Nagparamdam si Mommy

                “Nagparamdam si Mommy Estela,” I said.

                We say these expressions when we are at a loss to explain unusual occurrences that happen around us, especially when one who is beloved had recently passed away.  It is one way in which we fondly remember and cope with the loss of loved ones, believing they are still around with us.

                This is what happened:

                It was 2 o’clock in the morning, Jane and I were tucked in bed and about to sleep, in the small bedroom, (across the larger bedroom, where our three daughters were), in the basement of the Perdigon home in La Trinidad, Benguet.  I had put out the light - the room was very dark. 

               The night before, Saturday, (our first night in the room), after I had put out the light, I left the door a bit ajar to allow a streak of the light in the stair landing to seep into the room.  I did the same that night: after I had put out the light, I left the door a bit ajar to allow a streak of the light in the stair landing to seep into the room.  It was 2 o’clock in the morning, Jane and I were tucked in bed and about to sleep.

                Then, I heard the squeaking of a door.  Then, the light in the stair landing went out.  Then... silence.

                I paused a while to review in my mind what had just happened: I (we) heard the squeaking of a door, then the light in the stair landing went out, then silence – then I went out, turned on the light in the stair landing, and went across to the larger bedroom.

                “Did any of you put out the light in the landing outside?” 

                “No.”

                None of my three daughters put out the light in the stair landing.

                There was another room next to the stair landing (before the larger bedroom) where three other people stayed, namely, Reah, Jose, and MJ.  None of them put out the light in the stair landing.  They have been there a couple of days ahead of us, and they never put out the light in the stair landing when they went to sleep; they always left the light on.  On our first night, the night before, it was so: the light in the landing was on all night.  Tonight, someone – but not any of the three in the other room – put out the light in the landing.

                That afternoon, while everybody (we had visitors during lunch) was busy doing this and that and chatting, I sneaked down to the basement and tested the 2 doors (there were four: three bedroom doors and a bathroom door) to find out where the squeaking from that night came from.  Obviously, I exempted the small bedroom (our bedroom) door from the test.  Since my daughters said they didn’t put out the light in the stair landing, I tested the bedroom door next to the landing first.  I opened it until it squeaked.  The pitch of the squeak was higher than the squeak I heard last night, and the door would have to be opened widely before it squeaked.  It was not this door.

                The door of the larger bedroom where my daughters stayed didn’t squeak (or I don’t recall it squeaking when it was opened) but what was characteristic about this door was that the latching mechanism on it was faulty – it doesn’t latch to the jamb instantly when it is closed, you need an extra oomph! for it to latch on, not slide open, and stay closed.  This extra oomph! created a thud. 

                I came home from church the day before, Sunday, past 6 o’clock in the evening, to unpack some items from my backpack and to take a shower and freshen up (walking long stretches uphill and downhill, carrying two heavy backpacks, can work up a sweat even in 12-15 degree centigrade weather!)  I would go back to Baguio and meet up with Jane and the kids afterwards.  

The back door where we normally entered was locked.  I had keys – Funk, the caretaker, had supplied me with a set of keys to the house.  No one was home.  I proceeded downstairs to our basement bedroom, unpacked my backpack, went and took a shower and got myself dressed.  But there was no mirror in our room, so I went to the larger bedroom which had a dresser with a large mirror. 

                As I got out of the room, I noticed the door didn’t latch on completely when I pulled it to close it.  It slid open with a slight push without turning the door knob, so I gave it the extra oomph! to make sure it was closed.

                “Thud!”

                “Thud!” came another thud from upstairs.  Was someone else in the house aside from me?

                I paused.  Must have been an echo. 

                I opened the door of the larger bedroom again, and closed it again with the extra oomph! to test the echo.

                “Thud!” 

     No echo.

                Eerie, I thought.

                I went upstairs, and before I left, I made myself a cup of coffee, and sipped it at the dining table.  Then it slowly crept upon me: the Goosebumps!  Goosebumps so stiff the hairs on my arms all stood up!  I won’t tell you this: but when I have the Goosebumps... I know I am not alone!              

     The thing is this: when I went to ask my daughters if they put out the light in the stair landing, their door was completely latched... closed.  But it was all silent after the light on the landing went out.  It couldn't have been my daughters who put out the light on the landing.

                The squeaking did not come from the bedrooms: neither ours nor the two other bedrooms.

                I forgot all about testing the doors until the next morning, Tuesday, the 31st.  After I had taken a bath, on my way out of the bathroom, as I opened the door, I heard the same squeaking sound – it was the bathroom door!  I opened the bathroom door again – that was the sound I heard before the light in the stair landing went out.  An eerie feeling crept upon me as I thought: there was total silence after the light on the landing went out the other night.

                If somebody came out of the bathroom, creating the squeaking sound, why didn’t we see or hear anybody go in?  (The entrance to the bathroom was just outside our door – the bathroom was sandwiched between our small bedroom and the larger bedroom – we could see at least the movement of the shadow of anybody who would come in or out, with the light in the landing on.  The bathroom door also had the same faulty latch mechanism as the larger bedroom door: it also closes completely with the sound of the latch followed by a thud.)  Nobody went to the bathroom, because we would have heard its door close, as we always do when someone goes in to use it.   But the bathroom door opened before the light in the stair landing went out.

                If somebody came out of the bathroom and put out the light in the stair landing, why didn’t we see or hear anybody go to the bathroom?  If somebody came out of the bathroom and put out the light in the stair landing, why didn’t we hear anybody go in, and open and close the door in any of the other bedrooms?  If somebody came out of the bathroom, put out the light before climbing the stairs, why didn't we hear anybody climb up or down the stairs?

               I have no answers.

               “Nagparamdam si Mommy Estela,” I said with a smile.