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What
was she, a hundred?

How
long had she been living? WHAT kept her alive? Maybe she just looked
old. Maybe she smoked too many cigarettes. I always heard that stuff
did horrors to your skin. Looking at her made my eyes want to throw
up. And that smell...that jungle-medicine smell collapsed my nose.
Yet, I was impressed when she walked away: her posture was excellent.
She moved like a classy dame. Her yellow dress – which I
assumed was once white – moved with a kind of stiffness that
suggested it hadn't been washed in a while. The other kids followed
her butt, shooting invisible daggers from their eyes. She spun around
and gazed at them right back, tilting her head back and making her
eyes wide as can be. The kids straightened their backs and looked
forward. I was reminded of the military. These kids were not new.
They were dirty. How long had they been here? Their hands were on the
table like good little boys and girls. Some kids shook...trying to
fight the urge to run off, no doubt. Even thinking of such a thing
was risky.

By
the looks of it, the oldest kid there was me.

Another
detail: I was the only thin one. All the others were...how you
say...
well-fed
. All right, all right, FAT. They were like
little beach balls with arms. No offense.

Everyone
had these covered silver bowls in front of them that reminded me of
UFOs. I had one in front of me, too. Granny said to them all, “Good.
I like that you listen. I like that you know just by my
stare
.”
Then to me, “Soon...you, too, will learn.”

I
nodded again, a knot in my stomach signaling that it just might be
time to use the lady's room.

Not
now! Who knows what'll happen? I can't just raise my hand and ask to
be excused. Breathe, just breathe.

Granny
sat at the end of the table and clapped her hands once. Everyone
hopped in their seats and gasped a little. One white boy, maybe
around age 10, took a quick look at me, his eyes all glossy.

Help
me,
those eyes begged.
Dear, Jesus...help us all.

Granny
said something in mad-Filipino that sounded like gibberish to me, and
said, “Now eat!”

The
kids lifted the silver covers off their meals – all at the same
time – and dug in. I took off the the cover, the heat burning
my fingertips, and a cloud of steam swallowed my face. I coughed,
waving away the cloud, and I looked at my plate.

Rice.
Spam. Broccoli. Chicken. Teriyaki.

It
was a bento – a variety meal of Hawaii's most beloved foods. I
grew up on all of it, but I wasn't hungry. Not NOW. I looked around.
Everyone ate like there was no tomorrow. Some cried as they ate. The
old woman didn't eat. She had one elbow on the table, her chin
resting in her palm, her other hand on her hip with the elbow out.
Thinking. Looking at me. Waiting to see what I would do next.

I
couldn't take my eyes off her. What to do? What COULD I do? I had to
eat. That was what she wanted. Something in me was saying,
Look,
she wants you to eat, so eat. She's running the show here.

I
forked some rice and brought it to my mouth. It hovered there. Granny
raised an eyebrow.

Poison.
What if it's...

Does
it matter? Just eat before she gets all crazy on you!

I
ate the rice, and it was...good.

Granny
smiled.

“Great.
Just grrreat,” she said. “I spent all day cooking that
stuff for you kids. Eat until your plates are cleaned. Lick those
plates. If you want more – and I hope you do – please
feel free to ask! But seriously, lick those plates. I like to watch.”

One
kid did ask, raising her hand and pointing down at her empty plate.
This fat Chinese girl was strange. She didn't cry, she gave no
evidence of fear. She just ate and ate while Granny's grin grew and
grew.

It
got to a point where it was so big, the old woman burst out laughing,
sounding like a stuck pig, and jumped on the table and crawled toward
the girl with such speed. She was like a Ring-tailed Lemur! She took
the child by the shoulders and tossed her on the table. The poor
child tried to roll away, but it was no good. The old woman grabbed
her foot, flung away her shoe, and put her mouth on the kid's foot.
It was a horrific sight. The other kids just ate...eyes forward.

Was
this normal?

I
wanted to run – just up and skedaddle. But where to? Where was
the front door? And this so-called old woman was fast. Goddamn
speedy. My mind said run, but my body said “stay put, stupid”.
The girl reached out for me; I couldn't move. Granny bit her foot off
with a sick
snap.
Blood
sprayed across my face. The foot in Granny's mouth...the toes...they
wiggled. Granny
titled her head back like a bird, eyes
rolling back white, and swallowed. I could see the shape of the foot
slide down that wrinkled throat. The girl didn't cry. She just looked
at me. Shocked. Maybe she was in so much shock she didn't feel the
pain?

Instead,
she passed out, her head thumping on the table. The forks and spoons
jumped and rang. Granny rubbed her belly, going “Mmm-mmm-mmm!”
over and over. She went on her back and moved around like a snake.
She was really enjoying this. This bitch witch was having an outright
ball!

Anger.
It was now or
never
.

I
gripped my fork. If I was going to die, I might as well go guns F'ing
blazing. I was going to stab her face out. That was the idea, but no
– AGAIN, my body didn't move. It refused to do anything other
than stay put and watch like a good little victim. It was my mum's
genes, I knew it. That scared part of me came from her. I couldn't
change it. Impossible. Impossible. I couldn't do it.

Granny
was on the table like a cat, back arched, as if trying to impress me
somehow; but she wasn't looking at me – thank Goodness. Her
stare was fixed on her meal: The kid that was now missing a foot. She
picked up her “meal” and threw the girl over her
shoulder. She walked to the fireplace. I didn't even know trailer
homes had chimneys. Well, that's because they
don't
. Granny
made this one – handcrafted the thing with tinfoil, by the
looks of it. Granny stuffed the kids body into an overused pot. She
lit a match and a mad fire roared to life. Now the kids all cried and
whined. They were mumbling and looking at each other. Granny picked
up the pot cover with difficulty, slamming it over the pot, its dull
ring flying throughout the home, bouncing off the walls. Granny
leaned against the fireplace and said under her breath, “I
can't take the crying.”

She
turned her attention toward me, smiled like a pervert and flicked her
chin up, as if saying
How you do'un?

I
threw my fork at her and ran off. The kid next to me stuck her leg
out, sending me sailing through the air with my arms flapping. I
landed with an OOMPH and rolled across that carpet (that smelt like
feet) and rammed into a little basket of umbrellas. The whole thing
tipped over. One of the umbrellas fell into my hands. I gripped the
dragon-with-its-mouth-open handle and jumped up on the ready, holding
the umbrella out like a sword.

“Back,
lady! Stay away or I'll take your eyes out!”

The
old woman looked downright amused. I could read her face:
This wee
one has moxy,
she was thinking.
She
made her hands into claws and s
he growled and ran toward me. I
jabbed the air and forced the umbrella into her mouth. It opened with
a SHWUMP! and I let go. Granny stumbled back and went left then
right, trying to take the thing out while making “Oomph-oomph”
sounds. She ran into things, knocking over tables of those precious,
large eggs old people like so much. I looked around for the front
door.
Escape!
It was near!
Soon I'd be running through that field, my arms wide open, and I'd be
laughing like an insane person high on freedom. Here I come, Mum! My
NEW mum! I'm coming for you! I'm coming home!

The
huge, wooden door had a hundred metal locks, all attached to thick,
rusty chains that crisscrossed the door. In front of all those little
locks was one HUGE lock that seemed to need a giant key. All the
strength went out from my legs and I fell to my knees. I punched that
stank carpet, crying out “WHY WHY WHY?!” I noticed a
window and thought about getting a good running start and blasting
off and jumping into the air, crashing right through it to freedom.

A
hot breath on the back of my neck made me turn around. Granny punched
me in the stomach, and I went down huffing and puffing.

“Downstairs
you go!” she spat, some drops getting in my hair, in my mouth.
“You go with the special ones. Stupid American. You think
you're better than me?”

It
was my first time being slugged in the gut. I felt like puking. My
brain jumped all around, and it was true, yes, you really
do
see stars. I had my hands over my face. I looked up at her from
between my fingers, expecting her to kick me in the nose or maybe
even yank my scalp off and eat it. Would I be surprised?

She
scooped me up by the wrists, which were still thumping with pain from
that scare on the roof, and tossed me over her shoulder.

“Stupid
American girl, trying to be all tough and shit,” she said with
her teeth clenched. Her grip on me tightened with each step down
those stairs. The thought of being in that death room again made me
puke. The rice I ate came up and flew out of my mouth and ran down
her back. She didn't care. “Dessert,” she said.

I
went kicking and screaming at first; then I stopped. There was no
point. She was elderly, but it would've taken an army of me's to take
her down. If only I wasn't so short for my age...so damn thin....

I'd
make a deal with the wench. I'd work for her by mowing her lawn. I'd
clean her precious, stupid, giant geese/ostrich/dinosaur eggs. I'd
shampoo her hair. I'd cook “meats” all day for her.
Anything. I'd do anything...even (gasp) rub her feet with exotic
oils. Just don't put me back in that room.

Strung
out on 100 percent panic, all I managed to say was “Aaarrgh!”
and “Brawahah!” and “Ohohohohaghh!” It was
emphasized with crying. I sounded like a stepped-on cat. My mind just
screamed. Next thing I knew, I was thrown into that same bloody room
I woke up in. Under the ground. And the hag really
did
just
throw me in there like trash. I rolled to the center of the room, all
covered in bad stuff. My main concern then was if anything nasty went
into my mouth. The door closed and all was ebony again. I was beyond
crying. Too tired. Too lazy. Too beaten up.

Something
sighed at the back of the room.

My
body stiffened.

Now
what?

TWO

It's
early in the year. I'm in the living room, watching the news. The
newswoman looks up from her papers and throws me a serious look. She
says, “...A hundred kids have vanished over the course of a
year. Police are doing all that they can.”

My
mum hears this and says from the kitchen, “Bad things happen to
bad kids that don't listen.” Then she says, “The aswang
got them. She's probably eating them now, licking the meat off their
bones with her cat-like tongue.”

On
the news now are the families. Kids missing. Parents cry, and I feel
bad for them. Kids...they're just kids. Jesus H. Christ, why the
kids? I hope they catch the kidnapper – catch him or her or
both and tie their legs to horses and slap those horses on the ass so
they'd run off and split these kidnappers right down the middle.

My
mum hears the news blasting from the TV and says more awful things
about those missing kids. I am disgusted. Somewhere down there
(somewhere deep, deep down) I really do like her. I am in like with
my mum. Not love, but like...and wasn't that good enough?

“There's
meat in my mouth,” the girl said, “and it's not mine.”
I was blind again, feeling the walls with my hands. This girl...she
begged me to help pick the stuff out from between her teeth. I half
heard this. The other part of me was still very much trying to
understand what in the Sam Hell was going on in my life. Other kids
my age were in school, but ME...? I thought back to the time I first
heard of the missing kids (I guess
these
were the ones), how I
thought bad things about my own damn mother, how I made fun of her
ways. I shook my head. She was right. This whole time, she was right
about everything....

I
walked about the room, my feet slipping and sliding on liquid.

The
girl sighed.

“We're
all gonna die down here.”

I
stuck my arms out and searched for her.

“I
have to get out of here!”

The
girl...it sounded like she was eating. Her lips smacked.

“There's
no way out. Correction. There IS a way out, but it's no use. Many
have tried; many have died. Ha!”

I
was trapped in the dark with a crazy person. Yes, better to keep the
light off. I turned around –
Forget her, she's lost –
and made my way toward what I hoped was the door.

“And
what is this way out you're talking about?”

“Why,
it's right above that pot. I'm sure you saw it.”

“You
want me to climb up the chiminey?”

“I
think you mean
chimney
.”
She sucked on something. “And I don't want you to do that. I
want you to stay here with me. Keep me company.”

My
fingers touched something that felt like a nose. I squealed and threw
it over my head. The girl in the dark said “Thanks” and
then I heard a wet sound, something like teeth sinking into taffy.

I
had to keep her talking. The silence between us scared me. My ESP
told me that this person just
might
run up and do something weird. I asked of her age. “15,”
she said. I said that I was the same age. She asked what schools I
went to, and I asked the same, and it went on like this for quite
some time. The idea was, as long as I could hear her I'd know that
she was far, far back in the room.