Decay In Her Bones

CHAPTER 16

Most people often say that we, although unconsciously, create our own fears. It was also said that only our own selves can counteract that. We can then synthesize that fear can be born out of unpleasant stimulus that may have resulted to the triggering of an unknown reaction; for instance, fear. John Locke's tabula rasa theory tells us that we are initially like blank sheets of paper which we constantly write on as we gain experience over time. It is probable that fear is one of those words that we write down on our own piece of paper, and that it is uniquely different from other's interpretation of the word. For instance, a person may not know that he fears rats until he sees one and finds out that his encounter with the rodent displeases him. Thus, he now develops a certain fear which originally was not present. The way one reacts to fear differs from one person to another. I may be afraid of frogs but there is a ninety-nine point nine percent possibility that it is not true to you. Also, the degree of fear depends on our individuality. We can both be afraid of frogs but there it is likewise probable that our reactions will differ. In Bobby's case, he had just written the word 'ghosts' under the column of 'fear' in his tabula rasa form. It was just something that had happened recently, and he was still trying to figure out the degree to which he fears (the ghost or the idea of ghosts) and how he would react on various encounters with them. The only things he was able to discover so far was that they were real, their appearances were random, they had not hurt him yet, and that he was afraid. Bearing these definitions of fear in mind, there was still a big 'but' roaming about the deep corners of Bobby's mind. If it indeed was something we do to ourselves, the idea seemed ambiguous. Why would we give ourselves something we do not want? If given a chance, he would have a few alterations to this connotation. Fear, for Bobby, was caused by external factors such as stories, experiences, and first-hand encounters. We just failed to reject these unwanted thoughts and instead, cultivated it by eternally thinking about it. Therefore, Bobby's definition of fear was 'our lack of ability to dismiss an unpleasant thought.'

For the first time ever since he first experienced seeing these unexplained encounters, Bobby tried to do what everybody had been telling him. As you may have recalled, there were two things he was being constantly reminded of: to ignore them and to pray. He had done these. First, Bobby went back to hiding under his blanket. The fabric was thin enough to give him a vague sight of the world outside, so he still had to close his eyes. He struggled to keep them shut, for the figure he just saw gave him chills and he was imagining that it was still there. Next, he prayed the 'Our Father'. It was the hardest effort to keep him from losing focus. The image stayed in his thoughts like a permanent print. Have you ever tried putting your hands on a photocopying machine to see how it would look like when you photocopy it? The print out that it gave you, the paper smeared with a sheet of blank ink with the imprint of your hands visible like a pale pair of gloves ― that was how the image of the man's figure appeared inside Bobby's head.

After he had finally uttered the word 'amen' like a slow lament, everything went still. The only sound he could hear was the electric fan, as well as the deafening buzzing that people hear inside their ears whenever there was dead silence. If Bobby's inner sensations could form a figure, it would have been a telescope browsing his surroundings. It might as well be focused solely towards the direction of the window as if all the cells inside his body were camping out at the edge of his skull, which was nearest the wall.

The world gradually revealed itself to him when Bobby decided to finally open his eyes. A panic surge gripped him in expecting the worst, but he was glad to find out, at least, that there was no shadow anymore inside his room. His eyes acted like a radar, slowly navigating from one portion of the room to another, sensing every inch for a hint of something that would scare him. After a full 180 degrees assessment, he was left with only one place to check: the window at his back.

Sinking lowly from his position, he pulled his blanket away from his face in a speed slower than a turtle's run. Everything materialized into concrete beings around him when he was set free from his fabric shield. After a full minute, he inclined his head upward to look at the window which was a few feet above him.

All he saw was the thin curtain dancing slowly, lifting itself from the window in a subtle swaying. Through its opaque texture, Bobby could see that the dark figure was not there anymore. The moonlight shone untouched, showering the window (and the floor of his room near it) with a blueish illumination. Bobby sighed, but he did not let go of the tense inside him.

A lengthy period passed but Bobby let his gaze glued towards the window. From time to time he would give a peek to the roof and on the areas beyond it, but all he was able to see was the empty flat surface glowing blue by the light of the moon and the stars. He gave himself half an hour to reassure that it would not appear again before he settled back to a lying position.

Lord, thank You.

Another fifteen had passed and he finally decided to let his fear go. With this, Bobby started focusing on going to sleep. His concentration was disturbed by a square object squeezed between his hips and the soft surface of the bed. He retrieved it with his right hand and found out that it was the book he borrowed from Albert. Bobby set it aside (actually, he placed it on the floor by his bed) and went back to his endeavor to fall asleep.

Due to an extreme exhaustion, he slowly slipped away... to a sound sleep.

* * *

After a little over four hours, an ear-splitting buzz rang and woke Bobby, for it was his alarm clock set at 5:00 AM He found himself in an awkward position, but nevertheless, he remained there for about five minutes more. Lying on his chest with his head slightly over the edge of the mattress, Bobby saw a book in front of his nose when he opened his eyes. The front cover of the book laid bare before him, showcasing a grotesque scenery in his eyesight. The cover art for that edition of Frankenstein depicted a detail from Thomas Eakins' Gross Clinic, which was currently in Philadelphia. In it, a hideous creature seemed to be covering its face away from someone whose right hand could only be seen. The unseen man's hand, however, was full of blood and seemed to be holding what appeared to be a knife. Bobby shivered to the bones upon seeing the details, even in the dim light coming from the early morning sun. Remembering that it was his brother's, he picked it up from the floor. As he was doing so, his hand tensed as it reached towards the ground. He felt as if a dark, hairy hand of a monster full of blood would reveal itself from under the bed and grab his arms with sharp nails. But then, he was just imagining it: the inevitable product of paranoia. Besides, this usually happens to everyone. The things under the bed always scare the living daylight out of people's imagination.

Just as he was taking hold of the small book, another sight caught Bobby's attention from his peripheral vision: something dark.

It was across the room and by the door. A black mass spread out on the floor but could not be perceived well due to the darkness which engulfed that particular corner. And then, Bobby smiled, for he realized that it was just his sweater that fell down on the floor from the wall hanger at the rear side of his bedroom door. He glanced upwards and saw that the rest of his clothes were still hanging by a number of hooks nailed on the wooden material.

Still having weak senses, Bobby forced himself into a sitting position and started to walk towards where the jacket was lying. He crouched as he move, but stopped a few inches when something different registered to his mind.

He realized, although too late that he thought himself stupid for not seeing it at first, that the outline was too big for a jacket. To top that, it was placed in a queer position, like it was worn by something that gave it a solid shape.

Two minutes later, Bobby's eyes came into focus. His drowsiness had left him by that time. Looking again, it finally hit him, making his blood ran cold. He saw a figure of a man forming into concreteness; he saw hands on both sides with a pair of legs folded in front of his chest, forming a sitting position. Because of the way the figure was positioned, he appeared small, making Bobby think it was just a jacket. But he was wrong.

He was wrong still when he found out it was actually a girl, for it whispered in the iciest tone soft enough to have made it into a sigh. She said, "Help." It was said so quietly it almost did not register to Bobby. Still, the familiar embrace of fear wrapped itself around him.

When is this gonna stop?

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