An Unexpected Meeting in the Woods & Other Flash Fiction

The Manor

   I'm bored beyond belief. Must I wait for my parents to finish their meandering chat with old friends? I feel like I've been sitting here for hours. I can't handle their conversations. I need to do something now! Looking at the vast, Baguio Country Club golf course and the long path below the deck from which I am seated, I recognize that a walk would do me good; I will make my own fun in these hectares of land—surely there is something out there to capture my attention: maybe some plants & animals, or hopefully, a fellow kid wandering about? I tell mom of my plans to depart and explore the area. She lets me go but tells me to come back after 20 minutes or so (which is so her). She's such a fricking worrywart.

   I stroll towards the wooden stairs leading directly down to the path. Impatient, I jump over the steps. Mama would freak out if she saw me do that, but it's always more fun to go down the stairs that way... The start of the concrete trail is decorated with the most colorful flowers—red, purple, yellow, and white. I walk. The winding path has now become straight and I am greeted with a new obstacle: Cement stairs that require huge steps (for someone small like me though). So, a long way down I go, and slowly, one at a time, I plant my feet on each step. The cold wind, harsh and unrelenting, smacks my face and causes me to wobble every now and then. Still, the wind is nothing to me! I reach the end. Amidst cloudy skies, the view is that of a giant terrace overlooking lush vegetation, and to my right is an event space with towering doors as entrances.

   I am inclined to go further down the path but I hear faint shouting from inside this giant event room: "Please stop! I won't tell anyone. I promise."

   Going against my instincts, I open the door slightly. The inside is dimly lit, empty or so it seems. I focus on the sound of crying, and I come upon the most unsightly view: In brown cargo shorts, a kid that looks about my age – maybe 12—streaks of a darker brown cover the backside of her shorts and legs; piss is leaking down to her bare feet as well.

   I see the reason why: The person she shouted at beggingly—a middle-aged man, hunched, baring his teeth like a hyena—wearing a Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and shutter shades. His left-hand grips a piece of wood, long and thick. He walks up to the quivering girl.

   "Please don't! I pinky promise I won't snitch. Mama!!!" she shouts again.

   He is silent.

   Smack! Thud! She falls to the floor.

   He hits her head over and over. Crack! Fragments of brain mixed with fragments of skull dribble down from what's left of her crown and onto the plywood flooring. Her once pretty face is no longer distinguishable. He probably hit her a hundred times in the noggin. I cannot look away. I am possessed. "What could I have even done to stop this?" I ask myself repeatedly.

   Out of nowhere, he turns his gaze towards me and lowers his shades. His eyes meet mine—eyes like bullets coming at you, and he grins.

   "Now, who are you, little man?"

   "Pakshet!" I scream.

   I run up the concrete stairs. I can feel his breath on my neck. I speed all the way back up to the beginning of the path, fast as The Flash. I reach my parents and panting, I yell out, "Dad, I want to get out of here, please!"

   "We were about done anyway son. Why did you come blazing up here?"

   "I just want to go home. Please could we just go now!"

   "Okay, son."

   "Kid must've thought he saw a ghost. The imagination on this guy..." he says to his friends, laughing.

   Papa drives us all the way back to The Manor (my safe place—heavily guarded—no one could possibly break in). We enter our room, and I decide to sleep it off. I want to forget all of that. It must've been some illusion, right? Some daydream or my very untempered "imagination" like dad joked. That couldn't have happened.

   Ding Dong!

   I wake up.

   "That's got to be room service. We got you some Bolognese, anak. Could you kindly open the door? Thank you," Mom instructs.

   I open the door.

   "Now, who are you, little man?" he asks, voice hushed.

   I see his plastic smile.

   THE END.