and a mouth stretched into a frown. Its hands were scratching… on the window. It was ambiguous whether it was sad or enraged (for its eyebrows were furrowed). However, the name written in bright red colors at the top of it made me think it was the latter.

 

Ana.

 

Thoughts were racing in my head but all I could utter was, “God.”

 

Pumped up with adrenaline, I hastened back down only to meet my sister standing beside the stair. Again, she had that blank look. At me. Or not.

 

I took a step down, not breaking my contact with her. She, however, remained looking past me as if something was trailing behind. I felt my hands sweat in grave danger I could only sense and not ascertain. You know that sudden tightness in your stomach every time you’re presented with something chilling? That was what I felt. Although now, I didn’t know what was so chilling about my sister or the air or the gap between the two of us.

 

My hand found its way on her shoulder. “Eda?”

 

The utterance of her name broke the inconceivable energy that seemed to govern her. “Ate, sleep.”

 

Two words. Two words and we marched upstairs in her room. She convinced me to sleep with her tonight. I, however, pulled her to my room to which she had no protest. Maybe we were just tired and drowsy. Right. I tried duping myself into thinking the queer events from earlier until now were nothing but a mere coincidence.

 

With my sister beside me in bed, I could not force myself to shut my eyes. I conceded in vain the uneasiness in my own room. There was a besetting feeling that someone was looking at us and it made me jump out of my skin.

 

“Ate.”

 

Eda, perhaps sensing my agitation, turned her head slightly towards me, her eyes half-closed. “I can’t sleep,” she said as she nudged towards me and buried her neck in my chest. Her warm body made me sleepy. Minutes passed and I could feel myself dozing off.

It could have been a successful slumber if not for the odd sound that slightly awoken me. My sister, in her soft voice, was murmuring something I could not comprehend. I didn’t bulge, though it scared me out of my wits, and just listened to whatever she was saying.

 

“Hell is real,” were the words that spewed out from Eda. I didn’t move. Or perhaps, I couldn’t. “Ana’s father told me.”

 

Eda had always been what other people deemed as queer. But maybe, I was too.

In my hypnopompic state, I heard two knocks at the door.