Sunday, February 1975

My father and I argued, the night before. He insisted I quit the job with Mr. Saturnino. He said there was no reason for me to enslave myself from that cemetery. He had a point, but I couldn't bring myself to give up on the brown paper bag. Through out the two years that I have worked, the bag continued to appear, like an enigma, it remained a constant vagueness in my life.

Vincent S. was a mistery which I was not ready to give up on. I wanted to know who he was. Sadly, that day marked the darkest hour of my life. I was turning 16 five days after that Sunday. I was about to be a young girl who was never been touched or kissed. Unfortunately my stubborn self took all the signs on that gloomy day as nothing more but coincidental and I paid a price.

What I'm about to tell you is something i have kept for nearly 35 years. It was an incident that took away my innocence, not physically but mentally.

I rode a taxi that morning and the driver dropped me off at lew Street, under the lamppost. It was still chilly and the ground has a faint blanket of white from the previous onslaught of a snow storm. The ground was slippery but I managed to stand properly by aid of the rubber shoes my dad bought.

I have been standing there for a few minutes, when a man clad in a black suit passed by me, his eyes were pinned on my chest. But, growing up in that neighbourhood, I learned how well off people often stared at the occupants of our place, only for self gratification. They would gaze and then silently thank god they are not on thesame living conditions. They would smile, pity us, but more often than not, they would throw disgusting remarks.

The man kept his eyes on me, even when the distance between us made it rather inconvinient to his neck. He was almost turning it in a 120 degree angle. It was weird, but like the naive girl I was, I ignored it.

After 10 minutes Mr. Saturnino and his bus arrived. I got in and he drove away.

The work in the cemetery that day was gruesome. We had to clean almost a quarter of the cemetery which we unluckily failed to finish. Mr. Saturnino, despite us failing, still promised me a fair wage. I was thankful for that. Not that I needed the money as much as I did before, but because he still considered me as the person I used to be.

Mr. Saturnino knew of the luck our family had. He was after all, in contact with my father. But the man still regarded me as the girl he first met. No special treatment, no change in the way he spoke to me, and most importantly, he still saw me as someone who would take the work seriously despite not needing it anymore.

Seven thirty, the evening of that Sunday.

Mr. Saturnino insisted that he drop me off infront of our new subdivision. I refused, knowing how out of the way it was. He did most of the work that day and I was not oblivious to the fatigue which was evident by the movement of his body.

When I descended the bus, he gave me one last push and asked if it truly was okay to drop me off at lew. I smiled brightly at him and said yes.

He nodded and drove off. I was expecting to see a brown paper bag as turned to face the lamppost, but there was none.

What awaited me though, was the same man that morning. I barely realised his presence because he was blending in on the dark corner. He approached me and when his face came ino view, his eyes held malice which I for once utterly failed to see.

He smiled at me and asked if I was from the neighborhood. I immidiately answered no. If I had said yes that time, maybe he would have doubted and walked away. Maybe he would have thought, I knew the people around that area, which was true.

But being the unsociable person i was during my stay in that place. The people didn't truly know who I was.

So when he grabbed my arm and I struggled to break free, yelling for someone to help, no one came to my aid. Next thing I know, I was being shoved inside a red van which I failed to notice parking near the lamppost.

I struggled as the man pushed me further inside. He slapped me over and over until my consciousness faded.

When I awoke, I was inside an abandoned building. The light was faint, but I was able to make out my surroundings.

I still had my clothes on but it felt damp, and when I fully regained consciousness, the sight before me nearly drove me insane.

Laying a few feet from me, was the man that shoved me inside the van. I could tell, due to the silver bracelet he wore. His body was drenched in blood, and as my eyes trailed the length of him, I realised that his neck was void of his head, while the severed artery which hung loosely from his neck, kept spurting blood. Beside him was another body. It too looked lifeless, but it had its head.

I screamed, for how long, I can't remember. Only when I heard the distant weewing of a police car did I manage to stop and by then, my chest and throat was aching, so was my head. Everything was spinning and for the second time, I lost consciousness.

When I awoke, I was already inside a hospital. I saw my father and mother sitting a meter away from my bed. They were sleeping.

I tried to say something, but the burning sensation on my throat made it difficult. So I closed my eyes again, willing myself to sleep.

It must have been dawn when I heard a rustling sound. I opened my eyes but my room was too dark. My parents must have turned off the lights at some point. Anyway, in the dimness of my surroundings, I saw a silhouette near the door. I doubted that it was a shadow casted by the faint light from the half opened window, because my gut told me, it was human. But I was too drained to think any of it or investigate further. So I closed my eyes again and fell back to to sleep.

When morning came, I awoke with a headache and my sight was spinning.

Despite that though, my eyes did not fail to see the brown paper bag laying on the floor near my bedroom door.

I willed myself up, and carefully got out of the hospital bed. I picked up the brown paper bag and the first thing I noticed was the dripping red fluid from its bottom, while the smell of something metallic coming from the bag, did not escape my nose.

I hesitantly opened it and immidiately screamed when I saw what was inside.

Three pieces of fingers, all in a different shade of skin tone, with a note that said.

(He was busy, so I took over)

Shocked would be an understatement. Who it was though, I would find out, 40 years later.