THE UNSEEN HANDS
The morning sunshine falls through my window waking me up. The sun is up and ready for the day's work.
I hide from the sunlight for a few more minutes under the duvet before throwing it off. I put on my slippers and throw my hair into a messy bun.
Lilian Winslet
Time to get working and no time to spare.
Lilian Winslet
First things first. Tidy up the bed first.
I snatch the duvet from the bed, fold it neatly. Then I even out the bedsheets and put the pillows in place. I finish it by throwing the duvet over.
Lilian Winslet
Now, breakfast.
Lilian Winslet
Making food is always a menace.
Lilian Winslet
Guess I will just make some scrambled eggs with toast. And a cup of coffee, perhaps.
Lilian Winslet
That ought to make up for yesterday's missed dinner.
Then it suddenly slams into me.
My eyes instantly go to my study table. The only stuff there is my neatly stacked books and copies with a pen stand.
I cross-check my bookshelf to see the book standing there. Exactly where it should be, even after all this time.
See? It was all just a dream. All just a bad dream.
Maybe mum was right after all. Maybe I should take a break from the thriller and psychological thrillers. I need to change genres for sometime. Yeah, I will buy myself some romcoms.
That's the thing about novels. You never know when they become your alternate reality and when both realities start mixing up.
Lilian Winslet
So, what do I need?
I stand by the open fridge, scanning it.
Lilian Winslet
Two eggs, four pieces of bread. And milk.
I grab them all clumsily and push the fridge door shut.
I turn the stove on and reach for the frying pan. I put the bread into the toaster and turn it on.
Spraying some oil, I prepare my scrambled eggs. Then I get on with my coffee. Yeah, I am a bit abnormal with that. I don't get an upset stomach even if I have eggs and milk together.
Just on cue, my toast is done. I plate them all up nicely and take them to the dining table.
Lilian Winslet
Thank you for the food. Let's dig it!
After finishing breakfast as I was putting the plates and cup into the sink my mind has already wandered to what outfit I should wear today.
I walk over to my bedroom and throw open my closet.
My eyes scan it with great focus. Long dresses, shorts, t-shirts, pants...
I pull out one pair of my jeans and pair it with a black top. And to withstand the cold AC air, I take out the black leather jacket.
I decide to close the curtains in case some perverted creep is peeping over.
As my hands reach over to pull the curtains my eyes fall on the muddy imprint by the windowsill.
My eyes squint trying to focus on the shape of the imprint, figuring out exactly what it is.
And when I do my mind goes blank in disbelief. Because it can't be.
I rub my eyes, hoping again it would be a trick of the eyes.
Lilian Winslet
No... This isn't real.
Lilian Winslet
Yesterday wasn't.
Lilian Winslet
How can this be..?
My voice is a whisper in fear someone might hear. Someone whose presence I am unaware of.
Because the imprint is a handprint. HANDS!
Yesterday, the book... It wasn't a dream?
My body goes limp with fear.
Just then the doorbell ripples through the house. My mind takes its time to register that.
And when it finally does, my body doesn't co-operate enough for me to go over and answer it.
The doorbell rings again as if getting impatient. I force my legs to walk before all this makes me lose my sanity.
I call out standing in the doorway.
Lilian Winslet
Damn! These thrillers are turning my life into one goddamn thriller itself!
I curse out. I muster all my courage and my lips won't stop praying as I open up the door.
A moment doesn't spare after I open the door that the fragrance of lilies fill in the air. My eyes take in the whole view of the bright red lilies lying on top of a brown packaged box.
My eyes search for the delivery person but no one is there. Maybe they left.
I pick up the bouquet, taking in the fragrance of the lovely flowers.
Maybe this package isn't part of the horror scene.
I pick up the package and it's astonishingly lightweight. I carry it over to the living room and place it down on the centre table.
I bring a cutter before sinking down into the sofa.
I cut the packaging with anticipation. It would be a lie to say the horror of what I just witnessed a few moments has vanished. It still lingers.
Lilian Winslet
Now, now. What might it be?
I catch a glimpse of the package which reads: NO RETURN ADDRESS.
Lilian Winslet
No return address? That's weird.
I feel the horrifying feeling settling back in and my hands going shaky.
But I still open the package. I need to.
And what the package holds takes me back through time to my childhood.
It's my childhood doll. My princess doll. My favourite.
One I remember losing and crying till my tears dried up and my body so exhausted that it went to sleep.
I never got it back. I never found it. We searched everywhere but all traces of it had disappeared.
Lilian Winslet
Who found it?
I pick it up not wanting to disperse those fond childhood memories but the horror is also covering me like a second skin.
Lilian Winslet
If mom sent it, why no return address?
I put it back, and package it back again, this time tighter than how it arrived.
I pick up the lilies to put them into a vase. I don't want them to dry up.
Just then a note falls down from it.
Lilian Winslet
What's that?
I pick it up and my eyes silently read the words.
There was only one who called me that.
I am no longer the little girl I was ten years ago.
No longer that chubby little girl with fluffy cheeks and chocolate hair.
No one recognises me. No one can. I made sure of that.
I play these words in my mind but my heart won't stop pounding.
The feeling of being watched.
I try to dismiss it but the thought lingers on.
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