I thought I’d be a boss tomorrow

My first week as a new employee at a rural bank here in the province. The office was quiet, the wooden floor was old, and the smell of thick dust still lingered when you took out the folders. It should have been just a normal day—until I was told that there was a lot of paperwork that needed to be put in an old vault.

The vault was not like the high-tech, fingerprint, and other things you see in movies. Here, the door was just thick steel and a big round handle. No sensor, no camera.

When I entered, I just put the papers on a shelf. I heard a bang—and then I felt the door close. I immediately pulled, but I heard another sound – a click. If I hadn’t panicked and just pushed the door, I would have still been able to get out.

I tried to check my cellphone. There was no signal, as if on purpose. I shouted, knocked, in case someone heard. But the wall was thick. The only answer was the echo of my voice. I also noticed the time, my companions must have come out a few minutes ago because they were also cleaning up when I was ordered.

Shouting, knocking, and looking around inside, in case there was a signal somewhere. I glanced at my phone again, it turned out I had been here for an hour and a half. I was so angry with Mom because of her last minute order, I was now trapped inside. I was getting weak.

The handle moved. The door opened and a handsome man in a barong peeked in. The man looked like an executive. “Be careful next time,” he said, calmly. I thanked him and walked out, he just nodded and just looked.

When I came out, the guard was surprised that I hadn’t gone home yet. I hung around next to the motorbike, thinking of offering to take the person who helped me, who looked like the owner of the bank, home. But no one came out for a few minutes. I ignored it, maybe there was another exit that I didn’t know about and he went through there, it also looked like a car so he wouldn’t come with me either – I thought I’d just bring snacks tomorrow.

The next day, we had a formal tour as part of the orientation. I was shown the conference room full of old photos – bank directors. As the branch manager explained who they were one by one, my eyes widened.

There, in a photo dated 1957, stood the man who saved me. Same outfit, same posture, same pomaded hair.

The Truth in the Picture

My eyes widened, my whole body went cold. I couldn’t be mistaken: that was the face of the person who opened the vault and saved me last night.

“He is Don Ramon Alvarez,” said the branch manager, continuing with a smile, “one of the co-founders of the bank. He passed away… in 1962.”

My world stopped when I heard that. 1962? How could he save me if he’s been dead for so long?

The Whispers of the Elders

After the tour, I couldn’t rest. I approached Mang Toring, the oldest utility in the office. His voice was weak when I asked:
“Manong… is it true that Don Ramon died in 1962?”

He nodded. “He was also locked in the vault. No one heard. He was found the next day… but it was too late.”

My hair stood up.

“But there is a story,” added Mang Toring, looking into the distance. “That since then, whenever someone was trapped in the vault, a man in a barong would suddenly appear and open the door. They say he is Don Ramon… he watches over the bank, and he doesn’t want others to experience what he experienced.”

The Closing

As I walked home, I kept thinking about the cold but gentle face of the man who saved me. His eyes seemed to be filled with sadness, and his voice was calm: “Be careful next time.”

I thought, maybe that was his way of making sure he would still have a story to leave behind, that even though he was gone, he wasn’t completely gone.

From then on, every time I passed the vault, I secretly whispered:
“Thank you, Don Ramon.”

And in every silence of the old bank, I feel like there’s an eye watching – not to scare, but to guard.