Just for laughs

Entered and did not win Life's ghost story competition. A little disgruntled not with the fact that did not win, but with the winning stories. Am actually quite proud of my story (hence, letting the world read it), and apparently, Nazir's philosophy has rubbed off on me - it only matters that I did my best. However, the story (read only the second; a little too busy to notice that the results were out) that was picked, I thought, was not at all ghostly or scary, tries too hard to be clever (failing obviously) and was not quite in the spirit of the competition (of what I can tell from the feature article) - which makes me feel as though the reporters were really taking the piss at Russell Lee etc. It just grates that when people, in general, and journalists/reviewers, in particular, sniff at 'popular' books, in a manner that suggests virtue in contempt. If you don't like it, fine. But there is nothing wrong with liking popular books. Just like there is nothing really wrong about liking airy fairy stuff. There is nothing inherently good about one if one likes 'literature'. It also does not make a person dumb if you like popular books - which seems to be their insinuation. How annoying.

Even more so, is that they don't really know what they are talking about, having not read the genres they disdain. Viz. a really bad piece about chick lit and romance some time back, which only betrays their ignorance of the genre and lack of research in general. (Hah - they made a mistake about Star Trek too, don't think I will forget that!). As Adik says, Harry Potter would not have been published in Singapore. Sad.

Ok, so, (only) for those interested to read (Thanks, Saf!), my story:

Feeding frenzy

“Damn it, Marlina. I have put up with a lot this past two years. You were so damned slow in giving me a baby. Now, you have lost him. This really takes the cake. The court is going to hear about this, I promise you,” Marlina’s husband ranted at her.

Marlina did not hear the harsh words. Still in shock, she looked at her husband, barely seeing him. His voice had faded to a murmur. She could not believe her beautiful little boy was gone, just like that. She had only had him for two days.

Please help me find my baby.

She repeated the prayer over and over in her head, praying to whatever deity could hear her.

Marlina’s closed eyes and seeming deafness only infuriated her husband further. As he moved to strike her, her body faded from that plane. He struck thin air, then, felt around, rather foolishly.

Marlina’s eyes snapped open when she heard her baby’s wail. Before her, stood a middle-aged woman, quite ordinary-looking. The only strange thing about her was her translucency. Marlina realized that she could see right through the woman to the other side. Cold crept from her fingertips and crawled its way to her heart. Not quite believing her eyes, she also registered that she was standing in the middle of a nursery, furnished with the latest designs. The cot sheets had Pooh on it, she thought dazedly.

The woman, or rather, spirit, was cooing over little Sharif. A rage, surpassing anything she had felt before, seeped through her initial fear.

Marlina cleared her throat, as the spirit sang a lullaby to Sharif, oblivious to Marlina’s presence.

The spirit turned around with a start.

“Hello?”

No, the spirit was not that ordinary. She had the coldest eyes Marlina had ever seen. Marlina never knew orange could freeze. She shoved her fear aside to speak to the spirit.

“I want my baby back,” Marlina said, tremulously, without preamble.

The spirit frowned a little at this breach of manners.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That is my child. And I want him back.”

The spirit’s brows furrowed. Then, she smiled as comprehension dawned.

“Oh! Well, I’m afraid that is not possible,” she said gently.

“What do you mean, ‘not possible’? That was not a request!”

Little Sharif whimpered. The spirit frowned at Marlina in annoyance. Still, she kept her temper.

“Don’t you remember when you had wished someone would take him away? So, I did. You can’t just take him back when you feel like it.” She passed her ghostly hand through Sharif’s heart. The little boy quieted.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I have to feed my baby.”

“That’s my baby!”

Marlina watched in horror as the spirit started breastfeeding her baby. As the baby suckled, he grew more insubstantial. His skin became translucent, and slowly, he faded. He became more like the wretched spirit the more he drank.

“Pontianak ti-bam ti-bam. Dapat anak pipi tembam[1],” the spirit sang to Sharif, wholly unconcerned by Marlina’s distress.

Impotent fury had Marlina clenching her fists. She ran to her baby, uncaring of her stitches.

“Stop it!”

She moved to grab her precious boy but her hands merely passed through him.

Calmly, the spirit said, “There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Take me, instead.”

The spirit raised an eyebrow.

“Do you really mean that?”

Something stroked Marlina’s throat, tightened around it.

“Do you mean, you will go through pain, the pain of death for this boy?”

Marlina clawed at the invisible hands strangling her.

The spirit watched from afar, with contempt.

“And you say you are willing to die for him.”

“Reflex,” Marlina choked out as she willed her hands down. She fell to her knees, and then, to the floor. As she felt life ebbing away, she felt curiously unafraid. She had never thought she could have faced death with such sanguinity.

Death makes one see things, she thought hazily.

“You know the rules.”

And hear things.

Marlina’s glazed-over eyes met the new specter’s. Its diminutive form belied its deep voice. The spirit who had kidnapped her son looked disgruntled.

“I was just testing her,” she said.

The smaller specter frowned.

Marlina felt the grip on her throat loosen, and finally disappear.

“You can have your baby back,” the spirit relented, surly.

Marlina took Sharif back gratefully.

She cleared her throat.

“Er, I don’t suppose anyone can send me back?” she rasped.

The tiny ghost gave a bark of amusement.

In an instant, Marlina found herself back on the bed. She looked down at Sharif. He was back to normal. Then, she looked up and glared at her husband. She had learnt quite a lot about courage.

She said to her stupefied husband, “You want sole custody? Over my dead body.”


[1] Pontianak got a chubby-cheeked child.