I wasn’t one to shy away from the supernatural. I was raised by believers. Those who respect the way of life wherein some souls that perish linger just for a little while longer to keep an eye on their beloved. I was always taught that these “mumus” (a rather funny moniker for an otherwise creepy being) were here to guard us. They were good. Just don’t pay attention.
And I didn’t. My whole life was spent minding my own business. But when nighttime fell, a thought in the back of my head would always entertain the fact that figures were lurking in the shadows. I’m not sure if I was only staring in the dark long enough for my brain to play tricks with me. But it’s more than just that. All hairs on my body would stand up. My heart would pound every time I felt goosebumps. Yet, I didn’t mind.
What I did mind was the house I grew up in. There was a big garden outside full of plants and flowers. When you wake up early enough, you see the butterflies flying from flower to flower trying to get the nectar out. I loved chasing them. They were little and would usually swarm in big groups. It was a beautiful sight.
At the time, I wondered why the only color of the butterfly I saw was white. I’d see different colored ones on NatGeo all the time. I just told myself that these types of butterflies were the ones native to our town. They’re just as majestic.
One morning, as I was chasing the biggest one I’ve ever seen so far, it led me to the vacant lot in front of our house. The lot was overgrown. Big bushes and tall grasses took over the place. “It must be the butterfly’s home.” I thought to myself. So I followed. I tried to walk as far as I can, but my feet seem to sink under the towering weeds. When my feet started to feel itchy, I decided to abandon my little adventure and come back home.
Soon, the butterflies became irrelevant. There were no more adventures. Just boring responsibilities I had as an adolescent. I had no more love for what was out there. Instead, I acknowledge the neglectful owner and his lot becoming a forest. He didn’t care for his property, so it grew with me. As time passed, the vines stretched farther and farther, gripping at everything in its path. It quickly turned into a forest because no one paid attention.
For my graduation, my mother decided that to give me a new outfit to be used at the ceremony. It was a white dress with a cape sleeve and a long, flowy tulle skirt. She paired it with the most beautiful butterfly necklace I’ve ever seen. The wings were adorned with tiny gems while the chain was dainty, almost as if it would disappear in one touch. I loved it. I kept it in my drawer, excited for the day that I would use it.
But the graduation never came. Instead, the outfit remained stashed neatly inside the drawer, never seeing the light of day. Because of the pandemic, there wasn’t a ceremony. To say that I was bummed is an understatement. I never really cared for the medals. It was just an excuse to feel like Anne Hathaway in Princess Diaries. We didn’t have a ceremony for our own safety, but the fact that I didn’t get to wear my dress felt heartbreaking. But I didn’t mind.
Instead, I stayed at home. The same one where I grew up. The same one with the beautiful garden and the overgrown lot in front. I was back where it all started.
The goosebumps came back. But I didn’t mind. From time and time again, the white mariposa came to say hi from the terrace. I didn’t run after them as I did before. I had more important things to do. Now that I am in Grade 11, I have my work, my career, and my studies. There is no time to chase the butterflies.
However, one eventful night, I dreamt of something peculiar. In my dreams, I was clad in baroque garb, eyeing myself in the gold vanity mirror in front of me. She looked beautiful. As I arranged the pearls on my chest, I see a figure staring at me in the mirror. It wasn’t my reflection, nor the helpers around me. A little girl dressed in all white. She had all the requirements for a stereotypical white lady, except that something was faintly glistening on her chest. It was strangely familiar. I looked at the place where she was supposed to be standing and saw nothing. When I looked back, there she was, a foot or two in front of me.
I don’t know why, but my first instinct was to run. Gathering my gown, I fled from the room and into a hall of mirrors. That thing was still chasing me.
I reached the end of the hall in no time. There were neither doors nor windows, just a room filled with mirrors. She was in front of me. Gradually slowing down her pace as she sees that I have nowhere to run. But as she got closer, I noticed that she didn’t have a face. She was a blur. The only thing visible was her tattered dress and disheveled hair. She didn’t try to pounce on me. She just walked ever so slowly until she and I were face to face.
Or should it be face to no face? This being was now standing an inch away from me. Her breathing was heavy, and I felt it on every part of my body. In an attempt to find out who it was, I swept her hair away and saw it.
There I was — same white dress and butterfly necklace, now with tired and hopeless eyes.
