Presence

A sudden nervousness jolted me awake. I could tell by the dimness of the room that the night has fallen. It would have been totally dark if not for the kitchen light that I left switched on before I went to sleep.

The nervousness transformed to panic. What time is it? I promised to just take a nap but ended up snoozing on the sofa for four long hours. I needed to get up and start school work. I have three papers to submit the coming week.

My eyes were still adjusting to the light when I realized I slept with my phone in my hand. I squinted reflexively as the glare from the 5.7-inch screen met my eyes. There were a few tweets and Facebook messages, but what grabbed my attention was the three missed calls from my sister. My heart started pumping faster than the usual. She doesn't call like this, I thought.

I got up. The wall clock showed it was already past seven. I felt disoriented and made an effort to pull myself together. Was it really a Sunday? The last thing I remembered was publishing a blog post, which I did after getting home from an orientation on the sacrament of confirmation for godparents. The orientation was scheduled on a Saturday morning. Okay, no need to panic, I said to myself.

I heard my sister blow her nose from her room upstairs. Is she back? I was heading to the farthest room from the second floor landing when I heard Dad's footsteps from the room to my right. I turned the knob and pushed the door open. I wondered why nobody bothered to wake me up.

The room was as dark and empty as it was when Dad left this afternoon to meet up with Mom.

I closed the door and surveyed the other end of the corridor. The darkness ahead told me that my sister wasn't in her room. That I was, in fact, alone in the house.

I rushed downstairs to get some fresh air. Once outside, I was met by an unusual chill from the early evening air: I could feel it slithering up my skin and sending chills down my spine. I could feel how each pore of my skin contracted, barring entry to the unknown energy that infiltrated the air. In no more than a few seconds, I was feeling numb, from the cold that came from the night and also from within.

I went back inside, grabbed my phone and started texting everyone. What does this mean? An ex-nun recently told me that I have hypersensitive senses. Underdeveloped, yes; but good enough to see, feel and hear, from time to time, what most of the population couldn't.

My messages won't send and Mom was out of reach. Impossible, I thought. My imagination sure was just running wild. They couldn't be those who I sensed. They couldn't possibly be... dead.

But where the hell are they?