Five Years Ago | MILKCIIZE

First Meeting

Ciize

It was too early in the morning to be dealing with this.

Ciize took a deep breath and gripped her cardboard coffee cup a little tighter. She really needed a refill.

Grace Van Horn was small but very bossy. She smiled like she was nice, but Ciize knew she wasn't. Ciize had met her three summers ago and still had bad dreams about it.

Grace, who was sixty but looked younger, wore pale brown slacks and a lemon-colored silk shirt. Her snow-white hair was styled neatly, and her dark eyes were full of ideas that could drive any construction crew crazy. The remodeling magazines Grace clutched made Ciize want to jump back into her car and speed away.

Even on a good day, working for Grace was tough. Grace loved animals and let them roam freely. Construction crews spent most of their time moving cats, chasing off dogs, shooing chickens, and trying to stop the goats and sheep from eating the equipments.

But now, Ciize couldn't focus on work. Her thoughts kept drifting to Milk and Ciya.

She was married.

And she's really having a hard time dealing with that.

Trying to think about the big building she wanted was hard because all she really wanted was to see her daughter again.

"I'm so excited to get started," Grace said, looking at the gathered Peranza siblings and their crew, waiting in trucks in the driveway. She practically vibrated with eagerness. "It's going to be a wonderfully creative summer."

Someone groaned.

Ciize was really afraid it had been her.

When Grace started talking about being "creative," it was time to be cautious. Since her husband's death ten years ago, Grace had made it her mission to turn her home into a miniature version of the famous mansion in Baguio City, known for its quirky and haunted reputation.

Rumor had it that a fortune teller convinced a wealthy woman that she was being haunted by spirits and that building a grand house would make them happy. The woman kept construction crews working around the clock, believing that as long as construction never ceased, she would be safe. For thirty-eight years, it worked, with constant renovations and additions. The house was filled with doors that opened to nowhere and staircases that led to ceilings.

Ciize understood how they must have felt.

That mansion, originally a modest home, eventually grew to 160 rooms, decorated with expensive materials and treasures. After the woman died, the construction stopped, and the house became a historical monument, attracting thousands of tourists each year.

Grace's place was smaller, but not for lack of trying.

Built over a century ago, the big Victorian house had stood as a testament to its owner's wealth and taste. When the cattle market crashed, the owner sold it to a woman who turned it into a famous brothel, the best one in this locality. Hidden among trees, the Victorian house wore its scandalous reputation with pride. It was far enough from town that the church-going people could pretend it wasn't there, but still close enough for their husbands to visit easily

Over the years, the house changed hands many times, and every owner left their mark on the place. More land was purchased, forests were cleared, and ricefields were planted.

The house itself remained mostly in its original condition until Madam Grace declared herself an amateur architect. Now, new rooms sprouted off each side of the original structure, like a grand old woman wearing an ill-fitting dress. With its bright yellow paint, dark green trim, and white accents, the house looked like an old lady forced to wear garish makeup.