Carina's POV
The years in Manila had been long and unkind. I forced myself to adapt, to live a life I thought was normal. I had a husband—a fleeting attempt to fill the void. But he left, chasing after something I couldn’t give him. I didn’t cry when he told me. I didn’t plead for him to stay.
Instead, I packed my bags and went home.
The trip back to Cebu was quiet. The memories I had buried clawed their way to the surface with every mile closer I got. The fields I once loved flashed in my mind, along with the faces of my parents and... him.
When the bus stopped in front of the road leading to our old house, I hesitated. The sky was gray, heavy with clouds that threatened rain, the air thick with the scent of damp earth. I dragged my luggage behind me as I walked the familiar path, the crunch of gravel under my shoes feeling too loud in the eerie silence of the countryside.
Our house came into view, but something was wrong.
It wasn’t ours anymore.
The fence was new, the paint a pristine white that gleamed against the darkening sky. The garden my mother loved was overgrown, and yet there was a strange order to the chaos, as though someone had let it thrive deliberately.
A man came out of the smaller caretaker’s hut nearby. He was thin, in his 60s maybe, with a weathered face and kind eyes. He seemed startled to see me.
“Ma’am, can I help you?” he asked in a thick Cebuano accent.
“I—” My voice faltered. “This was my home. I used to live here. My parents—”
Recognition dawned on his face. “Ah, ikaw si Carina!” he exclaimed. “You’re the daughter. Your parents... they were good people. I’m sorry for what happened to them.”
I nodded stiffly, unable to say more.
“The house...” I gestured toward it.
“It was sold,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “A wealthy man bought it. Strange fellow, really. Doesn’t live here much. Just visits sometimes.”
“Do you know him?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
The caretaker squinted as though recalling a memory. “Tall man. Pale, like an albino. Long white hair, white eyelashes. Skin like... like snow. But his eyes, they’re something else. Like gray storm clouds. Late 20s, maybe early 30s.”
The air rushed out of my lungs. My vision swam.
“Ma’am? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lied, clutching my suitcase tighter. “Do you think... could I stay here for a night or two? Just to see the place again?”
He hesitated, but then nodded. “The guest room in my hut is free. You’re welcome to stay there.”
I thanked him quietly and followed him to the small, cozy space behind the main house.
****
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
The guest room was simple, with a single bed and a window overlooking the fields. I left the curtains open, letting the faint glow of the moonlight seep in. The shadows danced across the walls, and I tried not to let my mind wander to old fears.
But I couldn’t ignore the pull.
The house loomed in the distance, silent and dark. I found myself staring at it for far too long, the weight of the caretaker’s words pressing down on me.
Long white hair. White eyelashes. Skin like snow.
I clenched my fists, forcing myself to breathe. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. I had left that part of my life behind.
And yet, in the deepest part of me, I knew.
I could almost feel the weight of his gaze, the way he used to watch me from the corners of my room. The way his touch lingered like frost on my skin.
The memories I had buried so carefully rose to the surface, relentless and unyielding. The shadow that wasn’t a shadow. The thing that had whispered my name in the dark, kissed me, held me, loved me.
I shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around me.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog howled, its mournful cry cutting through the silence of the night. The wind picked up, rattling the windows. I forced my eyes shut, willing sleep to come.
But deep down, I knew I wouldn’t rest tonight.
And outside, beyond the fields, something was waiting.
I woke with a start.
Something cold and heavy wrapped around my leg. My chest tightened as the dim moonlight through the window cast pale streaks across the room. Slowly, I turned my gaze downward.
A pale arm.
The hand was long, almost too long, its fingers like spindly branches gripping my ankle. My throat constricted as I traced the limb to its owner.
At the foot of my bed, a figure crouched low, its back hunched, head hanging down, hair falling in a silken white curtain over its face. It was still, like a predator waiting to pounce.
“Who...” My voice was barely a whisper, quivering as I fought the panic rising in my chest.
The figure stirred.
The hair shifted, and the head tilted upward. Slowly, agonizingly slow, it raised its face to meet my gaze.
And I saw it.
The face was grotesque, warped and unnatural, as though human features had been stretched and twisted into something monstrous. Its mouth was impossibly wide, jagged teeth gleaming like shards of ice. The eyes—oh, God, the eyes—those same storm-gray eyes stared into mine, glowing faintly in the dark, ancient and unrelenting.
A sound like a low growl escaped its throat, vibrating through the air.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t scream.
The arm tightened around my leg, pulling me down slightly. My nails dug into the mattress as I tried to shift away, but the grip was unyielding.
“Why did you leave?” The voice was a rasp, guttural and laced with something almost... mournful.
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came.
It leaned closer, and I could see its chest rising and falling, the sharp contrast of its pale, patchy skin against the dark shadows around it.
And then, there was a knock.
A loud, sharp knock on the door that shattered the suffocating silence.
My eyes snapped open.
The room was empty.
I sat up, gasping for air, my body drenched in sweat. My leg felt cold, almost numb, but there was nothing there. No arm. No figure.
Just me, alone in the room.
The knock came again, more insistent this time.
I threw off the blanket and stumbled to the door, my legs trembling beneath me. With shaking hands, I turned the knob and opened it.
The caretaker stood there, holding a lantern that cast flickering shadows across his face.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked, his brows furrowed with concern. “I heard noises from your room.”
I stared at him, my mind still reeling from what I had seen—or thought I had seen.
“I... I’m fine,” I managed to say, though my voice sounded far away. “Just a bad dream.”
He nodded slowly, though his eyes lingered on me for a moment longer. “If you need anything, just call. It’s a stormy night, and these old houses can feel strange.”
I nodded, closing the door as he turned to leave.
But as I leaned against the door, trying to calm my racing heart, I couldn’t shake the feeling that what I saw wasn’t just a dream.
Somewhere in the shadows, he was watching. Waiting.
*****