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Detail from the sarcophagus of Prince Thutmose’s cat, from Wikimedia Commons

The Defenestrations
Chapter 4B
by Don Jaucian
(Thanks to Deo Giga)

Teepee remembered the first time she saw a ghost.

It was her grandfather, whom they had just buried that day. It was broad daylight and there he was in his workman’s clothes, sitting at his usual spot in front of their house, smoking as if he hadn’t been shot by one of the hacienda guards just a week ago. Didn’t ghosts usually appear at night? she asked herself. Her sisters entertained themselves with komiks that always had a story about a ghost, always as white as the sheets her mother washed for the haciendero’s family, forever terrorizing little children whose feet stuck out of their threadbare blankets at night. She thought those stories were silly, and later she would learn about creeps called pedophiles. She liked the tales where someone becomes rich and takes revenge on her enemies. Those, she could relate to.

But there was her grandfather, staring at her with bloodshot eyes. “Teofista,” she heard him say, his voice wintry and muffled, like it was coming from underground. He smiled at her and then vanished in the sunlight.

She never told anyone about it, not even her mother who was paralyzed with grief for weeks. As far as she was concerned, there was more to fear from the living than from the dead.

Cat Crossing to Eat by Utagawa Hiroshige

Part 2

“Mijo, do not creep up behind your mother like that!” Teepee yelled at Iñigo, who had materialized in front of her as if he’d just come from another vlogger convention. He had on his Acne Studios jeans, an A.P.C. shirt, and his old pair of Chucks. She knew that these designer clothes cost a kidney, a lung, and half a liver, but they were so plain he didn’t look like a graduate of one of Manila’s most expensive schools. Low-key luxury? What is that bullshit?

“Where have you been!? I…Th-these pendejos told me you had died….”.

“Ma, I fell out of a fucking window! Like all the men in our family, like Papa! It’s the family curse!”

“But mijo, you’re alive! Surely you cannot be a ghost! You’re not shimmering in the sunlight!”

Half-aware that she was babbling, she searched for signs that he had fallen out of a castle window. No bloodied shirt, no broken limbs, no bones sticking out of his skin. He looked…normal.

Was this really Iñigo? She remembered her mother’s stories about lamang-lupa who mimicked people. She looked at his mestizo eyes, which should be almond brown, like his father’s. She had always loved looking at them: they assured her that Claudio was still around even if it was just in his son’s eyes. But she couldn’t work out what color Iñigo’s eyes were. She fiddled with her Harry Winston rings as if they had magical powers. What’s happening to me?

The White Cat by Pierre Bonnard. Image from Wikimedia Commons.

Part 3

“Ma, listen to me! You still have two sons. And they could end up like me, papa, lolo, and every man in this damned family!” Iñigo’s voice was fading. She hadn’t heard her son pleading with her since that time he wanted a yacht party for his graduation bash. And the time he asked for an allowance increase because his friends had started carrying cards with revolving credit. And the time he’d thrown a tantrum because he could not get a penthouse condo unit. And that time he had protested against being a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer like his great-grandfather or a lawyer like his father because he wanted to be an “influencer.” Several times, actually, now that she thought about it.

“Escuchame, mijo, I can’t do this right now….”

An icicle sliced through her shoulders. “You can end this. There’s a way, Ma.”

* * * * *
Melissa was on her fifth cigarette of the hour. This is a clusterfuck, she thought as she paced along the stairwell. Why didn’t that little shit look where he was going? She thought of taking another Klonopin but she was worried she’d have a blackout and her staff would have to worry about another disaster. No, steel yourself. You can get through this. You have to get through this. What was the mantra she learned in that mindfulness class? “Every day in every way, I get better and better.” She repeated this to herself over and over until the words lost their meaning.

Cats Suggested as the 50 Stations of the Tokaido by Utagawa Kuniyoshi. Image from Wikimedia Commons
Part 4

If only her bosses had taken her advice not to rely on influencers anymore. Influencers represented the worst of their generation’s sense of entitlement. They weren’t even serious about work. They just wanted the swag and the freebies. And when Iñigo pitched that ludicrous seven-day European tour, dazzling her bosses with “high audience affinity,” “brand elevation,” and “genuine engagement,” she knew they were going to say yes.

Now we have genuine engagement alright, Melissa thought as she flicked her cigarette. Her phone rang. It was her assistant.

“Ma’am, security just told me Mrs. Villa-Real is already here.”

“I’m on my way up.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She was not built to handle grief. She even had to look up “How to offer condolences.”

Just then, she heard a voice in the stairwell. It was Mrs. Villa-Real, whom she recognized from society magazines. She was talking to someone who was obscured by the open door. Shit, Melissa couldn’t sneak past the grieving woman. She was not ready for this.

“Iñigo, mijo, I can’t do this right now…” Mrs. Villa-Real said.

Iñigo? WTF. Melissa was about to introduce herself when she saw who Teepee was talking to.

What did Melissa see?
A. Iñigo’s ghost
B. No one

Pick an option, then tune in next week for the next chapter!