• pregnant

I turn the page to the next entry. The handwriting is more agitated, all but stabbing the page in places, causing tears from their force.

Sometimes I dream. Of trees and their eyes watching, their flowers opening and closing. They speak in the quiet. I do not need eyes to see. I do not need ears to hear. Sometimes I obey, set the knife against my eyes. I wake up screaming.

This cave. I cannot leave.

I am sorry for the woman I killed. I am so sorry, I am so sorry, forgive me, I am sorry, please

They scream for me. They are

The words end there.

I hear noises from outside. I don’t stay. I arrange the pages back to how they were before and steal away before anyone notices.

***

’Tay’s still asleep when I return, which I suppose is for the better. Our home isn’t much compared to the fineries of the Hollywood bungalows, but it’s good enough for us.

I’ve already visited my family in Leyte, and they promised to help while I’m away. For now I make sure ’Tay’s comfy, combing the wisps of hair from his face. ’Tay didn’t have me until he was much older, and it shows. His skin feels leathery, but he’s cool to the touch and not feverish.

I settle myself in a nearby seat and keep vigil, Askal curled against my legs. I absently trace at the wall, my fingers lingering on the old, familiar grooves.

I watch him sleep and think about the money Hemslock is paying me. How worthless it would be in the long run.

’Tay stirs, as if sensing my unease.

“Tulog lang, ’Tay,” I whisper to him, and hold my breath until his evens out.

***

The first thing Leo Gries asks of me when I return is to check on Chase, who has yet to leave his cabin that day. The man somehow looks worse than before. “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

He starts. “I—how did you know?”

“Everyone who’s seen the ghosts has that same look on their faces.”

He hesitates. “My wife, Elena,” he finally says, in a whisper. “I—I think I saw her last night. It was before Steve fell into the sinkhole. She was—staring at me from outside the window. Her face was—” He lifts his hands to his eyes. “Her eyes were—”

His breath stutters, and he inhales loudly. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says roughly. “Can you tell Chase lunch is ready?”

Something moves amid the balete trees outside as I walk the path leading to the Grieses’ cabin. I see something solidifying in the air by the window, and my heart rate increases.

There are tiny roots growing along the pane. As I watch, it moves steadily on, wrapping its ends around the steel bars.

A few of the vines lengthen; one trails against my hand and another touches me, friendly, on the cheek. I shake my head. “’Wag mo silang takutin,” I warn it.