Safe Spaces

In the Kitchen

Legends and ghost stories were widely talked about in our neighborhood, including one about the spirit of a certain Marissa Del Rosario. She was said to be nineteen when she was murdered ten years ago, her body dumped in the village's septic tank. According to the articles I read when I was a kid, curious about what happened and who she was, the townspeople did not even notice she was missing until numerous households complained about water backups and slow drains. Her skeletal remains were found two months after her probable date of death, and what made investigators positive it was her was her complete set of clothes that they also found in the septic water.

Even before her remains were found, it was said that Marissa's spirit would visit one house a day and prank homeowners. She was known to be that kind of teenager anyway, aside from her talent in singing. But as soon as they blink their eyes, Marissa would no longer be there. Yet, amid the oddity, no one reported the incident or asked how Marissa was. Present townsfolk thought this was why Marissa continued to haunt the village.

However, after her remains were found, her visitations went from welcoming to terrifying when people reported seeing her in their kitchen, which happened randomly. Stories such as Marissa holding a knife then dropping it as soon as the owner sees him; Marissa sitting by the sink, singing "Delilah" by Tom Jones; and Marissa playing with the pans like drums and then throwing them to the floor were widely spread across the neighborhood.

"Even if the stories were true, Marissa would have no reason to visit me. But that doesn't matter because I don't believe it. I've been here long enough to say that that's nothing but a legend," I told three of my friends who were spending Halloween night with me. We were still wearing our Fairy Tail costumes then, with me portraying as Erza, Julia as Lucy, and my guy friends Jack and Bert as Natsu and Gray, respectively. Julia and I had our hair colored, while Jack and Bert wore wigs.

Julia replied, "And there are too many houses in this village. What are the chances?"

Jack nodded at Julia. "If you were"—he looked and pointed at me—"what a lucky girl you are," he said sarcastically, followed by an annoying smirk.

"Nothing's special here anyway, except for the food inside your ref that you may want to put out," Bert added as he tapped on the center table while leaning on the sofa and removing his wig, exposing his bald head.

"Oh god, Bert! You aren't full yet?!" I asked, pulling myself up to get more food for my friends.

We laughed, ate, shared more ghost stories, watched a horror flick, and got drunk enough to pass out by the living room. I wasn't sure how long I had slept, but I was awakened by Julia's persistent nudging. I rubbed my eyes and asked what her problem was.

"Someone turned the oven on."

My eyebrow raised. "What? You know we're—" But I had to stop after seeing that the microwave oven was indeed turned on. From afar, I could see that the digits of the timer; it might have been running for over five minutes. I scanned around and saw that Jack wasn't with us anymore. "Wait, where's Jack?"

"Ugh!" Even though it was dark, I could see Julia's eyes roll. "That jerk. He must've been pranking us."

"Yeah, could you please do me a favor and turn it off? I don't want my house exploding." Sleepily, I returned to lying down on the carpet. She turned the lights on—I knew that even with closed eyes—and walked toward somewhere else, maybe the kitchen. It was not long after when I heard her scream, which awoken Bert as well. Julia hurriedly ran toward me, quivering.

"There's a fucking head! A fucking head!"

I laughed. "That was probably Jack's prank—"

But as I spoke, Jack came from the front door and asked, "What happened?"

"You jerk! Stop playing pranks!" Julia jokingly pushed him, but to our surprise, Jack still looked clueless.

"It was cold and cramped, so I woke up and lit a cigarette."

"Cramped?" Bert asked. "How is it cramp when we each all have an area?"

"Seriously! It felt difficult to breathe so—

"No more jokes, Jack."

"I'm fucking serious, you guys!"

"Okay, stop it." I stood, opened all the lights, and went to the microwave oven that was still operating. The light was still on, but instead of a head as Julia claimed it to be, I saw a large bowl of chicken being heated. I clicked the stop button. "Julia, it's just a bowl of chicken. Hangover?"

She slapped her face twice and shook her head to wake herself up. "I swear to god. I saw a woman's head there."

"Drunkard," Jack teased.

"Must've been Marissa," Bert jokingly added.

"Okay, enough," I said, stopping the guys from making more comments that could only make Julia more anxious. I was about to return to the living room and sleep when I noticed the clogged sink. Food debris and vomit were floating, which made me almost puke. "What the fuck, guys? Who clogged my sink with vomit? Damn you—"

Julia shook her head. "Not me."

"Not me either. I just woke up," Bert commented.

"Stop looking at me, will you? I just smoked!" Jack defended himself, showing his pack of cigarettes. "It's either you or Julia because you're the only ones who throw up here."

"Why would I be asking you guys?" My tone sounded annoyed and frustrated. "I'm sure I'm not yet in that gagging level of drunk. And this is my house! I would do it in the toilet."

"I swear it's not me!" Julia confided everything—from her dark secrets to her most awkward moments—to me, so I knew she was telling the truth, and she was not just the type who would lie and embarrass herself.

I was suspecting Bert or Jack, but all these doubts disappeared when we all heard the drain slowly sucking the liquid from the sink, producing disturbing, gurgling sounds.

Confused, I looked and found out that the strainer in the sink got washed away—or maybe pulled.

I was about to speak again when we heard someone humming. Gentle but haunting, it echoed inside the pipes. Its hymn, unknown, contained a series of low and high notes that sounded like a funeral march.

The four of us stepped back; I, who was near the sink, ran toward Julia.

Then, silence.

Just as we thought it was over, the pans attached to the wall fell, followed by hair crawling from within the sink. All of us froze. But even before we could make an appropriate reaction, the cabinet below the sink opened.

There, a woman, drenched and naked, smiled at us.

The four of us raced toward the gate.

Our screams awakened my neighbors, causing their dogs to bark nonstop. Mr. Lorenzo, the old man who was two houses away, approached us and asked what had happened. All of us were explaining at the same time, cussing in between every word, shivering as we used our hands to detail the scene. He then volunteered to go inside and check, but when he returned, he just said, "Everything's fine inside."

With Mr. Lorenzo, we went back and saw that everything was indeed in order: the pans were still on the wall, the strainer attached on the drain, the cabinet closed. Bert, feeling the need to defend ourselves because of the way Mr. Lorenzo glanced at the scattered bottles, said, "Our hangover was over and done with after we saw that. We are not lying, sir."

"I believe you," he said. "At least, you're now sure Marissa's done visiting your home." Then he got out of the house as if what had taken place was the most normal thing in the world.

I wanted to believe what happened was not real and that we were just really drunk, but the long black hair strands that settled in the strainer made it difficult for me.