Creep:Unclear Horror

I was in a state of serenity, cocooned in solitude, when a bright light shone on my face through the window facing the highway. It was warm and comforting. Slowly, it dawned on me—it must be morning.

I opened my eyes and stretched, letting the light guide me to wakefulness.

The main room was quiet and empty, except for my brother, still fast asleep. I walked over to him and caressed his handsome face. An overwhelming sense of protectiveness filled me, as it always did. I feared losing him, just as I feared losing my parents.

Leaning down, I kissed his forehead gently and began to hum, my hand brushing through his hair in an affectionate rhythm. After a few moments, I stood up and headed downstairs to the first floor.

The scent of breakfast welcomed me as I reached the bottom of the stairs. My mother had set up a small, makeshift kitchen and was busy cooking. She was humming a tune of her own as the aroma of fish soup filled the air.

Across the room, my father sat on a small chair I didn't recognize—it was likely something he had crafted earlier. He was engrossed in a newspaper, one hand flipping the pages, while the other effortlessly lifted a dumbbell.

I couldn't help but smile at the sight. "Good morning!" I greeted them cheerfully.

"Good morning, Tessa!" they replied, their faces lighting up with smiles.

My mother gestured for me to sit. "Come eat. The soup's ready."

I joined her at the table, excited by the fragrant dish before me. Before digging in, I clasped my hands in prayer, thanking for the meal. The fish soup was as delicious as it smelled, warming me from the inside out.

Once I finished, I carried my dishes to the sink and washed them, leaving my mother to handle the rest. Afterward, I brushed and flossed my teeth before heading back upstairs to the main room.

The second-floor, second room was plain and lifeless, the kind of neutral space that held no charm. Still, I wandered around, letting my eyes explore. Stopping at the window, I gazed out at the rice field. It stretched wide and empty, with only the occasional breeze rustling through it.

Something else caught my attention—a large bathroom outside the house. The thought of an outdoor bath piqued my curiosity. I made my way downstairs again, stepping outside through the gate.

The first thing I checked was the comfort room. It was small, built for one person, but its design had an unexpected elegance.

Then, I ventured to the larger bathroom. To my surprise, it was spotless and well-maintained, despite its simplicity. There was no shower—just a drum filled with water and a tabo. The bathing set was complete, with soap, scrubbers, and other essentials neatly arranged. Still, I couldn't shake the awkwardness of it being outside the house.

After taking it all in, I made my way toward the rice field. Following a narrow, muddy path, I found myself standing at its center. The silence here was profound, a quiet that wrapped around me. The view was vast, stretching into the distance where the sunlight illuminated the horizon in soft, golden hues.

When I returned to the front of the house, I wandered toward the muddy area nearby. Frogs leaped and croaked among the puddles. Some were small and cute, while others looked peculiar, their forms slightly uncanny. Water lilies floated lazily across the surface, their colors brightening the stillness of the water.

I noticed a small dry pond where a local man was busy planting water spinach. He worked with a quiet efficiency, occasionally stopping to refill the pond with water from a nearby source. It seemed the area had been without rain for days.

As I moved closer to the mango tree, I studied it intently. Up close, it appeared unremarkable—just a normal tree. And yet, there was something about it, a faint sense of unease that lingered at the edge of my thoughts, barely noticeable but persistent.

The man planting water spinach looked up and noticed me. He smiled and called me near him so i approach him and wave at him.

The man straightened up, wobbling slightly as he tried to steady himself. His face was red, and there was a faint scent of alcohol lingering in the air despite the early hour.

"Well, look who's out and about," he said, his voice slightly slurred but good-natured. "Morning, young lady. You new here, eh?"

I hesitated but offered a polite smile. "Good morning. Yes, my family just moved into the house nearby."

"The house nearby…" He scratched his head, his brow furrowing as if the thought escaped him. "Oh! You mean the old house by the dike?"

"Yes, that's the one," I replied, watching him closely. There was a strange moment of pause in his expression, like he was trying to piece something together but couldn't quite get there.

"Hmm." He looked away, back at the water spinach. "Well, you'll like it here. It's… nice enough, I guess. Quiet most of the time."

I nodded, unsure how to respond. His tone sounded as if he were convincing himself as much as me.

"You with your ma and pa, I suppose?" he asked, crouching back down to tend to the plants.

"Yes, and my younger brother," I replied. "We just arrived yesterday."

"Hmm," he muttered again, pulling a weed from the soil with a sharp tug. "Kids these days… so much to take care of. Me and the wife, we've got our hands full with our grandson."

"Oh, you're taking care of your grandson?"

"Yeah," he said with a weak laugh. "Poor kid lost his parents. Ain't much, but we do what we can for him. My wife, well, she's not much for discipline. And me…" He glanced at the bottle of tuba resting by the edge of the pond. "Let's just say I ain't the shining example of a role model either."

I offered a kind smile. "It's still admirable, looking after him. It must be tough."

"Tough's one way to put it," he muttered. "My eldest boy's off in Namila working, and I'm here, trying to keep things steady. But enough about that." He straightened up again, giving me a lopsided grin. "So, how're you finding the place so far?"

"It's nice," I replied honestly. "Quiet, like you said."

"Hmm, well, that's one way to see it. Just keep an eye out, eh? Never know what this place'll throw at you. The locals… we can be a lively bunch. Especially at night." He chuckled dryly, but there was a weariness behind it.

I smiled politely, not wanting to pry further. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

"Alright, young lady," he said, waving me off. "Go on, enjoy the town while you can. Don't let an old drunk geezer like me hold you up."

After our conversation, I turned away, deciding to explore more of the town.

I look at the mango tree for the last time and continue exploring the surroundings. Just a meter away from our house stands another simple yet well-maintained home. Its structure is built from fine, high-quality wood, and its cleanliness and coziness make it inviting. Out of curiosity, I peek through the slightly open back door and see a semi-dark, empty living room. In one corner, a few bottles of tuba rest beside a fishing rod and some high-quality baits.

I linger for a moment, pondering who might live here and my first guess is the man who is planting water spinach in the small pond infront of our house, while moving on along a narrow path leading to the front of the house. My eyes catch sight of a deep well, moss clinging to its ancient stones. I lean over cautiously to peer inside, the dimness of its depths giving the impression of an endless abyss. At the bottom, I notice a faint reflection of water and, to my surprise, a small frog lazily floating on its surface. It stares back at me with an almost comical expression, as if to say, What are you looking at? I can't help but let out a wheezy laugh.

Straightening myself, I glance at the well one last time and carry on.

A few steps later, I notice a boy standing silently a short distance away. His gaze feels heavy, and I feel a twinge of embarrassment at having been caught laughing at a frog. Smiling, I wave at him. He waves back hesitantly, so I decide to approach.

"Hi there! I didn't notice you earlier. May I know your name?" I ask, my tone friendly.

He scratches his neck nervously and stammers, "I-I was j-just… passing by. I'm Migo. I live here with my grandparents."

Reaching out for a handshake, I respond, "Hi, Migo! I'm Tessa… Tessa Mialila Passionata." I flash him a bright smile.

His eyes widen slightly. "O-oh, what a unique name! By the way, you're unfamiliar around here. Are you new?"

"Yes," I say, nodding. "My family and I just arrived yesterday. My father bought that house near the highway." I point toward our house.

Migo's expression falters slightly as he mutters, "That… house? Hmm…" He trails off in thought, as though he's trying to recall something. "Well, that means I'm your neighbor. How long will you and your family be staying?"

"We're staying until Christmas—maybe until New Year if nothing goes wrong."

His eyes brighten, and a sly smile spreads across his face. "You won't regret staying here. If you want, on Christmas night, I can take you to a secret place. Only I know about it. Just you and me." His tone is friendly, but there's something in his eyes that feels off—like he's sizing me up.

I smile politely, though I feel uneasy. "I'd like to, but I might not be available that night. I'll be helping my mom prepare our family's noche buena."

His smile fades, but he quickly recovers. "Well, maybe if you're free, you can join me then. Anyway, it was nice meeting you. Welcome to our town." His tone now feels more genuine, and he waves goodbye, heading toward the small pond near my house where he help his grandfather.

I sigh, glad the awkward interaction is over, and continue my exploration.

I follow a small road connected to the highway that runs beside a dike and lead to a long way that can lead to another areas. The morning air is balmy and fresh, the serene quietness of the town embracing me as I walk. After a short distance, I come across a small, worn-out cottage nestled beside the dike. Its faded charm invites me, so I step closer and take a seat on the porch, taking in the tranquil surroundings.

As I glance around, something catches my eye—a small, broken piece of necklace lying on the floorboards. I crouch to pick it up, but the moment my fingers graze it, a sudden and sharp sensation shoots through me. It's as if fire is racing through my veins, leaving me momentarily paralyzed.

"What… was that?" I think, pulling my hand back instinctively. My heart pounds in my chest. Before I can process what just happened, a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision draws my attention.

A figure—a child—sits on the edge of the porch, staring at me with mysterious eyes. My breath hitches, but before I can react, the figure vanishes. I blink rapidly, trying to convince myself it was just my imagination.

"Am I seeing things? Maybe it's the lack of sleep—or the eerie atmosphere here playing tricks on me, I think, shaking my head to clear it." Still, unease lingers as I pocket the broken piece of necklace and continue my journey.

The road leads me to a cluster of old houses. Though no one is outside—perhaps still asleep, given the early hour—the area feels oddly lively. I watch as a young boy plays with a toy truck in the dirt while a toddler nearby giggles, poking at a tiny frog. Their innocence and carefree nature momentarily soothe my nerves.

I continue walking, eventually arriving at a stretch of rice fields bordered by coconut trees. The breeze carries the earthy scent of the fields, and the rustling leaves create a calming melody. A wave of contentment washes over me, but it's short-lived as I notice an abandoned house near the dike up ahead.

Crossing the creaky bridge cautiously, I approach the house, my curiosity piqued. The air around it feels heavier, as if the house itself exudes a quiet warning. Through a crack in the wall, I peek inside.

The room beyond is dimly lit, and what I see makes my heart stop—a doll with ruby-red eyes sits on a small wooden chair, its twisted neck giving the impression that it's staring directly at me. The other toys scattered around the room are frozen in unnatural positions, as though caught in mid-play. Their arrangement feels deliberate, almost ritualistic.

"What kind of child played here?" I think, my stomach twisting. "No… this isn't play. This feels wrong."

I take a careful step back, unwilling to linger any longer.

After retracing my steps, I pass by a quaint, old house with a beautiful flower garden out front. An elderly woman is tending to the plants, her frail hands moving with practiced care.

I approach her cautiously, greeting her warmly. She looks up, surprised but pleased by my friendliness.

The conversation begins with pleasantries before I ask, "Why are you alone here, ma'am?"

Her expression softens with a hint of sadness. "My family left for vacation, but I stayed behind. Someone needs to look after the house and the garden."

Moved by her dedication, I offer to help, and she gladly accepts. Together, we water the plants, harvest cocoa and coconuts, and share stories, but also feel sympathy and sadness seeing a lonely old lady.

As the afternoon sun dips lower, she prepares a simple but hearty meal: cocoa coffee, rice, raw sugar cane, and a delicious potato mash. After eating, I lie down on the small wooden cottage outside and unintentionally drift off to sleep.

The last thing I feel is her gentle hand stroking my hair as she hums a soft Bisaya lullaby.

Tessa wakes up when it's almost sunset. She finds herself lying on the cottage outside the old lady's house. Rubbing her eyes, she notices the warm orange hue of the setting sun stretching across the sky. The air feels cool, and the distant sounds of crickets signal the approach of evening.

She decides to check on the old lady, peeking through the window of the old house. Inside, she sees the old woman lying on the bed, sound asleep. Relieved, Tessa sighs softly and steps away from the window, letting the lady rest.

As she turns to leave, she takes a moment to analyze the area again. Walking around the small garden and pond, she notices a faint trail leading into the woods in the left direction of the house. A strange feeling settles over her as she looks at it—something about the path feels both inviting and foreboding. She debates whether to explore it but ultimately decides against it.

Her gaze falls upon the pond, where she notices something sticking out of the murky water. Squinting, it looks like a pale, human-like hand reaching upward. She freezes for a moment, heart racing, but when she cautiously steps closer, she realizes it's only a submerged tree branch. Feeling slightly embarrassed by her overactive imagination, she laughs nervously and retraces her steps back toward the main road.

As Tessa walks home, she passes by the little house near the dike, again. When a sudden, dreadful feeling washes over her. She slows down, glancing at the house. Through a small crack in the wooden wall, she spots two tiny, glowing red eyes staring at her. and a creepy lullaby tone from what it seems a toy played. She freezes, her breath catching in her throat. The eyes don't move, only watching her silently as the lullaby gets more creepy. Feeling a chill run down her spine, she quickly turns away and walks faster, refusing to look back.

Midway back, Tessa is deep in thought about her strange day when she suddenly trips and unknowingly drop the piece of a broken necklace from her pocket. Looking down, she finds herself face-to-face with the stray dog she had seen the previous midnight. The dog barks happily, wagging its tail and circling her as if greeting an old friend.

She laughs and kneels to pet it, feeling comforted by its friendly demeanor. "Hey, it's you again," she murmurs, scratching its ears. The dog barks once more, this time turning its attention toward the horizon. Tessa follows its gaze and sees the sunset—its fiery orange and deep purple hues filling the sky.

The sight captivates her. She feels a wave of nostalgia and comfort, as if the sunset is reminding her of something long forgotten. While watching, she gets the eerie sense that someone is standing around and beside her. Turning her head sharply, she finds no one there—just the dog sitting calmly, watching the horizon.

When the sun finally dips below the hills, casting the town into twilight, Tessa notices the dog wandering off. It trots toward the little house near the dike—the same one with the red eyes. A knot of worry forms in her chest. "Don't go there," she whispers to herself, but the dog disappears into the shadows, leaving her standing alone.

Tessa decides to head home, her steps quickening as darkness begins to blanket the town. On her way, she passes by one of the old houses she had seen earlier. To her surprise, there's a small gathering outside—a dinner feast. Thirteen people are seated around a long wooden table, illuminated by candlelight.

A man notices her and waves, inviting her to join. "Come, have some food with us!" he says warmly.

Tessa hesitates, glancing at the variety of dishes laid out. While the scene seems lively and welcoming, something about the number of people and the eerie lighting unsettles her. She smiles politely and declines. "Thank you, but I need to get home. Maybe next time."

The man nods understandingly. "Safe travels, then."

As she continues, she passes the house of the man who had been planting water spinach earlier. This time, he's sitting on a acacia chair outside of their house, playing a guitar while his wife sips tuba from a wooden cup and poured out more from the tuba small gallon. Their grandson sits on a small wood chair, eating dinner. When the boy notices Tessa, he waves enthusiastically. She waves back with a smile before continuing her walk.

Finally, she reaches the gate of her family's house. The warm light spilling out from the small gap of the first floor walls fills her with relief. Stepping inside, she sees her mother in the kitchen, finishing up dinner preparations. Without hesitation, Tessa hugs her from behind and plants a sweet kiss on her cheek.

"Something smells amazing," Tessa says, her voice filled with warmth. Her mother smiles, though there's a hint of concern in her eyes.

"You were out all day," her mother says gently. "I was starting to worry."

Tessa grins playfully. "Don't worry, I didn't get into too much trouble." She then heads upstairs to freshen up before dinner.

On the second floor, she finds her father and brother still struggling with the locked third room. They look exhausted, their faces red from exertion.

"You two still at it?" Tessa teases, walking up to hug them both. "Dinner's almost ready. Take a break before you collapse."

Her father sighs, rubbing his temples. "This door is a stubborn one. I'll deal with it tomorrow."

The family gathers on the first floor for dinner, enjoying a hearty meal filled with laughter and chatter. Afterward, they each take turns bathing and settle into the main room for an early night.

As Tessa lies in bed, staring at the wooden ceiling, her thoughts drift back to some events of the day—new people, broken piece of necklace, the creppy child, the old lady, the glowing red eyes of what it seems from the doll before, the eerie feast, and the strange dog. Something about Dilopog felt... off, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

And so, day two in Dilopog came to a close, leaving Tessa with more questions than answers.