“The only person I need to win over is your mother.”
“Don’t hold your breath with her,” Clarisse said. “Anyway, because you’re new to this place I don’t want you catching the wrong bus—it’s a busy terminal.”
“I couldn’t agree more. When we arrived a couple of days ago, I was so confused. If you hadn’t been with me, I would have lost myself amongst the crowd of people.”
“So, what time should we pick you up?”
“Does 9 a.m. suit?” Harry asked.
“Yeah, I will meet you here at the front at nine.”
“Oh, Clarisse, you need to be on time … and no tests, OK?”
Clarisse nodded. “OK then. Have a good night and see you tomorrow.”
Clarisse instinctively put her arms around Harry and hugged him for a couple of seconds. She was happy to be with him, but also sad he was leaving.
For his part, Harry was also feeling an emptiness. He felt his stomach muscles tighten as he let go of her.
“Goodbye, and I will see you tomorrow.”
He waved to Clarisse as she hopped into the sidecar and put on her helmet. She waved back to him frequently—smiling and pointing at her watch.
Harry went along with the joke and threw both hands up in the air and said, “Not again!”
7 the love premonition
Clarisse arrived home and in time for afternoon tea in the garden with Marjorie, who was leaving that evening by bus. Clarisse had wanted to catch up with her beforehand and discuss some ideas with Marjorie—something significant that required her support. They had known each other since they were young children and worked in the same company. There were no secrets between them—they shared their most personal feelings. They lived next door to each other in Manila and were always at hand to support one another.
“Marjorie, I want to ask you for a special favour—but you mustn’t speak to anyone about this.” Marjorie adjusted her seat and looked directly at Clarisse. She had her full attention.
“Well … what is it?”
“I have feelings for Harry and he’s leaving tomorrow.” She took a sip of the tea and held on to her cup. “I know he feels the same way about me.”
“I had a sense you two were going well. So, what is it?”
“I’m going to use the scarlet chair for Harry.”
Marjorie spat out her tea and looked at her crossly. “You’re what? Haven’t you forgotten what happened to you three months ago—want me to remind you?”
“I understand it makes you angry. Can you listen to me for one moment?” They both paused and looked at each other.
“OK … explain,” Marjorie said.
“You know the power of the chair and how it can predict the outcome of relationships?”
“I also know that it can hurt you, Clarisse, and I don’t want you to go through it again.”
“You remember the rules of the superstition?”
“Yes, the scarlet chair won’t hurt you if the prophecy contains true love and desire.”
“Yes, correct—that is because the chair feeds on negative energy in a relationship that has gone sour—infidelity, cheating, lies, adultery and abuse.” Clarisse took a deep breath to relax her nerves.
“You want to prophesise the relationship with Harry on the scarlet chair—after being together only five days?”
“Yes.” Clarisse was steadfast in her conviction.
“I don’t know, Clarisse. Maybe you’re asking for too much this time.” Marjorie lifted the teapot and poured another cup of tea. “You can do this later on, when you’ve gotten to know each other better.”
“I understand, Marjorie, but think about it … what is going to change between now and then? He will go back to his country; we’ll chat over the internet … and then what? How much effort are we supposed to put into a long-distance relationship? And then if I am lucky, he may visit me once every three months. How is that supposed to work?”
“I understand what you are saying. I agree in principle—but I don’t want to be responsible for knowing that this could put you back in the hospital,” Marjorie said assertively.
“The chair can’t hurt me because there is true love and desire. All it does is feed on the negative energy of illicit relationships, sucking it out through your body—draining you of all passion for life. The chair has no choice but to provide me with a warning about my future relationship with Harry. I promise … I will be fine.”
“I don’t know, Clarisse.”
“Please … I need your help.” She put her hand over her face and tilted her head down. The conversation was not going as planned.
Marjorie paused for a while and was in deep thought. “I know that if I don’t help, you will do it anyway—you’re stubborn. So, I may as well be there just in case you get into trouble.”
Clarisse stood motionless and they did not talk for a few minutes. They sipped on cold lemon tea while a gentle breeze lifted the fragrance of jasmine from the sampaguita into the air. It calmed them down and made the surroundings serene.
She stared at Marjorie with a level of intensity—her eyebrows lifted and forehead wrinkled.
“The plan is to monitor my mother and keep her busy while I go into the room with the scarlet chair.”
“That is fine … but what are you going to do in there … what is the plan?” Marjorie said hesitantly.
“I will do what I have always done—sit in the chair and share my convictions.”
“Something I always wanted to ask is about the energy—is it good or bad? I have never understood it.”
She took Marjorie’s hand and held it, rubbing it gently. “It’s not evil energy but a sad one that has become lost in a world of anguish and sadness. It feeds itself with self-importance by destroying relationships that have become sour, toxic and broken down due to infidelity, cheating and unfaithfulness.”
“Are you telling me it thinks it’s helping you?” Marjorie asked.
“Well, yes. However, it does not understand its strength or when to stop, because it lacks a conscience.”
“And that’s why you get hurt … I mean, mentally.”
“It drains all your mental strength and emotion, so you become immobilised. If it becomes too powerful, it can drain your conscience.”
Marjorie was intrigued—it was the first time Clarisse ever shared her experience with the chair. It was forbidden to discuss the scarlet chair, and her mother made sure of it—always cutting down any conversation about it prematurely.
“How about we meet around dinnertime when my mother is in the kitchen cooking?”
“OK, Clarisse, I hope you have got this right, and know what you’re doing … I will see you then.”
They finished their tea and went their separate ways. Clarisse went to have a late afternoon nap before initiating her plan with Marjorie. It was a calculated, high-risk move she was taking, considering the effect it had had on her before. She believed to have found the loophole and the source of anger within the energy. If she were right, she would be able to neutralise the effect of the negative energy while at the same time find out about her future with Harry. The scarlet chair was a vehicle—an embodiment of the power Elena left behind. Pieces of her broken heart remained in the chair. It was the last place she touched in the physical world before passing on after her death.
Is this what happens when you die broken-hearted? A part of you stays behind in retribution of the burning pain and suffering endured while living your life of sorrow? Somehow, Clarisse had worked out the chair’s source of frustration and how to manage it. In this case, use it to her advantage, and if she could, vindicate her previous experience. It required bravery and stubbornness—both of which aptly described her personality.
Clarisse was in the dining room with her mother preparing dinner. It was a traditional recipe—an appealing crackling pork dish, marinated in vinegar, soy sauce, garlic, black peppercorns, and browned in oil. If you were not hungry, you’d become so. The aro
ma filled the room and triggered your appetite like an aperitif—making you succumb to the delicacy and ask for more. Towards the end of the meal, Marjorie arrived as planned and nodded to her in acknowledgement. Clarisse excused herself from the table and told her mother she was going to clean up, while Marjorie remained behind keeping her mother company. Marlita had a soft spot for Marjorie; they could talk for hours, making it the perfect decoy.
Clarisse quietly walked to the backroom, taking small steps and wearing no slippers—she did not want to make a sound. She slowly turned the doorknob, realising it had a couple of clicks in it due to its age. One click, two clicks and then another until the doorknob turned ninety degrees and the door was ajar. There was an eerie freshness in the air and it was odd considering the room had no windows and it was a humid evening. It was not the first time Clarisse had experienced an unusual change in room temperature.
Clarisse looked around the room anxiously—the picture frames, the console table and petals from the jasmine sambac covered the floor. They had not been removed from the Day of the Dead as it would have angered the spirits. The side lamp was always on, twenty-four hours a day—moderating the dark ambience that suffocated the space in the room. The candles lit in memory of the dead were melting. The wax had penetrated onto the dark-red mahogany console table, leaving white stains.
Clarisse stood motionless, looking at the chair to exert her authority. The chair sensed fear in the hearts of young women and fed on their grief. She adjusted her body to sit upright in the chair while an unusual scraping sound came from the ornately carved legs below. It was the same sound that Harry had talked about, and she had avoided it in conversation many times. Leaning into the chair and with her feet firmly planted, she began the process for extracting a vision.
Triggering a premonition required an understanding of what angered the chair and Clarisse was fully aware of how to set it off. Envisioning herself with Harry by sharing precious moments that accentuated the feelings of true love was enough to wake the negative energy. To start with, she imagined holding hands with Harry and walking together in a luscious green tropical garden—never too sensual as the chair detested sexual innuendos and tendencies. As her visions grew stronger, the chair felt provoked, causing it to become infuriated.
A discharge of negative energy followed—mimicking the cold hands of a dead person and holding her down by the torso. Clarisse could feel the pressure of the cold hands mounting, but she was unperturbed. The left hand had a ring on the index finger that she recognised as having belonged to Elena. She tried to push the hands away, but they were too strong, thrusting her back each time. She was being held down like a psychiatric patient strapped down with a leather belt. The sense of not being able to move her body freely caused her to become anxious—but she held her emotions together and was not going to panic.
The chair was fighting back and was annoyed about Clarisse’s inner strength and resistance. It made more screeching sounds, although it did not rattle or move from its position on the floor. It was a peculiar set of circumstances that did not make sense—someone was making those sounds in the room, and she could not see where it was coming from. The intensity of the energy grew, and the pressure on her torso mounted while the screeching became louder and more frequent. The chair was awake, and its ferocity increased every minute.
The picture frames holding the souls of her dead relatives fell flat on the console table, one by one, sequentially. They were not happy—the energy used them to incite more fear into her. Clarisse kept focusing on her visions of togetherness with Harry despite attempts by the chair to thwart her. She had been through this twice before—having learned the survival techniques from her previous experience. Although her last attempt had made her sick to the point that she ended up in a hospital, she had also learned about the chair’s vulnerabilities and how to challenge it.
Like anything in life, the energy was not perfect. If you looked hard enough amongst the shrouded fear, it had weaknesses that could be exploited. The first rule was not to panic and stay focused on your beliefs as the chair preyed on weak hearts and minds. The chair was tactful and sought your submission by feeding you with fear and torment. Not physical pain but an affliction of the brain. It would turn the screw and increase the intensity until you eventually let go and succumbed—and every negative conception about love and desire would feed its desperate innuendos. It’s how the energy survived all this time, on the misery of relationships gone wrong: infidelity, adultery, cheating, lies. Where love had transgressed into hate and anguish.
The scarlet chair was not getting its way and it was finding it challenging to control Clarisse. It increased its ferocity again—the screeching got louder, the stench from the rotting flowers became putrid, the chair started to rattle profusely. The energy of the hands holding her down was growing stronger with mounting pressure. And while all this was taking place, her mother’s rosary beads lying next to the wooden cross became dislodged and flew across the room.
The chair was having a tantrum and going to great lengths to make her apprehensive and uneasy. It remembered Clarisse from last time—realising it was only a matter of time until it could break her mind and feed off her memories. But it had misjudged her this time—she was doing this for unconditional love. She had twice the strength and wisdom as before and would see it through no matter what challenges the chair threw at her.
“Give me the premonition,” she said while biting her lip and clenching her delicate hands. “Give it to me now!”
A sharp ray of amber light filtering through a crack in the tin roof above her pointed onto her face like a laser beam. It blinded her view for a split second before moving slowly in a constant motion onto the console table and onto the altar with the picture frames of her dead relatives. There, the light remained motionless for ten seconds until it vanished into the dark haze of the room. The energy had passed over and had given up. The scarlet chair stood still as quiet descended into the room—no more screeching and rattling. The foul stench had made way for a new jasmine freshness in the air.
Clarisse was free to move around, and the cold hands that held her down had tucked themselves away into a pocket of frailty. She did not rush out of the chair in a panic; instead, she shifted in it to make herself comfortable while gazing at the altar. There was peace in the room—the cold air transformed into a moderate warmth.
Marlita came rushing in with Marjorie beside her—they had heard a commotion from the kitchen and feared Clarisse could be in danger again.
“What have you done this time, my precious? How many times have I warned you about sitting in the chair?”
“Mother, it’s fine, and I am OK this time.”
She gripped Clarisse’s arm—holding her close, they hugged with fervour. “Why do it this time? There was no reason to go back to the chair.”
“But Mother, you have missed the whole point because of your superstitious fear.” Clarisse had tears in her eyes as she silently confronted her mother.
“What do you mean, my dear? I am only protecting you.”
“Yes, and in the process, you allowed the chair to control us—our lives, our feelings and who we could love.”
“You did this for Harry, didn’t you? I am not stupid, Clarisse, and I know why you’re here.”
“I saw the premonition—I know about our future together.”
She caressed Clarisse on the forehead, gently combing her fingers through her hair.
“The only way to force a premonition from the chair without hurting oneself is to hold memories of pure love. The energy could not break down your feelings for him—unable to feed on such a memory. In return, it had to give a warning so it could save itself,” Marlita said.
“So, the energy is gone, Mother?”
“No, not gone. It’s beaten for now … its power diluted. It does not have the same strength as before.” She was holding her rosary around her right hand and close to her lips. She kissed it and thanked God th
at Clarisse was not affected by the negative energy of the scarlet chair.
Marlita could not help noticing the petals from the jasmine sambac lying on the floor, looking fresh—as though they had been plucked from her cultured garden only moments ago. The jasmine fragrance filled the room with tranquillity. It was a serene feeling that had always evaded this dreary room.
Even though the room had no windows, layers of filtered light manage to force their way through cracks in the tin roof.
“Come, let’s take you back to your room,” Marlita said.
Marjorie helped support Clarisse, slowly making their way to her bedroom at a steady pace. While on the chair, the ghostly hands messed up her hair and stretched her tight-fitted shorts that accentuated her thin legs. Her fitted shirt was torn to one side and her buttons were missing.
“Not a word to anyone about this … both of you need to keep this quiet.” Marlita was concerned about the superstition becoming the talk of the town. It had happened before—the last thing she wanted was another careless girl trying her luck on the scarlet chair in the name of love.
They both nodded in silence. Marlita could see that Clarisse had been sapped of her strength and was tired.
Marlita was concerned about the fragility of younger women when clinging on to love in hope. It made them devoid of any common sense—realising this in her daughter.
When they are desperate in love and emotions are running high, the negative energy of the scarlet chair becomes a risk worth taking.
The scarlet chair will offer a warning of something that is going to happen, but at a price: that toll is your mind, it saps all emotions and fears to feed itself. It will try and render you hapless if you fight back.
The scarlet chair was a guarded secret in the family for those reasons. No one outside their immediate family was aware of its powers. Marlita’s concern was that Clarisse had shared this secret with Marjorie. Even though Marjorie had heard about the superstition like everyone else when she was growing up, today she witnessed the power of the scarlet chair for the first time—she knew what it could do.
The Girl in the Scarlet Chair: A New Adult and Clean Romance with Supernatural Elements (City of Affection - Book 1) Page 9