The Demon in Uncle Joe's House

CHAPTER 5

Uncle Joe's wake lasted for three days beginning from  Saturday night when his body was laid in his house. On Wednesday morning, we laid him in his final resting place at St. Vincent Memorial Park. Only a few neighbors attended to his funeral.

"Well, Uncle Joe, I guess this is the end of the road for us," I whispered as I watched his coffin being lowered into his grave.

Somehow I know that Uncle Joe had finally found rest—that he was now with his Maker. The situation reminded of a line from Alfred Lord Tennyson's Crossing the Bar:"I hope to see my Pilot face to face when I have crossed the bar."

Well, the fact is that everybody would cross the same bar someday. 

After the funeral, I hired four men to clean Uncle Joe's house. When they were done with the house, I immediately dismissed them. When I was already alone in the living room, I began to survey the house. Uncle Joe really loved this house. To him, it is his only sanctuary. I remembered what he told me one day. He said, "Zandro, iho, this house is everything to me."

I looked at his picture on the wall above his rocking chair. It was a portrait-size picture, circa 1969. 

  "Well, Uncle Joe, I have your treasured house cleaned. I hope that you're happy now—wherever you are. Rest in peace, Uncle Joe."

Suddenly, I noticed his rocking chair move! Then there was a sudden rush of cold wind. I thought that perhaps Uncle Joe was trying to say thank you to me. Or was he? I was doubtful.

"You're welcome, Uncle Joe," I whispered although I felt ridiculous talking to someone who no longer had consciousness.

I walked out of the door, then locked it.

Before I left, I looked up at the house, and chuckled, "It's a pity, no one will live here anymore."

I was about to leave when I thought I heard someone cough three times, and it looked like it came from the house. I walked back to the door and pressed my ear against it.

"Is someone there?" I called. There was no reply. Then I thought I heard someone walking inside—in the living room. I suddenly opened the door hoping to catch any intruder by surprise, but I saw no one. 

I stood there for a about half a minute, but I never heard the coughing, nor the movement again. I shrugged my shoulders and walked back to the gate after closing the door. Maybe it was Uncle Joe making his presence felt, I said to myself—although I never believed in ghosts. 

A week after Uncle Joe's interment, Attorney Joel Pinto walked into my office. That was Wednesday morning—almost 9 o'clock.

With his usual cheerful voice, he greeted me, "Good morning, Insan. Can I enter your inner sanctum?"

"Good morning. Sure, you're welcome, Insan," I smiled as I offered him the seat in front of my desk.

He took the proffered seat and sat down. He lay his black attaché case on my desk. Joel Pinto was a tall lanky fellow. He had a pair of black penetrating eyes that could be intimidating. I guess he had developed that kind of look since he became a trial lawyer. I wondered how many witnesses he had badgered in the court.

"So what bad air has brought you here, Insan?" I jokingly said.

"Well, my time is precious, so I have to be brief," he said as he opened his attaché case and produced some documents. Then he continued, "Your Uncle Joe had asked me to prepare some deeds of sale to the effect that he sold all his properties—his house and lot, his farm in Gugumbaen, and his bake shop—to you."

"To me?" I was astonished. Uncle Joe never mentioned  to me any deed of sale.

"That's right, Insan. He sold his properties to you in the amount of twenty pesos," he grinned.

"Twenty pesos! Are you serious?" I was really caught off balance. I couldn't believe what my distant cousin was telling me. Had he not been a brilliant lawyer. I would have thought he was just fooling me. But his facial expression didn't show any sign of a prank. Besides, I knew Attorney Joel Pinto. He wasn't the man who played tricks on his clients.

"Well, Insan," he interposed, "truth is stranger than fiction, as they say. Now, just sign these deeds and viola, you're an instant inheritor!"

He pushed the papers to me: deeds of sale, titles and other pertinent documents. I stared at them with disbelief. They're indeed real!

"Well? I can't stay here all day," he pretended to be impatient. Anyway, I always knew Joel Pinto. He valued his time very much. I could not detain him in my office longer than what was necessary. Besides, I, too, had waiting clients like the principal of Pindangan National High School, Mr. Willie Dangla.

"Where would I sign?" I asked him without taking my eyes off the documents.

"Here, here and here," he pointed at the appropriate spaces. I affixed my signature on the spaces indicated. I also signed the duplicate copies. "These are for my files," he said as he put the duplicate copies to his attaché case.

Then he extended his hand to me as if he were congratulating me for winning an electoral post, "There you are, Insan! You're really a lucky son of a gun," he laughed.

Thanks, Insan Joel," I said.

After exchanging some pleasantries, Attorney Joel Pinto left. Once more, I stared the documents on my desk, and sighed.

What had just transpired was like a dream. But it was all real.  I was damn awake. My God, I have become the sole inheritor of Uncle Joe's properties! I never expect this to happen. Did Uncle Joe plan all these? Sometimes, he never ceased puzzling me. Like when he told me that his children were his products. Of course, I didn't quite understand him because I was still young that time. Then I remembered one of my conversations with Uncle Joe.

"Uncle Joe, you have no family. So who will inherit this big house, and your other properties?" I asked.

"That's not a problem, son," he replied nonchalantly.

 I stood and walked to a nearby table, and took a long folder. After putting the documents inside the folder, I opened my drawer and dropped the folder inside. I sat back on my chair still thinking of the just concluded event. Ah, truth is indeed stranger than fiction! And life? It is full of surprises! And sometimes one's not ready for one big surprise. It's like a solid punch that would catch  you dazed. The only difference was you won't suffer any black eye.

I looked at my watch. It's almost ten o'clock. A few minutes later, Mr. Willie Dangla knocked. My day's work resumed.