It was the evening of April the 1st, 2019. I was walking back home at a leisurely pace softly humming the song I hadn’t been able to get out of my head for the last two days. As I was approaching my house, the cluster of tall trees came into view. Underneath them were the thin bony trees with bare gnarled branches sticking out towards the street. In darkness, stiff and motionless, they assumed the look of giant space creatures waiting to ambush me.
I quickened my pace as I started to get spooked by the dry leafless trees looming in the dark. My neighbourhood is well lit, has nice cosy houses and friendly inhabitants. But, there is an area on the path to my house where the street lights don’t reach. It’s covered by a small forest of big trees that house various flying creatures that make numerous flapping, cawing and whistling sounds.
Although I have never seen ghosts, I have heard accounts of them numerous times from my Burmese family. My grandparents used to tell me that in every tree there might live a supernatural being. If they wanted to chop a tree down, they would say prayers and beg for forgiveness from any spirit living in the trees before they did the deed. Otherwise, they might be troubled by the supernatural that had lost a home. They had heard stories of people being tormented by nightmares given by the angry spirit for destroying their home.
As a child I believed these and always got goose bumps whenever I was going at night past the big tree in the front garden of my grandparents’ house in Mandalay. Sometimes I deliberately went there alone daring to catch a glimpse of a possible apparition. But I was never brave enough to hang around for more than a few seconds. The hair on the back of my neck would stand up and I would run back into the safety of the house. During the day, though, I happily played near the tree, even climbing onto its low branch without thinking about any phantom. But at night, my imagination would run wild and the tree transformed into something spooky. On nights when my inventiveness was in overdrive, I would stay close to grownups, tailing my uncles and climbing into my grandma’s bed refusing to sleep on my own. I would curl up under the blanket, tucking my legs close to my chest in case the spirit would come and tease me by tickling my feet.
I had never experienced boredom thanks to my overactive imagination. As an only child in a big family, it was an acceptable replacement for playmates. My imagination and I had managed to drive buses, ride a bicycle, pedal a rickshaw, floor a school bully with martial arts using only two wooden stools and a few planks. We even talked to a foreigner in fluent English.
But coming back to that April night, when I was nearly home, my old playmate imagination was making me see the trees as spooky creatures that might have supernatural beings living in them. I felt the familiar goose bumps again.
As I quickened my pace, I heard someone call my name. I looked around. I didn’t see anyone except the rounded fluffy furry outline of the ginger cat sitting on top of our neighbour’s recycle bin. I could see the shape of his ears twitching and his eyes glowing in the dark from the little light reflected on them. Seeing no one, I proceeded towards the gate of my house. I heard my name called again. Again there was nobody. I saw the ginger cat stood up swishing his bushy tail.
For a split second, I entertained the idea of this cat calling my name. But I shook it off and walked quickly towards the gate. Before I knew it, I heard a thud and the ginger cat was suddenly standing on top of my bin near the gate. I looked at him, surprised.
He opened his mouth and started to speak.
‘Hey, you, I’m talking to you. Look at me!’
As if I was anchored to the ground by some supernatural force, I stood still staring at the cat.
‘I know you have been poking fun at me.’ The cat continued, raising his dignified paw.
‘I heard you wrote about me and compared me to that fat git called Garfield and you said my belly is so big that it’s trailing the ground’ he said, pointing at his trailing belly.
‘You’d better stop making fun of me. Otherwise, I’ll come and wipe my fur all over your washing whenever you manage to hang it out in your garden.’
I lost my cool, let out a cry and ran towards the back door of the house, slamming the gate shut. Luckily, the back door was unlocked. I don’t know what I would have done if I had to stop and unlock it.
I burst open the back door, startling my adopted brother who was casually scanning the fridge. Seeing me panting with wild eyes and a scared expression, he held my shoulders and asked me what was wrong.
‘Lock the door!!’ I shouted.
Confused and alarmed, he quickly complied.
‘What’s wrong??’ he asked.
‘The cat … the ginger cat …’ I stuttered.
He poured me a glass of water and I calmed down slightly. Then I told him all about my encounter with the cat.
He listened with one raised eyebrow and a smile, indicating he didn’t believe a word I said. I wished I could raise just one eyebrow like he did. I would look so cool. I got annoyed and insisted that I did actually witness the cat talking to me. He countered with two raised eyebrows and an even wider grin.
‘I don’t believe you.’ He said.
‘Me neither.’ I said. ‘April Fool!’
He started laughing.
‘You are a few hours too late.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘April fool is supposed to be only until 12 noon. It’s now 8:30 in the evening! Who’s the fool now?’
Damn, I didn’t know that. Oh, well. I’ll have to wait another twelve months to do it properly. Next time, I’ll come up with something more believable and find more victims.