Candle in the Attic Window(86)

Marianne walked into the room between them. They stepped away from Marianne, so that they were still facing each other, as if to ignore her. She wanted to shout, to get their attention, but she was afraid that Carmelita would hear her. The lights in the room flickered and her parents both looked up for a moment.

“We should leave, Renee. Have you seen how upset Marianne is? This is all too much for her.”

“I said no. Carmelita was my daughter, too. I can’t abandon her now.”

“What difference does it make? You ignored her for 17 years and now she’s dead. You never told me. I know you feel guilty, but what about me, Renee? What about Marianne? You never told me you had another daughter. You have no right to make us suffer for what you did.”

“It wasn’t right.” Her father was near tears.

Marianne had never seen her parents cry.

“If I had sponsored her to come to Canada, she could have had better medical treatment. She might never have died. I should have never have left her behind.”

Marianne stepped back out the door. She had a sister. She stumbled back against the wall and a lizard ran up it, a black streak. She’d always hated being an only child. She felt numb. Carmelita was her sister.

She hates me, she realized, remembering the look in Carmelita’s eyes at the kitchen table. She wants my life. Marianne shivered, pressed up against the wall. She sucked in her breath and walked down the steps. They creaked beneath her feet. She saw Yaya look up, rosary in hand. Their eyes met for a moment and she looked away as she walked straight towards the kitchen.

Marianne saw Carmelita seated with the two children, huddled together as if to tell a story.

Marianne ran past. Carmelita could see her, when everyone else could not, but there was someone else who could see her, too. She raced into the kitchen, heart pounding. The crowd parted to let her past, but no one looked at her. It was as if she were invisible. She walked up to Yaya and placed a hand on her shoulder.

The old woman shivered and adjusted her dress. She turned her back to Marianne and walked out of the kitchen to the piano room. Marianne followed.

“Yaya, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I know you can see me. Please, help me.” Marianne slammed her hands against the piano. The keys rang loud and off tune.

Yaya shut the door.

“I’m not a ghost. Please,” Marianne pleaded, but she could not feel the tears sliding down her cheek. “Carmelita’s stolen my life. Please help me. What is this? What’s happening?”

Yaya crossed herself and kissed the cross on her rosary.

“Mangkukulam.” Yaya looked at her in the eye, but did not go any closer.

Marianne searched for the meaning. Witchcraft?

“Come, anak, do not let her see you. She will try to leave before the nine days is over. You cannot let her.”

She opened the door and light flooded back into the dark piano room. She walked straight through the kitchen, the back door, and out the gate into the streets of the town. There were people out, playing card games under florescent lights.

Marianne caught up to the old woman in the street. Yaya was careful not to touch her. She walked a few feet away and did not look at her. Her slippers clacked against the street.

The moon was bright enough to see by, as they moved away from the main road, towards the church. The face was in shadows, ornate and baroque, blackened windows. Marianne felt as if people were watching her from the shadows, but she could see nothing. They kept going until they reached the concrete wall of the cemetery.

The cemetery was not large, but it was full. There was no green, only concrete. Some graves were marked by slabs on the ground, but others were stacked in layers. In between, several larger mausoleums were scattered around. Old bones flashed white in the moonlight.

Marianne stepped back and away from the wilted flowers and graves, keeping to the middle of the narrow path. They walked towards a concrete mausoleum. The door was made of iron bars and, inside, three concrete graves. Her great-grandparents were buried there, Marianne thought. The third ... she shuddered as Yaya tried the door. It swung open noisily.

A dog growled, appearing behind them. Dark fur, yellow eyes, its shoulders hunched low. Marianne saw other dogs moving between the graves.

Yaya held out a hand, said a word and flicked her fingers. The dogs disappeared with a whimper, melting back into the shadows.

“Help me if you can,” Yaya said, as she knelt down slowly in front of the newest grave, her knees clicking with the strain. Marianne pushed against the slab. It opened a fraction.

There were growls from outside. Marianne looked back, hoping the bars would keep the dogs out. She and Yaya kept pushing until the slab was free. Yaya started digging through the coffin. Marianne stared at the girl inside. It was her face that stared back. Carmelita looked as if she were still sleeping. Her body had not yet begun to decay. Her mouth was partly open. Her eyes closed.





Yaya pulled something out from under the pillow beneath the body’s head. It was a rag doll made of black cloth, a dark ribbon tied around its waist, holding several clippings of hair close to the doll’s body.

Marianne knew whose hair it was.

“How do you ... Who was Carmelita’s mother?” Marianne stepped back, seeing, only then, the resemblance between the dead girl and the old woman. Yaya said nothing, as a snake pushed its way out from between the dead girl’s lips. Marianne thought she might be sick.