A Taste of Red
Mary Louise Lu
Genre: Horror
Archetypes: Evil Albino, Ingénue
Keys: Betrothal or Contract, Cries in the Night, Split Personality, Grandfather Clock, Arabian Perfume, Transformation
Angelica Inares stepped out of her silver sedan and walked into the main house. After a three-hour drive from the bustling city of Manila, she finally made it to her family’s ancestral home in the small province just north of Bulacan. It was a little after ten in the morning when she arrived. Ramon Inares, the family patriarch, greeted her with a tight hug.
“Happy Birthday, Dad,” Angelica said when her burly father finally let go, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.
“How’s Aunt Nida?” Her father asked, referring to his late wife’s sister with whom Angelica lived with for the past ten years.
“Grumpy as usual.” Angelica shrugged. “She wants to know when you’re visiting. It’s been almost a year. We don’t get to see you that much.”
“You know I need to be here for the farm, Gelli. Anyway, you’re here now and we get to spend a bit of time together. I’m glad you can make it to my party.” He replied. Gelli was Angelica’s nickname. “I know college in Manila has been keeping you busy. But entering my senior citizen years just wouldn’t be right without you.”
Angelica smiled. The events of that night ten years ago hung in the air between them. It weighed heavily on her. The thought of being in this house again without her mother left her with an emptiness that threatened to transport her back to that fateful night, long ago.
“I miss her, too, kiddo.” Ramon admitted when he saw the strain on his daughter’s face. Angelica patted her father on the shoulder, reassuring him that she was alright.
He left her to get settled in while he went off to oversee his farm. She took her time getting reacquainted with her family home. All was well until she reached the living room and caught sight of an old staircase leading to the house’s second and third levels.
The sight of the stairway that led to her old bedroom made her stomach churn. Fragments of memory flashed in her mind.
Red. There was so much red.
She remembered blood. Lots of it. The rest was a haze in her mind. The events of that night had forever changed her life. The sight of her mother, dead on her bedroom floor. That young man who stared at her with those eyes… bright crimson and fervid. Those eyes locked onto her with burning intensity as he closed his hands around her neck.
She felt things that night. Feelings she locked up in the back of her mind. She cannot allow herself to feel these things again. And for a while, she didn’t.
But now, back at her family’s old house ten years later, these emotions threatened to surface. She could almost taste it.
News of Ramon Inares’ party had been the talk of the town. The old haciendero was celebrating his sixtieth birthday with a bash in his home. The town’s most important and wealthy personalities were invited, including the mayor. It was said, too, that his daughter would be present.
The gossip-mongers whispered of the tragedy of Isabel Inares, murdered in that very house ten years ago. They also spoke the child who watched the horrific murder take place. She was whisked off to a relative in the big city and has not stepped foot in the house until today.
Lando was careful to hide himself, wearing a long-sleeved shirt and wrapping his head with a scarf to cover himself. The sight of his white skin and red eyes made the superstitious folk mutter prayers and go out of their way to avoid him. All his life, people judged him on his appearance.
He found an isolated spot under a large tree right in front of the Inares home, giving him a clear view of the comings and goings of the household. He watched from the safety of the shadows as the car pulled up on the driveway. He watched this child –no…woman– step out and enter the large house. Angelica Inares was unrecognizable as the nine-year-old he had played with some ten years ago. But there was no denying who she was. She was the striking image of her mother, with her wild, dark curls, sharp nose, and pointed chin.
He, too, had memories of that night. The same event, a distant memory. These moments have haunted him and these last ten years have been like a waking dream. He remembered all too well…
The banging sound of the grandfather clock…
The bloodied child holding her mother in her arms…
The scent of Isabel Inares’ perfume mixed with the potent smell of blood and death…
Those eyes… Children should not have those eyes…
The feel of the child’s neck in his hands, her life slowly draining…
Her sharp inhale as he was roughly pulled off and beaten…
“No!” He cried. “She needs to die! She cannot be allowed to live!”
The years since then were unkind. Imprisoned for murder, his future had been snatched from him. The child that had grown up has come back and it was time to finish what he started.
Angelica Inares had to die.
The preparations for Ramon Inares’ party were in full swing by the time noon rolled in. Housekeepers, decorators and caterers were abuzz all over. Angelica had settled in the new wing of the big old house and had been discreet in an effort to get out of the way. She snuck to the kitchen for a bite only to be greeted by a familiar voice.
“Goodness, you’re so big now!” came the jolly voice of Petra, the plump, red-faced cook who had worked for the family in the last sixteen years. “The last time I saw you, you were still so small.”
Petra pinched her cheeks and gave her a warm hug, then led her to the kitchen table where they sat and enjoyed some warm bread straight from the oven.
“How are you, Gelli?” Petra’s face was sincere.
“I’ve been good, Petra. College has been hard. But I’m doing great.” Angelica replied with a smile.
“Your mother would have been proud of you. You must miss her.” Petra said.
“Sometimes,” Angelica admitted wistfully. “I was young. There are a lot of things I don’t remember. Especially that night.”
“Some things are too horrible to remember. Maybe it’s better that way, child.” Petra uttered.
“I’m not a child anymore.” Angelica corrected her gently. “I remember blood… and that man. The white man with red eyes. I knew him.”
“Yes. His name was Lando.” There was a sadness to Petra’s eyes. “He was an outcast. Your mother found him rifling through the garbage one night; and gave him work here at the house. He used to play with you sometimes. People were afraid of him. ‘Anak-araw’ they called him. Child of the sun.”
“I don’t believe such things! We know better.” Angelica exclaimed. “He’s an albino. It’s a disorder that affects skin pigmentation.”
“Your city education has made you a smart woman. But there are things your science cannot explain. People like him are different. Not just his appearance.” Petra said patiently. “We believe that he is the child of an Enkanto.”
“But that’s just folklore. Surely, you don’t believe in that.” Angelica stated in disbelief.
“Strange things have always happened in this house, Gelli. Your childhood has been filled with events not easily explainable. You would disappear and then come back hours later with no recollection of what happened. Your dog, Friskie, was found dead and drained of blood. Your mother…” Petra stopped, unsure of how to continue.
“Tell me what you know, Petra. I need to know.” Angelica urged.
Petra recalled the night of that incident. The details of Isabel Inares’ death were not easy to forget.
The full moon glowed, bathing the old house with its ghostly light. The grandfather clock rang, signaling that it was nine o’clock and Petra had just finished with the dishes. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary that evening.
She walked out into the gardens, waiting for Lando to return. The young man had been asked to bring food to the young Angelica’s room. Suffering from a high fever, Angelica spent the last two days in her bedroom. Isabel was constantly beside the frail child. Petra waited for Lando to return to the gardens, as he usually does. She needed his help in lifting some of the water jars for the kitchen. He was a strange lad, kept to himself a lot, and sometimes spoke to himself. He didn’t like to talk to people much but he was handy in the kitchen and rather strong for a boy of fourteen or fifteen.
A light shone through the darkness and Ramon Inares’ old white car came into view. Parking the car in the driveway just beside the garden, he stepped out and waved a hand at Petra. They exchanged pleasantries, Mr. Inares asking about how his daughter was doing.
“There’s no change in her health,” Petra replied. “The fever persists; the child grows weaker.”
Their conversation was halted by a blood-curdling scream. Isabel’s voice pierced the stillness of the night. Shaken, Petra, and Ramon ran into the house. The scream stopped almost immediately. Through the stairways and halls, they ran into the maze-like house. No words were spoken. They ran at full speed to the child’s bedroom.
It took almost five minutes to get to the third level of the Inares house from the garden. The tray with Angelica’s food has been cast aside at the top of the stairs, the bowl shattered with soup soaking the carpet. The door was ajar when they arrived. Petra was frozen to the spot at the sight that beheld her when she looked inside. Lando was kneeling over a pale Angelica on the floor, his hands around her neck. Beside them was the lifeless body of Isabel.
Ramon pushed past Petra to pull Lando off his daughter. Those red eyes were a mix of anger and terror.
“She cannot be allowed to live!” Lando screamed as Ramon pushed him up against the wall and proceeded to land blow after blow against his face.
Petra rushed to Angelica to check the little girl, running her hands over the bloody face, searching for any sign of life. She sighed in relief when Angelica took a breath and slowly opened her eyes. She cradled the child and rushed out quickly, before young Angelica could take in the scene in her bedroom…
The blood that soaked the carpet…
The blood that sprayed on the walls and on her precious toys…
Red… it was all red…
Isabella, with the hole in her chest, eyes staring blankly and her mouth contorted in a silent, pain-filled scream.
“I haven’t been in that room since,” Petra whispered. “They’ve converted it into a storage room. The staff avoids it if they can. They say your mother haunts it.” Petra rolled her eyes.
“You don’t seem to believe that.” Angelica noticed.
“No. The monster disappeared after that night. These strange events, they stopped. No more dead chickens, no more missing children.”
“You think Lando did those, too?” Inquired Angelica.
“Yes. And I hear he’s been released a few weeks back.” Petra replied.
“So soon? After all he’s done?”
“Even those in the prison system are afraid to keep him around. You must watch yourself, Gelli. He was so determined to kill you ten years ago. I doubt that has changed much while he was imprisoned.” Came Petra’s warning.
“Don’t worry. I won’t be here long. I’m just here for Dad’s party. I’ll be gone by tomorrow. I won’t give that serial killer a chance to get me.” Angelica sat up and gave Petra another quick hug. “I’ll let you get back to your work.” Angelica turned and started to walk away.
“You still think he’s just a common serial killer? Still not a believer in the unknown?” Petra asked.
“That’s the most plausible explanation.” Came Angelica’s reply.
“How about the fact that your mother’s heart was found to be missing?” Petra called out to her. “Or that he had your mother’s blood on his face?”
It was a lot for Angelica to process. She kept walking and headed straight to her new room, away from past memories and painful truths.
It was already dark when Lando snuck into the Inares house with no problem. He had lived in this house, worked here for years as a trusted member of their household, and knew every hall and corridor within.
He wore a dark hoodie, keeping the cowl low to hide his white skin and bright golden hair. He kept to the shadows where the darkness swallowed him and made him invisible. He made his way to the second level and watched the festivities from the dark corners.
The party of Ramon Inares was already in full swing. The living room was filled with the who’s who of their little town. Music played, food flowed, and laughter filled the air. At the center of it all, Angelica stood next to her father, smiling politely at guests who would comment on how much she’d grown and her resemblance to her late mother. She seemed distracted, Lando noticed, constantly looking about, eyes always straying towards the direction of her old bedroom. It seemed that night continued to haunt her, too.
The night wore on. The grandfather clock banged a full twelve times. Ramon Inares regaled his guests with tales of strange hauntings from the old house. The guests were enraptured by his stories. Angelica took this opportunity to slip to the staircase and make her way up. Lando knew exactly where she was headed. Like him, she knew that she needed to face her demons. Quietly, he followed her.
Since the death of Isabel, his fate has been forever intertwined with that of Angelica Inares. There was only one way to end it and it was with death. He would kill her or die trying.
Angelica made her way up to her old bedroom. It looked nothing like she remembered. Gone were the shelves filled with stuffed animals. Gone was the canopy bed with its pink sheets. Gone was the rocking chair where her mother would sit as she read bedtime stories and tales of magical adventures. Now, the shelves have been filled with plain linens and tablecloths, and odd little kitchen items.
Some things, however, remained the same. Her drawings on the wall near the window were still there. She had drawn hearts with bright red crayons. The smell also didn’t change. It still smelled of her mother’s perfume. Her father had bought it for her mother from his trip to the Middle East. She found the old perfume bottle on one of the shelves. She took out the stopper and took a whiff. The potent scent that had been so distinctly Isabel’s took her back to that night. She didn’t fight it. She didn’t try to control it. Angelical allowed herself to be lost in her deepest memories, emotions, and urges.
She remembered the sound of the grandfather clock. Nine times, it rang. And then it was over. In the span of a few heartbeats, her mother’s eyes had gone blank.
Angelica held her mother against her chest. There was blood everywhere: on her clothes, on her face, in her hair. Lando stood before her. This man who had held her hand and played with her in the gardens now looked at her with pure hate. He turned towards her mother, knelt beside her, and put his mouth against Isabella’s bloody, dead lips. Angelica’s head spun. What was happening? Her emotions were a mix of hate, anger, terror, and something else. She wanted to run. She needed to run. Everything overwhelmed her. She stood and bolted towards the door, only to be yanked back by her hair.
“No! You don’t get to leave!” Lando exclaimed through gritted teeth. Pushing the young Angelica to the floor, he pinned her down. His hands found her neck. Those strong hands that had once been so gentle with her now slowly took her life. She tried to draw breath, but it seemed impossible. Her vision started to fade. Suddenly, it was over. The pressure on her neck disappeared. She inhaled sharply and opened her eyes to find Petra’s face looming over her.
The smell of Isabel’s perfume hit Lando as he was ascending the steps to the third level. The door was opened slightly. He looked inside and found Angelica alone. He was ready. He pulled a butcher’s knife from under his jacket and held it in his hand. He made his way inside.
The sound of his footsteps woke Angelica from her trance. He turned to face him.
Children should not have those eyes…
People should not have those eyes!
He heard the grandfather clock strike nine as soon as he was about to reach the top of the stairs to the third level of the old house. He walked with the tray slowly, careful not to spill the chicken soup. He made a quick detour to his room to pick up a small bar of chocolate to give the child as a treat. Young Angelica had been sick, and he was worried. His train of thought was shattered by a scream.
Lando dropped the tray he was carrying and ran into Angelica’s room. He burst into the room. The sight before him shook him to his very core. Angelica sat before her mother’s body. Isabel’s chest, torn open. The child held her mother’s heart and bit into the last piece. The realization of her actions dawned on her, and she held her mother’s body close and cradled her.
Lando saw the terror in the dead woman’s face. This woman, who had shown him nothing but kindness, was now gone, and he wasn’t able to save her. He loathed that child. How could she? He knelt beside Isabel. No. She cannot be dead. He pressed his lips to hers in an effort to revive her. Nothing. No breath.
He saw Angelica run towards the door. His vision turned red. She was a monster, and she had to die.
Dawn arrived in the small town. The sun rose and birds sang as they usually did. The grandfather clock rang seven times.
Petra’s scream shook the old house. The staff found her stumbling out of the room that had become a storage space on the third level. She was pale, shaking.
Ramon Inares also heard Petra’s scream and made his way up. He watched as members of his household staff left the room with terror and disgust. Fear gripped him.
“Where is my daughter?” he asked. No answer.
“Don’t go in there, Sir,” Petra begged, holding on to his arm.
Ramon pushed past her and entered his daughter’s old bedroom to see what had transpired during the night.
The smooth drive to Manila offered Angelica the opportunity to think back on what had happened. This time, she didn’t run away from her past and her memories. She recalled everything now. She was nine, and she felt things… craved strange foods. It started with the chickens, then Friskie. She tried to stop it. Tried to be normal. But it made her sick. She developed a fever. She couldn’t control herself. Only her mother’s heart had offered her relief.
Last night, her hunger was sated once more. The taste of red lingered on her tongue.
She felt things that night ten years ago. Feelings she locked up in the back of her mind. But last night, she allowed herself to feel these things again. She gave in to the truth of her nature. It was freedom. It was delicious.
About the Author:
Mary Louise Lu is a marketing professional and consultant who likes to find hidden stories in web analytics data. She lives a nomadic life, constantly travelling between the real world, her imagination, and the pages of a good book (sometimes at the same time). She enjoys reading, travelling and playing dress-up.