April 15, 2008
The moving truck had barely rumbled away, its rumble fading into the distance, when Carina found herself wandering toward the back of the new house. Her small sneakers tapped softly on the unfamiliar hardwood floors as she explored. The house smelled of fresh paint and dust, a far cry from the suburban warmth of their home back in Pennsylvania. Everything here felt strange—the walls were taller, the light seemed dimmer, and the silence was heavier, almost oppressive.
She reached the kitchen, where large glass doors revealed a view of the backyard. Beyond the patch of unkempt grass and the old wooden fence stretched the field—a vast expanse of green that seemed to go on forever, broken only by the occasional tree or patch of wildflowers. Carina pressed her nose to the cool glass, her breath leaving small, foggy circles.
“Mom?” she called, not turning away from the view.
“Yes, sweetie?” Her mother’s voice drifted from the living room, where boxes were still piled high.
“Why’d we move here again?”
There was a pause, then the sound of footsteps approaching. Her mother appeared behind her, wiping her hands on a towel. “You know why, Carina. Daddy’s new job, remember? It’s a big opportunity for him.”
Carina frowned. She didn’t like that answer any more now than she had when they first told her. Back in Pennsylvania, she had friends, a big playground, and a house with a tree in the front yard. Here, in this rural part of Cebu, Philippines, there was just… nothing.
“It’s so quiet,” she murmured.
Her mother ruffled her hair. “You’ll get used to it. It’s peaceful, don’t you think? A fresh start.”
Carina didn’t answer. She just stared at the field.
That afternoon, curiosity got the better of her. While her parents were busy unpacking, Carina slipped outside. The warm, humid air of the Philippines greeted her, carrying the scent of earth and grass. She walked barefoot across the soft, damp ground, her steps hesitant as she approached the wooden fence.
Beyond it, the field looked even larger, a sea of green stretching into the horizon. The tall grass swayed gently in the breeze, and small yellow flowers dotted the landscape. She could hear the faint chirping of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves. But beneath those sounds, something else caught her attention—a faint hum, almost too soft to notice.
Carina tilted her head, listening. It wasn’t a bird, and it wasn’t the wind. It was deeper, almost like a melody, but strange and uneven.
“Hello?” she called out, her voice barely above a whisper.
The field didn’t respond, of course, but the hum seemed to grow louder for a moment, pulsing like a heartbeat before fading back into the background.
Carina shivered, though the air was warm. She backed away from the fence and hurried back inside, her heart pounding.
That night, Carina lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her room was on the second floor, and her window faced the field. Moonlight streamed through the thin curtains, casting faint patterns on the walls.
The hum was back.
It was louder now, though still soft, like it was coming from inside her head rather than outside. Carina pulled the covers up to her chin and glanced at the window. The field lay cloaked in darkness, but the faint outline of the tall grass and distant trees was visible under the moonlight.
Then she saw it.
At first, she thought it was a trick of the shadows—just the swaying of the grass or the movement of a branch. But as she focused, her breath catching in her throat, she realized it wasn’t moving with the wind.
There, standing at the edge of the field, was a figure.
Carina’s heart raced. The figure was tall and impossibly thin, its edges blurry and indistinct, like it was more shadow than substance. It stood perfectly still, facing her window.
She sat up slowly, her small hands clutching the blanket. From her bed, the figure was little more than a dark shape, but she could feel its presence, heavy and unnerving.
“Who are you?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
The hum deepened, vibrating in her chest. It was as if the figure had heard her, though it didn’t move. For a moment, the hum became clearer, almost like words:
Carina.
She gasped, scrambling out of bed and backing away from the window. Her feet hit the cool floor, and she almost tripped over the edge of the rug. When she dared to look again, the figure was gone.
Her breath came in short gasps as she stared out at the empty field. The grass swayed gently in the breeze, undisturbed.
Carina didn’t sleep that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the figure, its long arms stretching toward the glass. She wanted to tell her parents, but something held her back—a quiet, nagging feeling that they wouldn’t believe her.
The next morning, Carina was unusually quiet at breakfast. Her parents didn’t seem to notice; they were busy talking about their plans for the day. Her father mentioned meeting his new coworkers, while her mother talked about arranging the furniture.
“What about you, sweetie?” her mom asked. “How are you liking the new house?”
Carina hesitated, her fork hovering over her plate. “It’s okay.”
Her father smiled. “You’ll grow to love it. There’s so much space to explore! Maybe you’ll even make some new friends.”
Carina didn’t respond. She glanced out the kitchen window toward the field, half-expecting to see the figure again. But the field looked empty, just as it had during the day.
Later, when her parents were busy, she found herself drawn back to her bedroom. The window faced the field, and despite the fear that lingered in her chest, she couldn’t stop herself from looking.
The field was still, bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. But as Carina stared, a feeling of unease settled over her. The hum was back, faint but persistent. She pressed her ear to the glass, trying to pinpoint its source, but it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, Carina thought she saw movement again. This time, it was farther away, deeper in the field.
Her heart raced as she watched, her eyes straining against the growing darkness. The figure was there, its outline barely visible among the tall grass. It didn’t move toward her, but she could feel its gaze, heavy and unblinking.
The hum grew louder, vibrating in her chest like an unspoken word.
“Go away,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The figure tilted its head slowly, as if considering her request. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it melted into the shadows, leaving the field empty once more.
Carina stood frozen by the window, her breath shallow. The hum faded, leaving only the sound of crickets and the rustling of leaves.
For the first time, she wondered if moving here had been a mistake.
****