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La Muerte
The monster comes at night.
Heavy footsteps, loud noises, and screaming. David cowered under his blanket as the sounds began.
“You should be used to this by now,” he whispered to himself.
It was half-past four when the noises finally receded. The monster had hibernated for the day, but David wasn’t fooled. He knew it would return at night.
Sighing, he threw the blankets off him and headed towards the kitchen. Slowly opening his bedroom door, silence greeted him.
Eerie silence.
If there was one thing David learned all these years, it would be that darkness and silence had an unrelenting friendship.
Slowly, he crept past the hallway and down the stairs, each step sending shivers down his spine.
Broken glass, chairs turned over, and blood greeted him. Pausing for a minute, David closed his eyes. It was all just a nightmare. It had to be. David pinched his flesh, and prayed that all of this wasn’t real. It was just a figment of his imagination.
But it wasn’t.
By the time he had once again opened his eyes, he could hear the moaning — the pain-filled moaning that greeted him almost every morning.
Entering the kitchen, David once again found his mother in a heap on the floor. Eyes swollen and black, blood dripping from her mouth, arms filled with red finger marks. An agony-filled moan escaping her bleeding lips.
He knelt beside her.
“Oh, mom.”
He stroked her hair, then her face. His tears streaming down his cheeks.
“La Muerte.”
Beside him, his mother nods solemnly, her moans dying out.
Standing up, David heads towards the sink to get some water for her mother. Inside, his thoughts swirled and vision blurred.
The monster was in the house. His alcohol-induced slumber taking him to dreamland while his mother wasted away.
But he wouldn’t — no, he couldn’t let that happen. He had to do something.
But just as he had turned off the faucet, something had caught his attention. Slowly, he picked up the object beside the sink.
His mother’s steak knife.
His mother always enjoyed steak. The smell of cooking meat filled his nostrils. Nostalgia filled him when he needed it the most.
A shuffling noise quickly caught his attention, by the doorway, a silhouette appeared.
“Marge!” it boomed. “Where’s my beer?!”
David clenched his fist. The one with the knife.
“Hey boy!” the figure screamed.
“Get your stupid mother off the floor and get me my beer!”
Slowly, he turned around.
“La Muerte.”
“H-hey. What are you doing with that?”
His heartbeat quickens its pace
Thump
He walked two steps.
Thump
Three steps.
Thump
Four.
Thump
He was in front of him.
Thump
He raises his arm.
Thump
The metal slices through his skin.
Thump
His blood spurts out everywhere.
Thump
He falls to the ground
Thump
His mother moans. He imagines, it was a moan of relief.
But he didn’t care. He was finished.
“Well, it was clearly a case of self-defense,” the detective stated as the paramedics and police officers swarmed the house.
“The kid saw his mother beaten to a bloody pulp on the floor and his father attacked him.”
As the police filled the house, outside, a band of curious onlookers had gathered. “I’m not surprised,” Marga, a longtime neighbor, quipped. “He’s been at it for years.”
“Kid only defended himself.”
“What’s gonna happen to them now?” her young daughter asks. Marga shrugs, “Nothing more tragic I hope.”
Within the house, David watched as the police officers left his home. His mother stayed at the hospital, recovering from her injuries.
He walks to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. The hallway empty, he knew it was still here. La Muerte never left his house. As he trudged down the stairs, he walked the familiar path towards the kitchen.
All seemed the same as he turned on the faucet. Then a ghastly scene caught his attention. He peered closely at the window by the sink. In the next house, Marga was once again being beaten by her husband.
“La Muerte,” he whispered, just as a silhouette appeared behind him.
About the author: Bea Bufi is a Grade 11 student from De La Salle Zobel. She is currently taking up the Accountancy, Business and Management strand.
About the illustrator: Andrea Mendoza is a cartoonist for Counterpoint. She is currently a Grade 11 student in De La Salle Zobel taking up the Arts & Design track. She has been a member of the publication since A.Y. 2016–2017.
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