 
# Dark Creature Series:

# Flight of the Aswang

Copyright 2015 Louella Mendoza

Published by Louella Mendoza at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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# Table of Contents

Prologue

Sleepwalk

Bar

About the Author

Books

# Prologue

"Nobody knows when the creature comes at night. But even the bravest among men fears the sound of the tik tik tik as it cuts the silence."

The sound of "tiktik" in a rural town in the Philippines after dark would be enough to strike fear in the hearts of those who believe in the aswang, often pictured as a vile creature who hungers for human blood. Among the creatures of local mythology, it is the most feared for its habit of stalking its prey as a seemingly normal person by day, and ultimately hunting him or her after dark after assuming its dark persona.

Its ability to co-exist among the living during the day was probably one of the reasons why the fear of the aswang persists. Unlike the vampire, the aswang - in its human form \- can and will live among normal folk during the day without fear of dying under the hot, blazing sun.

Moreover, the aswang has been described as a shape shifter, imbued with an ability to transform into various types of animals such as dogs, pigs, and bats, with only its red, glaring eyes revealing its true nature.

Depending on the storyteller, the aswang has been closely associated with other viscera sucking monsters such as the "manananggal," another Philippine mythological creature, but it does not have the ability to disengage its upper body part, and leave its lower torso behind, hidden in a dark clump of trees, to fly off in search of prey.

According to local folk stories, a person becomes an aswang after swallowing a live black chick given by another aswang, who has to impart this unholy gift in order to painlessly die or wither away. Other stories tell of a human marrying into an aswang clan and becoming one herself or himself.

But like the vampire, the aswang has its own vulnerabilities. It has an aversion for garlic, salt, religious symbols, and any whip made from a dried stingray tail or "buntot pagi." Having these items in one's possession could be a deterrent to an aswang attack, according to old folks. During the olden days (probably until now), it was not unusual to see homes in the rural areas - where these stories are rampant - decorated with a pungent garland of garlic in every possible entrance or exit. More so, if someone in the household is pregnant, sick, or perceived to be vulnerable to an attack.

It may not be too far out to presume that aswang stories were often used as a means of exerting social control over the community. As a matter of fact, these stories were often used as a morbid warning for children and even adults to steer clear of the dark streets, especially on a full moon, unless they want to end up dinner for the creature.

There were several historical references of using folk belief in the creature as a tool for psychological warfare. In the 50's, CIA operatives in the Philippines were said to stage ambush attacks on the HUKBALAHAP or the Hukbong Bayan Laban sa mga Hapon, a group which was originally established to fight the Japanese during World War II but which eventually turned into an anti-government guerrilla movement after the occupation. The operatives, according to accounts, would stage the attacks to appear as if perpetrated by the vampire-like creature. Bodies were found drained of blood and bearing two holes in the neck area.

But going back to the folk stories, one of the most famous ones, which passed from generation to generation, is about a certain Lieutenant Gimo (Tinyente Gimo) and the aswang feast. In whatever iteration or version of the story, it always ends up tragically with the lieutenant and his entire village of aswangs accidentally killing his daughter instead of the guest from another town, the daughter's friend, who was presumably brought home to be slaughtered and served in the feast.

The girl, who was spared by fate, apparently overheard the conversation between Gimo and the townsfolk on who to kill that night. Gimo gave directions to kill the sleeping figure on the right cot (or left in some stories) at midnight but to do so as quietly as possible. After hearing this, the girl devised a plan in which she would dupe Gimo's daughter into sleeping on the other cot, hoping that the dark would hide the switch. Old folks said this happened during a time when most rural towns in the Philippines relied on gaslight and candles for illumination, so it was hard to see the difference.

Another story with iterations in different communities, involved a drinking spree with a group of friends. One of the men was rumored to be an aswang. After they had too much to drink, the men parted ways. Since this supposedly occurred at some indeterminate time in the past, the streets were insufficiently lighted and clear of any type of transport. So the men had two options - either spend the night in some dark corner or walk home. One of the men took the second option.

At some point in his journey, he felt a presence following him. It was stealthily moving closer until he could feel it moving alongside him. He slowly turned his head to see what it was, and to his horror, and amazement, the presence turned out to be an abnormally huge black pig. The creature was wearing a pair of rubber slippers, similar to the pair worn by his rumored aswang friend, and was drunkenly shuffling beside him. He decided to speak to the pig as if it was perfectly normal to do so. Once he was just a block away from his home, the pig turned and walked away in the opposite direction.

In my family, I have heard the story of a grandfather who was said to have wooed an aswang in a far off village (he, of course, did not know this). On his way home one night, on a full moon (it was always a full moon when such things happen), my grandfather took a not so easy route (reason I have yet to find out) out of the barrio after visiting the beautiful lady/aswang. According to my elders, my grandfather was repeatedly warned but was too enamored to care.

But that night he decided to let the lady know that he wouldn't be coming back, after being swayed by rumors circulating around town. After letting her know, grandfather headed back home.

At some point during his walk home, he spotted a figure with long disheveled hair, face hidden in the dark, from afar. The figure, who sounded suspiciously like his lady friend, called out, "Pauwi ka na?" (Are you going home?). Grandfather replied, yes and asked why she was out in the street at such hour. But of course, he knew why she was there. Before the visit, grandfather took precautions and brought sanctified oil, which was said to boil when an aswang is nearby.

Like many folk stories, this one had several iterations. In the first one, grandfather wrestled with the aswang until it was defeated and it ran crawling back to where it came from, and in the other, grandfather used his power of persuasion (and charm) to talk the aswang out of its plan.

I'm sticking with the second version of the story. I would rather believe that my grandfather sweet-talked himself out of the aswang attack rather than resort to violence.

When I was a kid, I would regale all my friends with these stories, but have stopped doing after reaching a certain age. But now, I fear that the aswang would die out with a generation more entertained with anything lurking in the Internet.

But what if the aswang existed in the modern world? Will the creature look like us? Will he or she be able to cope with the fast pace of modern life? What does its typical day look like? These things are worth musing about in a world where the line between real and imagined monsters is sometimes blurred.

The "Dark Creatures Series: Flight of the Aswang" features two novelettes about this real or imagined creature and its struggles in a modern, more complicated world.

# Sleepwalk With Me

They said I had that unique tonality and timbre - feminine, soothing, calming, every trace of the local Filipino accent, smoothed over, then flavored, rather masked with an American twang. My listeners liked that, and despite not knowing if I have an extra ear or a literal third eye, they all followed "Night Talks," my late to early morning radio show.

From 10 p.m. to 3 a.m. while the rest of the city slumbers, those who are still trying to catch sleep, would call to exchange banter, probably hear me dish out some piece of wisdom like an old aunt, and of course request some music to lull them to sleep or help them remember some pleasant or dark story.

They know me as Raya De Luna, playfully call me the enchantress of the airwaves, and talk to me like an old friend. But they're just fleeting connections. As someone who has done this for several years, I knew when to let go - all empathetic connections, no matter how deep it may sound like to the listening public, ends after the phone click. It's how the game is played; one listens then moves on to the next caller.

But, I must admit, there are some stories which lingered after the on-air conversation ends. In my mind, I would catalogue each tale along with those heard during previous nights - separating the heartbreaking stuff, dark episodes, from the happy stories.

There's the struggling artist at her wits end, someone at the verge of losing a partner, the wounded soldier who made good despite the odds, the old man - a pariah of his family - who chose to live alone surrounded by his cats. Everything's filed in my head.

In the quiet of that small space, the tick tick of the old clock just outside the door would punctuate the conversation at first, adding an irritating cadence to the narrative until each story drowned out the sound. Others don't seem to notice but the tick tick has been grating through my soul since management had it installed, for whatever reason, no one knows for sure.

Everything stops at a fixed point in time. In my case, when Brian Marco, our station manager/late night sound engineer mercifully takes over at 3:00 am to play a continuous stream of inane sappy love music until regular programming at 6:00 a.m.

But there are also stories that scar the psyche, that makes one understand that the night indeed harbors psychos, sexual deviants, killers - real monsters that lurk in a perfect suburban home, a fairytale wedding or that sappy Broadway musical in one's head.

One of those calls came at a time when a typhoon plunged most of Manila in darkness for a few hours. Brian and I stayed back, the only ones crazy enough to continue working.

Let me tell you one that particular story. This tale is exceptionally horrendous since it makes me doubt the so-called innate goodness of humanity.

While the wind howled, I received a call from a self-proclaimed super fan, which started out pretty well. He calmly talked about a love to die for, a wife who will never leave him no matter what, and all the stuff that sappy love songs are made of. There was nothing weird about the conversation at first, no ominous clue that the night would turn out for the worse.

But halfway through his story, I sensed a change in his breathing pattern. It was heavier, thicker, almost like a feral creature slowly panting for water.

The change came after the sound of a door being forced opened.

While he was breathing his responses through the receiver, a woman screamed for help. The super fan dropped the phone and slowly dragged himself - I assumed - towards the source of the screaming. His steps echoed, in what I believe to be a vast room with good acoustics and sparse furniture. At least that's how the scene registered in my mind.

He finally reached the screaming woman, and then we heard a slap. She pleaded him to stop. This was followed by a sickening thud, then another and another.

There was nothing pleasurable about hearing the exchange - Brian and I felt sick with every sound that echoed in that vast room. The man shouted, "you are not going to leave me, ever, ever," it sounded like a broken record, the needle forever tripping on that one segment of a sickening opera.

Even before it escalated, I cued Brian to hurry up, segue to commercial but to record and keep the call running. Luckily Brian was able to get a number down.

After tipping off the police, the call was traced to a nearby Makati condominium. It helped that we had it all on record, so nobody questioned the story. Despite the weather, an arrest was made, but the perp - who turned out, not surprisingly, to be moneyed and influential - quickly made a few calls and paid bail in full. As I was told, someone influential came to pick the guy. Brian and I speculated that a few of our honorable law enforcement officials were hushed with bribe money.

In case you were wondering, the wife survived the ordeal. The decent ones, who knew what to do, took her to the hospital, then to a shelter. One of them - a lady cop whom I've known for a long time - looked after her like family until she fully recovered. But who fully recovers from such an ordeal?

So what happened to the perp? Did he get his "happy ever after" ending?

A few days after the arrest, he was found dead, gutted like an animal, lying on the banks of one of Makati's dirtiest esteros - the one where garbage and all the filthy dead things eventually end up. It was the culmination fit for his Grimm fairy tale.

After a post mortem examination, the medical examiner said his body was thrown in the waterway with no trace of blood despite the disembowelment. It was like every drop of fluid was clinically siphoned out and stored somewhere. Curiously enough, that story made it to mainstream media but his domestic violence case did not even land in the back page of the local newspapers.

Of course, the local tabloid "People's Post" smelled an easy cash cow with the murder and started spreading speculations about a supernatural serial killer, an aswang in Makati who preyed upon the city and "gleefully sucked" the life out of its victims.

It was the topic of the week, inside and outside the newsroom. As usual, Mike Costa, who has the radio spot before "Night Talks," made fun of the murders. In one such incident, he read portions of the "People's Post" on-air then demonstrated for anyone who cared enough to listen, the apparent slurping sound an aswang makes.

An unwilling crowd, his cohorts at the station, secretly cringed while he snickered and slurped like an animal. "And folks, that's how he ended up right at the bottom of the estero."

In between commercial breaks, I barged inside the booth and shushed him for being so inconsiderate, "How can you be such an ass. Have some respect for the dead." It was probably an attempt at trying to assuage my guilt. After all, it was my actions, which set the chain of events to occur. But what if he did not make that call? Will she end up dead and him, alive?

Going back to Mike. Of course, he called me an uptight b---h among other things, and threatened to have me fired. But the crew secretly thanked me for bravely stepping up. Especially Brian who couldn't brush off the thought that the dead man had made his last call during our shift. But of course, Brian also believes that he should have been punished for what he did to his wife.

Oh, and he called the aswang angle, purely "balderdash." "Nobody uses that word anymore, Brian. Except for you and those born in the 1950's," I said, trying to make light of the incident at the booth with Mike.

Of course, Makati and the rest of the country, probably, talked about the incident for days, the case eclipsing even the juiciest political scandals of the week.

The creature, often told by frustrated mothers to instill fear in their kids, became a hot topic. The city's denizens secretly shed their veneer of sophistication, dismissing the story during social occasions but secretly gorging on it as soon as no one's looking.

Soon even an unusual looking dog, cat or a "dayo" (stranger) became target of speculation. The aswang, after all, is a shape shifter who does not fear the daylight, and could be anything or anyone - a long lost cousin, or even neighbor or co-worker.

Let me tell you something about Makati, the Philippine financial, commercial and entertainment hub, where at least half a million people pack an area less than 10 square miles in any day.

Tourism ads only see its glitzy, nouveau riche facade, not the masses of informal settlers that sprung up underneath bridges, on the fringes of the center carved for the rich. From where they are lumped together, beneath the shadow of the towering skyscrapers, they remain invisible to the well-heeled populace.

After the serial killer/aswang story came out, the fear of the unknown became the leveler across Makati's stratified community, especially since the caller who lived in an exclusive 40 story condominium unit, seen as a fortress of opulence by the less privilege, ended up dead near the most dirtiest estero in the city.

But going back to the aswang story, after the media frenzy died down, Brian vowed to meticulously guard the late night shift, establishing protocol for all calls to be filtered by whoever is in the booth before anything could be aired.

I must admit, and probably Brian agrees with me on some level, the psychos definitely come with the territory. Late night radio and sickos do mix, plus, we are public figures after all.

Probably, inside the crazy minds of these ticking time bombs, we are property.

II.

In our industry, the voice often creates an illusion far different from the reality. Most of us are neither here nor there --- neither hunchbacked hideous nor drop dead gorgeous --- just lying between the mid spectrum of good looks.

But once the mouth opens, the airwaves become our domain, our creamy, calming tones invoke some pleasant imagery, some perfect incarnation capable of taking listeners away from the drudgery of life, from the reality of an abusive partner and mounting debts, or a dying relationship.

Of course, there are no fairy tales in the real world. Oftentimes, fan illusion gets broken into a thousand pieces through a chance meeting or as public relations call it "a meet and greet." But nothing of that sort has happened to me, I mean, listeners were never disappointed, which may sound superficial but in an industry where fan following changes in a snap, this matters a lot.

Not everybody is lucky, though. Others have been severely judged for looking different than what was expected. A media personality that's not light skinned enough with a not-so perfect nose, blotchy skin or any so-called imperfections does not win any fans in my world.

But of course, what we have here basically mirrors the superficiality of any industry that places premium on looks above all else. One can be a public personality in Los Angeles or anywhere in the world and be treated the same way - unless you have talent or that elusive jeune sais quoi.

But I have always maintained a conscious decision not to give a crap - to stay behind the mike where I am most comfortable. The fan base is just a residual non-benefit and most of the time, an intrusion to the privacy I have held dearly for years.

Tonight as I entered the lobby, I saw an excited group of young women and a few young men pour out of the elevator - a horde of fresh faced young ones, probably in or just out of college or starting their career in some low-tier work which requires one to dress up for the part. They were wearing the latest fashion, owning the hallway as they passed, giggling and taking selfies all the way to the lobby. I presumed they came from the 15th floor, our home studio, since some were holding shirts with Mike's face plastered all over the front.

I wanted to tell them, like a concerned aunt, that Mike is a bad person and only sees them as a potential source of "fresh meat," but I held back. I just prayed that, sooner or later, they would find out his unsavory intentions and see him for what he really is - a predator.

I don't know anything about his back-story but he was the station's golden boy, and if "People's Post" - that unscrupulous tabloid - had their aswang cash cow, radio management had Mike. A rising star even outside the booth, his face has already graced or "disgraced" magazines and assorted rags. He was even featured in ads for a range of male skin care products, which of course, magnified his overt narcissism a thousand times.

Management is also at fault for turning Mike into the monster that he is now. They were definitely at fault for anointing him as the face of the station, the perfect hybrid of voice and looks.

Going back to the women, I really felt bad for them. It was cringe worthy how Mike exploited them and played the role of lothario to the hilt. Sequentially, Mike would expertly flirt then, once the trap has been set, bed the women with zero commitment nor guilt.

Another despicable thing, he would even wager with some coworkers whom he would do first, encouraging these cringe worthy games to mark his sexual predation, "I am an equal opportunity player," he would brag to the crew, complete with obscene gestures.

During those times, I would mull over the thought of how Mike would look like, splayed on the floor of his posh condo in Makati, disemboweled and dried out.

Probably the others were wondering too.

Right now, I still have time to spare before my slot. I picked the farthest corner of the lobby, behind the huge potted fern to indulge in a book Brian lent me. It was the perfect hideaway, or so I thought.

I felt somebody was intrusively reading over my shoulder. It was Mike.

He quietly slithered closer and whispered. "I gave that girl one heck of a good time." He was pointing with his mouth at one of the girls from far across the lobby. She was a familiar face, one of the hundred or so people that I often bump into on my way to work, probably a staff at one of the numerous offices occupying the building. I looked up. She was waving at one of her friends. Totally unaware of what the slimy one has been uttering about her.

"Please go away." I said, returning back to my reading, noisily shuffling the next page to stress my point. I was clearly sending out signals that I don't want to be bothered. Ever. Yet the slimy one still found it amusing to bother me. If I could sprout wings right now.

"Ha-ha, you should lighten up sometimes." He sprawled his offensiveness across the plush seat directly in front of me, pausing for effect, waiting for a reaction, or probably mulling over ways to pull me into the conversation.

He moved forward until he was less than half a meter away that I could smell his overwhelming musky cologne, "Why so uptight, Raya? That behavior...you know...I can sense a lot going on in there" he said, pointing to my head.

His voice makes me cringe.

Without looking up, I said "How about I reopen that case I filed with human resources or...maybe...I could always talk to the press and indulge them with stories about how wonderful you are. Maybe drag some of the boys upstairs into the plan." Dead air. I knew I finally hit him at his most vulnerable spot - his huge ego.

I looked up finally and gave him a stare that, in my mind, could melt the skin off one's face.

Clearly losing his game, Mike stood up to leave, or rather, to switch his attention to the women waiting for him in the lobby. But before he started swaggering towards them, he said without looking back, "Why don't you try, Raya, We both know, one of us will get fired. But not me of course."

I gritted my teeth in disgust.

Mike will get his just desserts. He will.

I turned my attention back to the book that I was reading. It was the only way to simmer down the anger that was gnawing through my being.

I may have dozed off or time just really went by fast. I was almost halfway done with my reading when my phone alarm went off. It was already 30 minutes before my shift. I wanted to get to the station upstairs while Mike was still on-air.

Less than five minutes later I was outside the studio on the 15th floor. From the glass windows separating the hallway, I could see the tiny room with its padded walls. Several speakers above my head blared Mike's cruel on-air antics.

As I entered the break room, Brian, brows knitted, was listening to the circus, muttering his displeasure. "What a freak show," he remarked as I carefully closed the double doors. "Why can't he be like his brother? The polite one, you know, Sam."

"Haven't met him since I would normally avoid contact with anything related to Mike...But I guess, that makes sense. Like the Yin-yang, a nice brother would balance out the bad karma in that family. Who would have thought.?" I was rummaging through the cupboard for my favorite mug.

"You and your pseudo philosophical musings," Brian joked. The half-filled pot of coffee bubbled in a corner. Probably, the crew had taken most of it, as it was extremely chilly in the studio.

I don't have any problems with the cold, but the sudden drop in temperature inside the studio really gets me after spending the entire afternoon enduring the heat and humidity, which hovers thickly over the streets of Makati. But I rather enjoy the early morning hours just after my shift. By that time, the oppressive afternoon heat has fully dissipated, the streets almost devoid of cars, and the temperature just warm enough for a quick walk.

In the dark early morning hours after my shift, I would sneak out of the studio to warm my chilly bones and empty my head of all the worries of the day.

"Sorry Raya, I was about to fill that up but forgot to," Brian retrieved the pot from the machine and refilled it with the good stuff. "By the way, this is for you," he took out something from the fridge, some rich puff pastry packaged in a dainty box.

"You really know when I needed that boost," I picked one, halved it then shared it with him." I wish all men are like you."

Brian smiled, " Raya, that means a lot. Coming from you." I waited for him to say something else but instead, he just ate in silence, probably unsure of what to say next. He looked almost relieved when one of the crew reminded us to get ready for the next shift.

I took my usual spot, placed the headset, and waited for the cue before turning on the microphone. Soon, the familiar tacky station muzak blared before segueing into the sultry voice announcing the program ID for" Night Talks." It was neither my voice nor my idea but everybody seems to love it. Unfortunately, I don't.

Brian cued 3...2...1 with his fingers. I paused, took a deep breath.

"This is Raya, taking over from Mike for the late night shift. I'll be with you for the next few hours, just call for your stories and requests...I'll keep you company until the wee hours of the morning."

I cringed a little. the monologue was tacky as hell but the work brings in the dough, so I shouldn't complain.

The phone rang - our first call for the night. I saw Brian pick up the receiver. He was interviewing the caller, typing info down. Once the credits ended, he gave the signal, mouthing his cue silently.

I pressed a button to receive the call, while going through the info posted in my tablet. Caller: Brett from Makati.

"Hi Brett. Thanks for joining us."

Long pause.

"You sure sound different, not what I expected," he said before pausing again. I felt like he was trying to figure out what to say next.

"Why thank you..I guess. Does that mean I sound better over the phone?"

"Not really. I thought your voice would be more raspy...more guttural. You actually sound nice, but that's not the real you," Brett said.

The conversation was curving into strange territory. I decided to ignore his comment and just focus on the task at hand, which is to get the request and bid goodbye. I made a mental note to ask Brian to block that number next time. If it was even possible..

"And what song do you have in mind tonight?"

"Sleepwalk With Me." Brett brusquely demanded. It was a song I'm quite familiar with, a song that has had its share of airplay in the 50's but seldom heard nowadays.

Hearing any reference to it makes my head hurt. Now, my skull felt like it was being pried open with something sharp.

Instinctively, I sensed that the caller was playing games. So I decided to play along, to know his intent. "I haven't heard that for quite sometime now...Tell me your story. Are you an old soul, Brett?"

"You can say that." Another unnerving pause. He was figuring out his next move. I looked at Brian who reacted normally, clearly not noticing anything strange about the conversation.

"Go on.." I said, prodding Brett (probably not his real name), to share his thoughts.

"My mother used to hum that song until I was neither here nor there...sort of awake but near sleep."

"Mother took me to this big house one night. There was a sick kid and I slept in a room by myself. She tucked me into bed and told me that when I wake up, she would be there."

The caller knew me.

"Is your mother listening tonight?"

"No. I don't think she would like that...or probably, she would," followed by a long pause.

Despite instinct telling me not to encourage the conversation further, I prodded him to continue.

"That night I saw her walk away from that room. But I couldn't see her eyes, her face. It was shadowed. She briefly stopped at the foot of my bed. Then... she...was ...gone," Brett mouthed each word slowly, prolonging the last sentence like a child learning to read for the first time.

At least that's how it sounded like to me. Or maybe it was something that I just imagined.

"You were there Raya. You knew what happened, "That song is for you Raya. You used to like that, remember?." Brett finally let go of all pretensions, all niceties. He sounded harsh, almost brutal. The change was unnerving. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of dead air.

I found myself trapped in his game. Something familiar set in - a feeling of panic followed by cold creeping through my body. I felt my throat being crushed by an invisible hand. Its nails digging deep into the flesh. I couldn't breathe.

Brian barged into the room with a glass of water.

"Raya, are you alright?" It was the last thing that I heard before I blanked out.

The EMTs tried their best to revive me on site but couldn't, so they took me away from the studio. Brian subbed for the rest of my shift while I spent the night at the nearest hospital.

When I woke up the following day, the doctor said I had a reflex anoxic seizure. To put it plainly, my blood pressure dropped to alarming levels until I collapsed. It was an unusual case, he said, since most patients with this condition immediately regain consciousness.

I was in a coma-like state for several hours.

I told him I've had episodes in the past but this was the first time I had a prolonged seizure. He said an outside stimuli or trigger must have caused it. He queried if anything unusual occurred that night.

"I'd rather not talk about it. Not now" I said. The doctor asked if I wanted to talk to a specialist, meaning a shrink, surmising that I fear discussing such personal issues with a medical doctor.

"We can go from there, Raya. It is important that we find out what caused this prolonged unconsciousness," he scribbled a name and a number on his personal notepad, folded it and gave it to me. I assured him that I would meet up with the shrink as soon as possible. It was a lie.

Before the consultation ended, the doctor told me that although I was clearly out of it, they could not explain the fact that at dawn, when medical staff checked my condition, the needles and electrodes had been pulled out of my arm and the oxygen mask thrown on the floor.

They swore to have seen no one come in or out of the room.

"You should know that we are conducting an investigation," the doctor assured me.

I told them I don't intend to sue the hospital for any damages since I woke up fine, intact, and alive anyway.

After the requisite tests, I was allowed to go home but with a reminder to see the shrink in a few days. An orderly was called to wheel me back to my room just in case I passed out again.

Brian was waiting for me. He texted that morning, saying he slept a little bit before heading out to the hospital, but the bags underneath his eyes revealed otherwise. He was also wearing the same shirt while he had fresh clothes for me.

I quickly changed while Brian and the orderly waited outside the room. They insisted on wheeling me out despite my protestations. "I am fine. I can walk" I assured them but both ignored my request.

So, I was wheeled out to the covered parking lot where Brian parked his green VW. I did not wait for him to open the passenger door, as I was too impatient for these chivalrous gestures. I threw my body - which felt like a heavy sack of rice - haphazardly into the passenger seat.

Brian noticed this "Didn't you just got out of the hospital? Please be careful next time," he said while positioning himself behind the wheel.

"I told you I'm fine. Don't worry," I responded above the din of the revving car.

Brian expertly maneuvered out of the tight parking slot and just as he turned towards the curving path, which connects to the main road, I noticed a shadow dart out from one of the massive concrete columns. I dismissed what I saw and presumed it was just the hallucinatory effects of the meds they piled upon my body.

III.

Manila's horrendous traffic met us as we headed towards EDSA, the main artery of the metropolis. It was cold inside the VW but the masses of pedestrians urgently flagging the overflowing buses and jeeps were visibly sweltering in the heat.

We were both quiet the first few minutes then Brian broke the silence.

"How are you feeling? You got me really worried last night. One second, you were on a call then suddenly you just collapsed right there like a rag doll."

"Was the request that bad, bunso (younger sibling)?" He asked. I weakly chuckled at his lame attempt of a joke but somehow felt that I was too weak to even blurt out a lazy quip.

Brian always called me bunso or little one. He was just older by a few years yet acts like an uncle sometimes. I often teased him about this, and he would pretend to be displeased but I knew he liked playing that role of the older brother after my real one left, probably for good.

"Probably, or the work hours finally got me," I lied, of course, I liked working the night shift but he took it as absolute truth.

That could be it. No, I'm serious. You look pale. Maybe we could look at possibly changing your shift so you can sleep longer at night." It was endearing how he would take everything that I say at face value.

"That's fine Brian, I'll just try to nap after my regular shift, I promise" I yawned, "Can you wake me up when we get home? "

He nodded wordlessly then lowered the volume of the radio while I slept the entire drive home to suburbia. In this case, it took us an hour with the traffic to reach Tierra Santa or "land of the saints."

Before reaching the village, we passed by modern townhouses and apartment enclaves with neatly trimmed lawns and pocket gardens. We knew we were in Tierra Santa when the modern structures were replaced by decaying post-war mansions and bungalows.

Brian stopped the car right in front of an early 20th century art deco house, my parents' home. It was the place where I grew up and refused to abandon. My grandparents had it built just when Tierra Santa was just unpaved streets lined with massive banyan and fire trees as far as the eyes can see.

Before they left for New Orleans, where father had family, my parents urged me to move to Makati and sell or demolish the old house. "We all need a new beginning," mother implored. I refused to leave Tierra Santa, refused to try my luck in another country. So, mother gave in to the wishes of her stubborn daughter and said I could stay as long as I could as long as I take care of the aging house. I agreed to her terms.

To tell you frankly, I've never kept my end of the bargain, Years of neglect left most of the land in "a post apocalyptic state" as Brian jokingly described. The vegetation has claimed the old playground, algae and frogs now infest the pond and the backyard, I believe, now harbors its own ecosystem. I repeatedly promised myself that as soon as I get that raise, I will take care of the garden first and restore it to what it was when we were young.

The easy route would be to beg my family for money; after all they can afford to pay for those things several times over. Let's just say Dad's estranged parent provided the means for them to live comfortably in New Orleans.

But, since I have this weird sense of pride, where I would rather go hungry than ask for their help, this caused me to essentially fail to fulfill the terms of my agreement with my mother.

But, although I chose to be alone in that house. I was never really alone Aside from Brian, Nina, the stray cat, keeps me company all the time. She would ignore my attempts at affection but would pester for attention when I have tons of stuff to do. Otherwise, most days, she would just sit and wait.

I've officially named her my animal totem - the feline who is both independent and faithful like her human, a walking furry contradiction. Nina would leave the house once Brian picks me up for work. But come morning, the tuft of grey and white fur would slowly emerge from the untrimmed foliage near the main door, each gait measured as she padded her way towards the steps fronting the house.

This morning, She knew I was late and from afar, I could see Nina was already there at the usual spot, impatiently thumping her tail onto the brick floor. When she hurried to meet me at the steps, she had an accusatory look but proceeded to weave her furry body between my legs - angrily purring her displeasure at having to wait for a few hours. This disappeared as I scratched that sweet spot behind her ear.

Brian held my arm while we made our way inside the house. Nina followed closely behind, demanding to be scratched again.

Once inside, I fed both my human and animal companions - microwave dinner for Brian and a can of tuna for Nina before heading to my room on the first floor. Knowing how much stress last night's incident caused him, I asked Brian to stay and rest. Hopefully, he would recover after an hour of napping or two He acquiesced and took over the entire couch.

I took out a fresh blanket and covered him while he slightly snored. Nina also contentedly curled up in one corner. Without an animal or human to talk to, the silence made me think of things, of why my past kept emerging when I least expect it.

My parents simply left the country for a fresh start. I chose to do something else - move to the first floor of the house and continue living.

Some families dump unsavory aspects of their past in a dark corner of the attic or basement. Ours took over the second floor, in a locked room, which used to be mine until my family moved out.

Right after the incident, they had a hard time cleaning out the marks and stains in that room. We had to endure several days before they allowed us to touch anything.

During that time, Manila's forensics was known for being notoriously slow in collecting evidence and accumulated unopened cases. So, after a few days, the blood dried and formed massive crimson Rorschach patterns in every imaginable spot before they were done doing their preliminary investigation.

Once they allowed us to return to our house, the cleaners immediately went to work. First, they took out the furniture then burned things, which were badly splattered - my old mattress, dresser, even my old clothes and my dolls. It was eerie and painful watching my favorite ones fry up and melt in the backyard pit.

Then, they scrubbed the floors and walls and when my mother could still see crimson marks, asked the cleaners to peel off the wall paper. They worked for several hours scraping the paper off, the metal grating against concrete, one of them whistling that horrendous song.

The sound would follow me everywhere - the room downstairs, the kitchen, the pond with the concrete gnomes frozen in mid-dance. Cupping my hand over my ears did not help, either.

Faced with the challenge of dealing with a traumatized child, my Dad first brought up the idea of selling the house and moving out of Tierra Santa. My mother agreed but only if there was somebody willing to buy the house so we could move out immediately.

But nobody wants to buy a crime scene even at ludicrous low prices. We ended up staying for 15 more years until I could make it on my own. But all those years could not totally scrub away the incident, as I have discovered now. Despite all outside evidence of normalcy, I still feel different, and blending with the rest could be difficult.

Despite all attempts to keep things hidden, something or someone always finds out. And that someone or something - chances are - will try to pry open that scab. I guess that is just the nature of things.

What I meant to say is this - the song Brett requested that night I ended up in a coma, woke me up as a child.

Brian knocked at 6:00 p.m. to ask if I am well enough to go back to work. It had been several hours since I arrived from the hospital, yet I haven't slept at all.

"Don't be silly Brian, it was just a slight buzz. I am fine"

"While I'm out, can you at least try to catch some sleep?" he admonished.

He left for a few hours to change clothes and probably shower, then came back an hour after sundown to pick me up. Soon we were traversing EDSA trying to extricate ourselves from the harrowing traffic. A few turns then finally, the number of cars thinned down a little bit.

We were already parked when Brian asked if I wanted to eat. With an hour to spare, both of us decided to try the new Shawarma place across the studio. It was a quick walk away.

"I thought you wanted me to cut down on the meat?" I asked, my stomach churning acid with the thought of warm food. We took two plastic chairs and sat down. The grill cook/server - the only one manning the place - took our orders and immediately carved a piece from one of the rotating spit of meat.

"Not today. You deserve a slab of unhealthy protein for being a good scout," Brian said while dumping a ginormous serving of the grilled beef on my plate. There were traces of blood on the meat, a lot in fact, which slightly sizzled as it dripped down.

I cut a piece then wolfed it down like a good kid. The blood left a lingering metallic taste in mouth. The meat wasn't unpleasant at all but I guess that could turn off some people, except for Brian and I.

We devoured our food in silence for a while. Midway through, Brian suddenly blurted out, "Oh by the way, if you see Mike with a black eye please pretend as if he does not exist"

"What do you mean?"

"Last night, management called him to help me with your shift. Strangely, he hauled his lazy ass to the office to take over your shift but before doing, he said he'd do it I would...you know...set you up with him."

"He thought I was down with it. You know, that those statements are OK. I was so angry I punched him. Of course, he left and that is why I had to take over your shift, alone. I wanted to fire him but owners would have my head on a plate. You know how the game works."

"Don't worry, I bet you sounded great on air," I smiled reassuringly then squeezed his hand. "Besides, he would have scared the regulars with his rude on-air antics."

"You were sedated at that time. How would you know?"

"I just knew."

After eating, we walked back to the studio and saw Mike's car heading out of the parking lot. The windows were lowered down a little bit. He did not seem to notice us. From where I was standing, it seems like his smugness level has been lowered significantly. But he was wearing sunglasses at 10:00 p.m. so I'm still quite unsure.

The first thing I noticed as we entered the studio was the bunch of flowers on top of my desk. It had an unsigned note - "See you soon." I wondered if Brian or the crew ordered them for me but I did not have time to ask.

The DJ seat lay empty, waiting for me to take over but I could smell Mike's annoying perfume as it got stuck in the dark leather. With no time to air the room out, I just sat down then put on the headset. For several minutes, I had to endure a looping of several inane ads for contraceptives, diapers, and whitening skin care products before the station ID aired.

Brian gave me the cue; I can see him silently mouthing the words behind the glass partition, "Are you ok?"

My nod assured him. At the flick of a switch, I was on and I could hear my voice echo as I mouthed the usual greeting. Everything flowed out perfectly, the calls were polite, and no one asked why I bailed out the previous night. That was for the first hour. After that, I had a series of drop calls. One after another. This went on after I closed the show.

Brian followed me as I headed to the break room, just to see if I needed anything. I told him I'd nap until his shift ends knowing he will be too busy within the next few hours to check on me.

The empty break room did things to my mind plus the cold was burrowing into my skin so I decided to slip out of the building for a few minutes. I knew it was a bad decision to do so, not knowing if someone or something could be watching behind the parked cars or peeking through windows and locked doors.

I made a turn towards one of the side streets near the building, a one way street flanked by old dilapidated homes and sari-sari (convenience) stores - a low rent, rundown type of a mom and pop - with tarpaulin signs rolled up for the night.

This is where I would walk when I wanted to clear my mind. The fringes of Makati - that part of the city where most structures are packed like sardines and look like a perfect setting for a fire hazard advert.

A block away I could see that one of the sari-sari stores, which sells cheap liquor even at three in the morning, was still open. The owner had set up a makeshift table for a group of visibly drunk men. They had empty bottles of cheap gin on one side and another half filled container in the center.

Too drunk to even notice my existence, they went on slurring their stories, prodding each other to drink some more until every word sounded ridiculous.

One of the men broke the drunken camaraderie to pee, which is a no-no in unreasonably drunk company. They heckled him, accused him of avoiding his turn, until he was forced to sit down to take a swig at the shot glass placed in front of him.

The tarpaulin, which was illuminated by the lone streetlight, caught a shadow darting in the alley. It was fast, almost feral. "Ano yun? (What is that?)" one of the men asked. "Wala, lasing ka lang (That's nothing. You're just drunk)." The men boisterously laughed. It was that moment of lucidity when the kettle and the pot realized the absurdity of the exchange.

The men continued drinking until the same guy \- ignoring the heckling - stood up to find a perfect corner to relieve himself. He went behind a post, and then disappeared.

After a few minutes, the group was getting impatient and started throwing invective his way, "Hoy, tumatakas ka na naman (You're escaping your turn again)." The men were getting rowdier, more impatient as the clock ticked.

From where I was standing, I could hear them prodding the missing man to come out. "Wag kang duwag (Don't be a coward)." I didn't stay long to find out if they did found their buddy.

I could sense someone or something following me as I hurriedly made my way back to the studio. So I kept all senses alert, just in case.

Back in the 15th floor, I curled up in the empty couch at the break room, too tired from the excitement and the exploration. I immediately fell asleep, the sound of the clock splitting the silence.

IV.

Brian gently tapped my shoulder.

"Raya, it's time to go home."

"Huh?"

"I said it's time. Do you want to go somewhere on our drive back?" he said while offering his hand so I could steady myself up.

I told him "You got to be kidding. I'm still full from my last meal," I still could taste that metallic flavor in my mouth. If anything, this was more intense and lingering. "Let's go home then. Although, I might have to crash for a while at your place. Just to make sure you're safe."

"You're too sweet." I often reminded Brian to stop asking my permission since he has been intermittently staying in that house for years. My parents did not have a problem with that.

We took another route that night, the same one I took during my nightly jaunt more than an hour ago.

But this time, the street corner was cordoned off with yellow tape. An ambulance and two police cars were parked nearby, their red emergency lights flashing and oscillating.

I told Brian to slow down. He did more than that and lowered the windows to ask one of the bystanders, "Pare (friend) what happened here?"

"May pinatay kanina, halos napugutan pero ala nang dugo (there was a murder. The victim had his head almost taken off, but there was almost no blood" he said.

Brian grimaced and I told him to continue driving before we see the body. But it was too late. We saw a pair of feet, wearing rubber slippers, peeking under a bunch of newspapers. Brian quickly averted his gaze.

A uniformed cop, probably an investigator, was taking down notes while interviewing a witness, one of the dead man's buddies. One of the rowdy drunks heckling him to finish up or else.

Not wanting to alarm a visibly worried Brian, I decided to keep my mouth shut, to avoid telling him that I was in the same street earlier. He would freak out if I did.

We drove silently home. I knew Brian was having one of his existentialist musings about man's fleeting mortality - how we - I mean, mankind in general - should make the best out of our stay in this mortal coil.

He would talk about those things whenever he was bothered by something that he personally witnessed - like the incident near the studio.

"Raya?"

"Yes, Brian"

"Never mind. I'll tell you next time" In most cases, he would start off with a clue as to what he was thinking, then stop while in mid thought. If I prodded him a bit more, he would open up but this time, I decided not to.

Brian slept in the couch again. I told him should start charging rent soon but of course we both know it was just a joke. I never questioned this, knowing it was his way of protecting me, letting me know I have family despite the fact that my real one has somewhat abandoned me.

I lowered the blinds, tried to read a book but still couldn't sleep. My old room upstairs was beckoning for a visit. Probably, there are clues in that room which I failed to see the few times I was there.. I decided to go up, unlocked the door, and then hesitatingly looked around before I went in.

I sat down in one of the chairs near the bed and tried to remember that night.

Everybody left for some gathering except me - Dad, mother, and my siblings - everyone had their best formals on. Mother wanted to stay home but Dad said the occasion was too important to miss. I was running a fever so I couldn't come.

Mother asked one of her new friends - the nurse who lives in the nearby village to look after me. I know mother loves me a lot but I knew that wherever they had to go to was also important so I didn't harbor any ill feelings towards her.

The nurse had her son with her that night and he was sleeping in the study downstairs. She told my mom the boy was having a tantrum earlier and had insisted on coming with her to work. So she brought him along.

Mother didn't mind letting him stay, so before they left, she made sure that a bed was made in the room downstairs for the young boy.

The slight fever turned into something serious within an hour after they left. I was delirious and imagining strange mangled faces looking at me, fingers poking my helpless tiny body. I was too weak to scream. The radio was turned on a little bit so the experience was a little bit surreal.

The nurse leaned down to check on my temperature, seemingly unaware of the other figure s in the room. They continued to stare, some of them peeking over her shoulder. I wasn't even sure if they were real or not.

I tried to whisper a warning but they all mimicked what I said over and over again..."Look behind you...look behind you...look behind you." Everything went blank after that.

When I woke up, the nurse was dead. She suffered tremendously.

My parents found me staring at the body, not saying anything. Mother quickly took me out of the room, cradling me in her arms. In the living room, I wept for hours, still not saying anything.

The police, accompanied by a social worker, tried to ask me several questions. I was five years old then so my parents answered them in my stead. The few times I responded with incoherent words. The police were nice and sympathetic, assuring my parents that I will be fine. I remember hearing them speculate that the killer or killers specifically targeted the nurse.

"The boy and your daughter were left unharmed."

As my mother comforted me, I saw the nurse's son being taken away by his father who came by to pick him up. The father, as I heard years later, was first suspected of doing the deed but was let go due to lack of significant evidence.

According to the reports, they were no weapons, prints or hair material found in the crime scene. My room, curiously enough, had one window open and the air conditioner turned off. There used to be a huge banyan tree outside my window and the police felt the killer scaled it to enter and exit the house.

All of the doors and the windows downstairs were bolted from the inside. So it was the only possible means of entry.

After that incident, my parents pulled me out of regular school. As a home schooled child, I rarely went out of the house nor spoke to other people for years.

A therapist- another family friend - regularly visited me until my parents felt I was well enough. But there would be times when I would pass out completely then wake up not knowing what had happened.

The therapist would come in the morning and made me draw pictures. She asked what I loved most, apart from my dolls, which were all burned. I told her I love butterflies, especially the colorful ones.

This I drew all day long, my mother kept every single one of them. The one with her and Dad, my siblings and I flying off in a single gigantic butterfly was posted on the fridge for years.

When I went to college, the few friends that I had, regular classes and exams provided much needed distraction. After graduation, work and responsibilities became my panacea. Before I could even start thinking about the past, wallow in pain, or entertain any idea of bringing normalcy back in my life, I would remind myself to work hard and pay the bills.

Around this time, my family started leaving the country one by one. That was years ago.

The phone call a few days back made me fearful of the past again.

I looked around the room, searching for nothing in particular. I still know where the body was found, the pattern of blood splatter in the walls, the overpowering smell of death. Now, I've never been squeamish since then but thinking of that night seems to overwrite this acquired skill and for a moment, I wanted to hurl all over the slightly dusty floor.

It was another hour when I felt sleepy; the early morning sun was already peeking through the curtains. I got up, locked the door and went downstairs. I holed up in my study and closed my eyes.

On the other side of Manila, there is a room with a morbid assemblage of pictures, clips, mementos tacked on one wall. A room that I haven't seen before.

The clippings were of several murder cases, which occurred in different places. What ties them all together was the method of killing. There was a pattern to it, like the killer had an MO, a jigsaw puzzle that requires these pieces to fit together.

At the center of the pile, there was a clip about the nurse who met her end at the De Luna household. The only "victim" who did not seem to fit in the morbid gallery of drug pushers, abusive partners, child molesters, and killers "dispatched" by the unknown killer.

Except for the nurse, these dregs of society all met their end in the most violent, horrific way in the dark alleys of the city.

Someone entered the dark room then went straight for the wall. Without bothering to open the lights, the figure tacked a freshly cut piece to the puzzle. It was from a tabloid news report of the murder that early morning. The drunken guy who unfortunately or fortunately lost his life while peeing in the dark alley near the studio.

As it turns out, he fits right in.

A cell phone rang and the figure took the call,

"Yes, I'll be there. I had a rough night but will be at work soon. I can meet you there."

The figure took one final look at the wall, humming something familiar as he headed out of the room.

V.

It was just an hour after sundown. Employees were seen getting out of the Makati building, most of them left late to escape the rush hour. Another batch of employees were entering the building. From the looks of it, most were call center workers, all toting their caffeinated beverages to perk them up for an all-nighter.

\When I woke up, I texted Brian and told him I plan to take my car so he doesn't have to worry about picking me up and dropping me off from work the following morning. It was also my way of getting back the confidence that I momentarily lost from the previous night.

Besides it was also my way of protecting Brian, just in case someone wanted to do me harm. I don't want him to get involved.

Earlier, he left a text message explaining he had to leave but did not have the heart to wake me up. "You really looked peaceful, all curled up in bed. So I just let you be."

Of course he was concerned when I told him of my plans but since I am dead set on driving alone to work, he assured me that I can count on him anytime should I change my mind.

Brian, why do you have to be so nice," I sighed. I decided to call him. He immediately picked up the phone, "Don't worry, it's just several times a month, when I feel up to it."

"I know. Your brother told me how terrible you are as a driver. And an impatient and lazy one at that."

"OK, I know you'll be fine" paused, "I'll see you later, then,"

I chuckled then dropped the call. He was right, I seldom drive to Makati since the distance, traffic and the heat irks me to no end. But the part about the terrible driver was just something that my brother fabricated. He was just jealous at how I aced my license exams and he had to take it twice.

Brian and Francis, my brother, used to hang out a lot before he decided to fly off to Guam to work as an oncologist for the new hospital. Another one of the family who decided not to join my parents in New Orleans. It was an offer that he could not resist. The last time we spoke, brother told me of finally meeting the love of his life. I told him I was so glad one of us finally found happiness.

"How about Brian?" my brother teased. He had always wanted him as a brother-in-law.

"No way. You know that I only see him as a brother. Besides, it's just your excuse so you could have a drinking buddy for family."

I miss him. Once all of this is done, I plan to take off from work, drag Brian along and fly off to the island. Francis would like that a lot.

I drove to the studio before sundown and arrived an hour and a half earlier than the usual. Brian was still nowhere in sight.

As I headed to the elevator I saw Mike in the lobby. His black eye has apparently healed. He was just staring at me and not saying a word. Normally, Mike would be leering or saying something irritating just to push my button. But tonight, he was just staring uncomfortably. It certainly upped his creep factor several notches higher.

I passed him on my way to the elevator. It was unavoidable.

"What's your problem?" I told him. He did not answer. "Creep," I muttered under my breath.

His groupies were eyeing him from across the lobby. Two approached him and he ignored them.

I wonder was it because of Brian's handiwork? Or maybe it was because of my threat to expose him to media. Still, a silent, staring Mike was weirder than the old leering one.

I went straight to the break room to rest and catch up on my reading. Brian arrived, as scheduled, and I told him about the new creepier Mike at the lobby.

"Must have used makeup to hide those marks. You know how vain Mike is. But the silence.. I don't know about that."

"At least he finally shut up."

"I know. We have to be thankful for such small blessings." He paused briefly. " But are you up to driving by your lonesome tonight?"

"Pretty sure, I am up to it."

"Ok, as you said so. I wont stop you."

My shift started and ended without any hitch. Whoever was stalking me probably took the night off. In between breaks, I told Brian I would be leaving early; he nodded then asked if I wanted to be accompanied to the parking lot. "No, I'm fine. I'll let you know when I'm home."

"Besides, security cameras are everywhere. Whoever wants to cause harm will think twice."

He did not stop me but his look showed he was rather unsure about the whole thing.

"Ok, my shift's starting in a minute. If you can't wait for me then keep your phone open. but make sure that you call once you get inside the car."

I nodded then squeezed his hand real quick.

A couple from the nearby office was headed to the parking lot. They nodded in acknowledgment then slowed down for some talk. Seeing that I am alone, they offered to walk with me until I get to my car. As soon as I got in and locked my door, the two made their way to their car, which was parked near the exit, then drove off.

I dialed Brian's number to let him know I was about to leave. He did not answer.

I was about to start the engine when I sensed something or someone creeping behind the row of cars. This was followed by chains clanking against hard wood.

I heard several quick popping sounds, which turned out to be my car tires being deflated one by one, then something or someone decided to reveal itself; it was a figure in a black hooded parka holding a gun.

The figure smashed the driver's window seat with the blunt end of his weapon, it cracked in certain spots but resisted from totally breaking apart. It was out of rage and not an attempt to get into the vehicle. As it turned out, the figure was trying to get me out of the car at my own volition.

Several times, the figure looked up at the red light flickering from the security camera several meters above us, ensuring that the entire thing was being recorded Clearly, he or she was bent on torturing me.

Then the figure walked several meters away from the car, still within the range of the security cameras. Finally, at a certain distance, the figure aimed the gun at my windshield.

I was sweating hard but knew that I had to defend myself. I felt the adrenaline rush to my head, survival now replaced fear. I was ready to take the figure on his challenge.

But before the hooded figure could pull the trigger, building security was trying to get through the tightly chained exit door.

It was part of the plan to delay help so the figure had enough time to escape, just in case.

Before security could break open the exit, the figure had already escaped. By the time they drove up into the parking lot, it was too late.

As I got off the car, Brian weaved his way through security and hugged me. His relief at seeing me alive and unharmed was so real and true. It was a close call and both of us knew it.

Brian didn't leave my side, all the while providing assurance that everything will be fine, that the police were on their way.

For the first time since I was 5, I had to face the cops again.

The investigator assigned on the case told me they had picked up evidence from the crime scene, a silver locket. It was open and had a black and white photo of a woman. It was the dead nurse found in my room.

From their story, I believe it was inconspicuously left there. Another piece of the puzzle, which the caller, the one who calls himself Brett, left as a clue to the next phase of the game. But of course, I did not tell the cops anything.

After the investigators were done with the questioning, Brian told me he has decided to give me a week off from work. I protested a little bit saying I can't afford to miss my paycheck.

"It will be a fully paid leave. You really need to rest plus we have to think about protection. I don't want you to be all alone by yourself."

"Mom said you can stay with us and she can look after you. Or I may have to change shifts so I can stay with you after 6 p.m."

"No, Brian. I'm sorry, I can't leave the house. I don't want your life to change because of me. I can take care of myself."

"Raya, you are..besides..."

"Besides what..."

Brian hesitated, "You're family to me."

I knew he wanted to say something else but felt it was not the right time. I was thankful that he decided not to. It would have been awkward at this point.

"Let's talk about it later. I just want to go home."

I ended up leaving my car in the parking lot. Brian promised he'd have it towed for repairs later that day.

On the other side of Manila, the lone figure sat in the dark and stared at the several pictures taken earlier that morning. There was a picture of the Tierra Santa house. The figure looked at it intently, trying to find a critical piece to the puzzle.

Clearing his throat, the figure called the station. "Hi. I'm looking for Raya de Luna."

"She won't be coming in till the next day. Who is this please?"

"Click."

VI.

I missed my shift tonight. It would be the first of several days as Brian ordered. It felt like forever as the clock ticked. The DJ they got as a stand in was good but still, it would have been better if it were I behind the mike.

Brian said he'd be coming over after the shift to spend time with me. He even left his dog Bruce so I wouldn't feel so alone. I told him that wasn't necessary.

At first my cat Nina snarled at Bruce, but now, after a few hours, he had won her over. Both of them are now curled at my feet.

In the middle of my usual shift, the stand in entertained a call from someone whose voice sounded unmistakably familiar. "When is DJ Raya coming back?" the caller named "Carl" asked.

"She won't be in until next week. I know a lot of the fans have been asking for her. But she'll be back from vacation mode, in no time. She's probably listening now."

"Maybe she's just hiding from us. She should come out and see us once in a while. Or maybe I could come over to see her," the guy from the other end chuckled.

"I'm sure she'd like that," the stand in replied, totally naive of the game being played under his nose. "Buddy, I didn't get your name and your request," at that point the stranger dropped the call.

"Well that was weird. Anyway, let's have our next caller..."

That was it. I knew I had to do something fast, or else. Instinctively, I knew he was coming for me tonight. He knew where I live, after all.

I patted Bruce's head, stood up, and then went to my study/bedroom to change into walking sweats. I haven't had a good walk in a while and tonight seems like a good time for one.

Bruce got up to follow me, waiting to be leashed. I told him firmly, "Not tonight, dear. I have to walk on my own." He is such a sweet dog.

Bruce whined. But he understood what I meant and reluctantly backed off a little bit to give me space. Bruce is loyal to Brian but I knew he wouldn't snitch on me. I give better belly rubs than Brian.

I made sure that he has enough treats before I ventured into the night. I looked back to make sure that everything's locked. I glanced wistfully at my old bedroom window on the second floor. It looked bare without the old banyan tree of my childhood. But, still, it had to go.

Within a few minutes, I was out on the streets, walking briskly, taking in the night air. There were cars parked outside some of the houses. Not unusual since most families who live in our neighborhood can afford more than one car.

It was 2:30 a.m., and my shift had ended almost an hour ago. The streets were pretty much devoid of any human activity. Except for one person, who made a quick turn then disappeared in one of the side streets.

I headed to the spot at the end of the village, a huge swath of undeveloped land with lots of ancient trees.

Apparently, the figure had the same idea. He or she was already there, standing in the dark. It was pitch black, but I could see the figure wielding something metallic and shiny, probably a gun.

"Whoever you are. I knew you'd come tonight," I told the figure.

I could sense the rage in his soul. This person was certainly out for blood and knew where to hit. The sense of self-preservation overwhelmed me and I took off quickly.

The adrenaline rush hastened the change in me. I could feel hair unfurling, my hands becoming longer more muscular, a stabbing pain in my back like bones growing through skin.

I could feel the figure searching for me but I knew every part of this street very well. The figure spotted my shadow, took aim, pulled the trigger, once, twice, thrice, he narrowly missed my neck. I took off again, circled the spot then landed behind him, he was taken aback, did not expect I could be faster than him.

"What do you want from me?" I asked.

"You know what I want Raya. A life for a life." Now for certain, I knew him after all.

He turned around quickly, and aimed for my heart.

But I was faster. I grabbed his neck, took the ski mask off. He was surprised at my strength.

"Mike...why" I said, my voice was different now, more animal-like, hollow, and primal. Just like my mother's and the others before her.

"I know what you are. That nurse that you killed that night was my mother." I loosened my grip a little; Guilt hit me hard like a whip, it was all that he needed to pull the trigger. The bullet grazed my shoulder

I could smell blood but there was no pain. Something primal inside me took over. I aimed for his neck grabbed it firmly before unleashing my proboscis-like tongue. The long red thing found the perfect spot before fastening itself, the toxins passed into his skin, preventing the blood from clotting before I could fatally penetrate his neck.

I held him tightly, not wanting the blood to spurt from the jugular. After a few minutes, he stopped struggling. His body went limp in my arms. It was clean, almost surgical in precision. It was something that I acquired after practice, after years of training.

My first kill, his mother, was indeed messy.

This time, there was no blood wasted, no unnecessary violence required for the killing. A life taken from someone who was driven to kill purely out of love should be given that much respect.

Once I tasted his blood, I knew that it was Sam, and not Mike - the one Brian said was way too good to be true. Now I have his and his mother's blood on my hands.

Unlike the ones that I had eliminated swiftly in the past, people who have gravely wronged others - the obsessive caller who beat his wife senselessly, the child murderer who was let go by the system...the list goes on - Sam did not essentially start out as a bad person.

It was his mother's death that really messed him up, so much that a nearly perfect life was not enough to stop him from wanting justice.

Here's one truth - many people think of the aswang as merely a creature controlled by the need to hunt, kill, and feed. Their rage and their growling stomachs nor the urge to kill do not reign over the aswang -at least the ones that I knew of.

Like humans, we have free will, but we cannot change what we are.

Morphing into my monstrous appearance does not erase my capacity for reasoning, for feeling a sense of empathy, even a little bit for those who we believe deserved their fate for not treating others in a more "human" way.

"I'm sorry, Sam" I whispered in his ear before he finally took his last breath. While still cradling his body, I took off into the night, wings spread, casting dark shadows in the asphalt, unseen except by those with darkness weighing their soul.

I came home to Bruce and Nina, who were still curled up in the sofa just as I left them. Both woke up and gingerly padded towards me, sniffing violence in my sweat. While the dog was more forgiving, Nina gave me an accusing look, which I swear most cats do to make you feel guilty as hell for whatever it is that you did or didn't do.

To be fair, I gave them both their treats. For Nina, it was mainly to assuage my guilt and for Bruce, it was for staying loyal despite knowing my deed.

After sensing their satisfaction, I made my way to my room/study, stripped naked and took a warm shower to get rid of Sam's human scent, which lingered after I killed him.

By the time I tucked myself into bed, it was nearly dawn. Still I couldn't sleep but kept my eyes shut. I heard Brian's car pull over but I did not get up to meet him or to open the shutters.

I waited in the shadows until he, wordlessly came to my room. I motioned for him to come over and lay beside me. I wonder if he could see the last reddish flecks from my eyes or smell the blood in my breath. I assured myself he could not. They always could not.

He obliged without saying a word. I curled up under his arms and felt his heartbeat. I could feel the goodness and pureness within Brian, unlike the nameless ones I drained and left in the gutters of the metropolis.

I can sense how Brian knew that Sam was dead, the same way the dog and cat smelled my sin when I walked in through the door. I wish I could tell him the truth but I knew things would change if I did. Or probably not.

We both fell asleep locked in each other's arms. It was the longest sleep that I've had in my entire life.

The following day, the newspapers reported the police found Sam, radio personality Mike Costa's twin brother, dead in an alley near the studio. "People's Post," that tasteless rag, had photos of the victim, his body covered with newspapers, his feet sticking out.

"Aswang serial killer strikes Makati, again" the Philippine's favorite tabloid read.

He had in his possession several of my photos, all taken at various locations. They searched his posh studio in Makati and found the dark room with all of the pictures and news clippings..

The police and tabloids deduced he was the serial killer and the stalker who was out to kill me. But as to what or who killed him, they have yet to find out.

# The Bar

I.

Island Stir's coconut neon light emitted an eerie glow that filled the underpass. It was the only bar opened that Sunday night, the place where Spanky Bravo's contact said he'd meet the publisher.

Spanky, a hotshot in Manila's lucrative tabloid magazine industry is trying to cast his net far from the motherland and is in talks with a partner in Guam - a US territory almost a 4-hour plane ride away from Manila.

That morning, as the plane hovered over the international airport waiting for clearance, Spanky could see the roads slowly filling up with cars which to him, looked like ants lined up in a colony, "a lot of those ants, he noted, would be reading my stuff should I be able clutch this deal," Filipinos, he bemusedly chuckled, in whatever part of the world, are always seeking for dirt from their country.

"Now I'm bringing it to them. All those salacious stuff plus the off-course, the fantastic stories only the superstitious indulge in," Spanky was referring to the maligno or enchanted folk stories that are always prominently placed in "People's Post" like the recent spate of murders in Manila which he spun to appear like an aswang - a creature who stalks the night sky for its fill of human victims - perpetrated the crime.

He, of course, does not believe in the aswang, but knows the power such stories wield over the masses thus, exploits the myth with every possible opportunity.

"My money rags," as Spanky disparagingly called his tabloids, has made him a rich man, but with stories like "Aswang Hits Manila," "Aswang Strikes Makati" the notoriety has gained him far less respect from the so-called mainstream news media. Spanky tried to pretend to give a damn for a short time but eventually decided not to.

As he left the Guam International Airport, Spanky noted changes in the small island - the traffic, which he despised in Manila - seemed to have increased considerably since his last visit. In-flight magazines also showed new tourist hot spots in the tropical paradise, which Spanky hoped would not turn the island into an overpriced vacation destination.

The hotel sent out its own pick up service to get him from the international airport. With his worn "Erap shirt," mountaineering sandals, and faded jeans, he was easy to spot from the sea of Japanese tourists emerging from the arrival area.

The potential business partner - known as the "Investor" among his circles - called and told him they would be meeting at "Island Stir" that night. This is the first time that he would be exploring a venture based on gut feeling.

Like any shrewd businessperson, Spanky would exhaust all measures to check on a potential partner but this time, it was only the nagging sense of curiosity, which led him to this business meeting on Guam.

After resting for a few hours, he decided to go early and explore. Undecided as to the location of the bar, he browsed the "Drink and Dine" section of the brochure they usually give out to tourists. Still no information.

Based from experience, he knew that the best person to ask would be a cab driver. He went out the lobby, spotted one in a white polo with a company logo and asked. Not surprisingly, the guy was a fellow Filipino with a thick ilonggo accent. "Gyud man, alam ko yun. Malapit lang dito boss (I know the place. It's near)"

"Can you take me there (pede mo ba akong ihatid dun?)" The driver nodded then Spanky haggled for a discounted fare. At first, the driver refused, saying he has several mouths to feed and there are fewer customers at that time of day. Spanky assured he would be picked up after a few hours, meaning the driver would earn double despite the discounted fare.

The driver agreed to the terms. Spanky smugly felt assured that he can still haggle like the street smart Tondo boy who hung out in Divisoria hustling for small jobs just to get a decent meal. The same boy who, years later, went to college smelling like fish after spending the entire morning working as a stevedore at the pier.

But that was a long time ago and Spanky knew he already paid his dues. Now, whatever empathy and connection he momentarily felt for blue-collar workers such as the driver taking him to "Island Stir," has dissipated.

The driver, unaware of the moral dilemma playing in his client's head, sped off towards Upper Tumon, and precariously raced on a yellow light towards the other side of Marine drive, Guam's main artery.

The taxi did not stop at any of the fancy establishments flanking either side of the road but instead took a turn towards the entrance of an underground parking area.

Worried that the driver had taken offense earlier and is now taking him somewhere to be beaten up, extorted, or worse, Spanky asked, "Where are you taking me, pre. You can drop me off here. I can walk."

"Boss, I'm taking you there. Don't worry. Plus it is a long walk from here, believe me."

He waved all fears away, all ingrained feelings of mistrust for other people. After all he knew he is not in Tondo anymore. Here, the drivers are more careful with their dealings after all they are not in the Philippines anymore.

Or so he thought.

II.

They emerged from the dark curving path to a row of almost empty parking slots. There were two bars on one side and on the opposite, a convenience store. There were paths on each corner, which curved upwards like a human version of a gopher hole. Spanky correctly surmised that they were the entrance and exit points in and out of the parking lot.

He got off in front of Island Stir, paid the driver extra and then got his number so he could call him after an hour or so. He decided to give the driver more than the agreed amount, something which he learned from befriending the taxi drivers of Manila. (Incidentally, those taxi drivers would eventually become tabloid tipsters, his eyes on the road. A most reliable and cheap source for the most salacious and controversial stories).

"Salamat pare. Ok na yan (thanks man, the tip's for you)," he said after noticing the driver's surprised look. The driver smiled back, revealing a single tooth gilded in gold. "Babalikan kita boss (I'll come back for you)" the driver said. Spanky told him he'd get an extra tip if he does.

Spanky looked around the nearly empty parking lot. It was an instinctive reaction learned from the streets, a necessary skill which saved his life and wallet several times. He peered inside the frosted glass door but couldn't see a thing. He checked his watch: 5 p.m., happy hour on Guam.

"This place doesn't look so happy to me," he chuckled to himself.

Spanky went in. The contact person explicitly described what he would be wearing to the meeting. From where he was standing, he could only see two people - the bartender and a lone patron nursing a drink, none of them had a red and white Hawaiian shirt on.

The young man at the bar seems to be too far into his bleak thoughts to socialize or even talk, or even notice him as he entered the premises. He decided to sit a few seats apart. Despite the patron's silent cues, he decided to engage him in some small talk. Spanky had to look for something to while away the time.

He zeroed in on the young man, discreetly profiled him, as he was wont to do back home. Then, he cautiously asked, "Filipino?"

It was something learned from "kababayans" living abroad, which, in his experience, only work on a case-to-case basis. Acculturated Filipinos, those born and raised somewhere else or those hiding from their past, sometimes respond differently than expected.

The guy nodded then took a swig from whatever cocktail he was drinking. It was a metallic blue concoction in an ornate crystal goblet. A strange choice in a hole in the wall establishment like this, he thought.

His plan worked and the guy responded, "Are you from here?"

"Nope. Just here on business. Here to meet a client. But I've been around" Spanky responded in perfect unaccented English. Not many people know that despite appearances and demeanor, he was schooled in the best universities and got his masters in the states.

Spanky sometimes admit that education and trips abroad, not luxuries and clothes, were his way of overcompensating for his humble beginnings. The only jewelry he had on was an old ring his maternal grandfather left him. It was silver with some old Alibata etching.

But he would, oftentimes, put these contradictions to good use when snooty company comes a knocking. In social situations, when Manila's social climbing set would haughtily treat him like one of his tabloids, "a pambalot ng tinapa" or wrapping for smelly dried fish, Spanky would subtly retaliate by insinuating the offender's not so opulent past.

He also loved to take intellectual pretenders down a notch or two while of course, dressed like a stevedore hauling the catch of the day at the pier.

Thus, he became a persona non grata in most events. "Who cares," Spanky would rationalize, "As if their shit doesn't stink. At least I admit, mine does."

III.

Tonight, he felt some strange affinity with the clean-cut younger man in the bar, not because the guy looks like a fellow Filipino but because the guy looked obviously in pain. Decades of interacting with different types of people gifted him with this skill. He can sense pain as much as he can smell a story a mile away.

"A person humble enough to show and admit that he is at the end of his rope should not be treated like trash," he would admonish his reporters. It would be the only rule which stuck in the newsroom of the "People's Post."

So, while waiting for the bartender to take his order, Spanky struck up a conversation with the young man, Francis De Luna, who works as an oncologist in a local hospital.

"Spanky Bravo," he said extending his hand. The doctor shook it, appearing slightly distracted by his grandfather's silver ring.

He had no qualms about stating his trade to the young doctor who just shrugged and offered no judgment when he said he was a tabloid publisher back home.

The bartender, a Japanese named Mr. Ichi, finally came out of the kitchen. Spanky ordered a glass of red wine and some appetizers. In a few minutes, Mr. Ichi came out with his drink and a plate of expertly cut tuna sashimi and kimchi, a favorite among locals.

He offered some to the younger man, who declined.

"Thanks. I've had several earlier, pare," Francis politely said then offered him a round of drinks instead. Spanky curiously looked at the metallic blue liquor infront of the young man and asked, "What are you having?" Francis looked at him strangely, brows furrowed, as if he was trying to read or browse a book without glasses. It was not the reaction he was expecting.

Spanky told the bar owner - Ichi-san "Can I have what he's having?"

The old Japanese guy looked at the young man then back to Spanky before speaking "Sorry man, for regulars only." He refilled Spanky's drink then discreetly took the goblet away from the young man. He returned with an ordinary looking bottle of beer and an ordinary looking clear glass.

"Strange..." Spanky thought. "Must be spiked with some substance. he he" his curiosity now piqued, he resolved to pester the young man to give him a sample of the cocktail, later.

Another street-smart tactic from Spanky's book - if they refuse, ask again, and again.

"So how's the tabloid business lately," Francis asked.

"Business has been good. I don't think that it will ever slow down," sips the wine. "The masses, meaning the jeepney and bus drivers, the street vendors, all read my stuff. I do think even those who claim to be hoity toity secretly do too. They just don't want to be caught dead with a copy."

Francis chuckled a little bit; it was forced, the eyes barely lifting up like when one does after hearing a good joke. "I must admit I read People's Post online everyday. The stories don't fail to amuse me."

"Aha, that is what they all say, they read it for amusement, for a good laugh etcetera but never admit that they are actually fans of my rag"

"Alright. I must admit, I'm fan,"

"Finally, you are definitely a feather to my publisher's cap. A doctor, a thinking man, who happens to be a fan. Wait till I tell my reporters about this," Spanky chuckled then offered a toast. Francis raised his brew.

"Now that it is finally out of the bag, can I ask you anything about the stories?"

"Fire away man. I have nothing to hide."

"You seem to be obsessed with aswangs and ghosts, those supernatural stuff. Do you actually believe any of those stories that you publish?"

"Since you are sensible man, I will give you a straightforward answer. Nope," Spanky said.

"Hmm interesting response. So, why publish those stories?"

"You can say that I am delivering a product that masses want, not necessarily need. I am a businessman, first and foremost, Dr. Francis and I see the world as such. You do mean it when you said you read my stuff everyday."

"I do. Since we are talking openly about such. One of your stories happened to involve my sister Raya," the doctor said.

Spanky remembered the name, and for the first time that night, Spanky felt awkward. That deserved a sensitive response, something he was not used to. He tried to weigh if the doctor was offended by how the story was treated by the tabloid. After all it was his sister who was involved.

IV.

The silence was broken by a rowdy group of new patrons who rudely barged in through the main door. Spanky was secretly hoping that one of them was the investor so he could have an excuse to extricate himself from the awkward situation.

But there was no man in a red and white Hawaiian shirt.

Forced to return to the conversation, Spanky asked the doctor what he thought of the story. He decided not to apologize for any perceived wrongs the story may have caused. He'll have to wait for a response.

"Personally, I think it was amusing and a relief at the same time."

"That's good to know."

I was in touch with my sister Raya for days. She was the DJ who was stalked by the so-called aswang victim. Although the circumstances may be dreadful to some, I'm just glad that her nightmare's over," the doctor took a longer swig from his now ordinary looking glass.

Spunky again wondered about the strange metallic blue concoction that Ichi-san took away.

"I thought so too," Spanky truthfully responded. "I'm not going to call this person an aswang because both of us know that's just crap, but this person is killing off unsavory elements of society vigilante-style. I don't blame him or her, if you read the back stories of the so-called victims - abusers, drug pushers, murderers - you'd understand that person is just doing a job that the justice system has failed to do."

"I see your point," Francis responded. Spanky was relieved that the doctor seemed to agree with his perspective.

"The last case proved that. The Sam Costa guy who stalked your sister, you should have seen the darkroom in his apartment. There were pictures of your sister's house, place of work etcetera. It was all posted like some twisted shrine."

"Tell me about the body. What does it look like? Without the exaggerated details reported in your tabloid?"

"Those are not exaggerated Dr. Francis. The bodies, including Sam Costa's, had almost no blood left in them. It was as if it was surgically siphoned out. Very precise, almost no drop left."

No response from Francis.

Spanky awkwardly went on, "Of course, I got into the case after one of my police contacts gave me first dibs on the story. I saw those bodies before rigor mortis set in. Sorry, you had to hear all of that."

"No problem Mr. Bravo. At least you have answered some of the questions that had been bugging me for quite some time." Francis motioned to one of Ichi-San's assistants for another round of drinks.

The old Japanese owner had retired to his office after the night bar staff came in, just about the same time that customers began flooding the establishment.

"Please call me Spanky. Mr. Spanky's my lost long dad who abandoned us when I was young," he chuckled.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Seems like an apt sob story for your tabloid," Francis joked.

"No harm done. I hardly knew him."

One of the wait staff replenished Spanky's drink. He knew he was having too much of the cheap red liquor, he could hear himself slightly slurring his responses.

One of the customers approached the doctor and cautiously whispered something in his ear.

While swirling his drink and feigning interest at the mini whirlpool he created, Spanky caught both the stranger and the doctor look at him almost at the same time, almost as if the whispering was all about him.

Dr. Francis did not introduce him to the stranger nor explained what it was all about. The man, after doing whatever conspiratorial business he had with the doctor, returned to his table at one of the dark corners of the bar.

Spanky pretended to search for the restroom and saw only the shadowed figure of the man.

In the dark, he could feel the stranger observing him from afar, there were others too; he could feel their eyes on him. for whatever reason, he'll try to find out later.

V.

Ichi-San came out of his office and instructed the wait staff to start karaoke. He motioned at Spanky and the doctor if they wanted to key in any song, Spanky politely declined while the doctor didn't seem to hear nor see the bar owner. He was furrowing his brows like an undecipherable dilemma was thrown at him.

"You alright?" Spanky asked, placing a hand on the doctor's shoulder.

"I'm fine. Where did we left off?"

"We were talking about your sister's case."

"Yes I remember...but tell me Spanky, I know you've mentioned not believing that malignos, aswangs or otherworld creatures exist but hypothetically speaking, what if they do?"

"Then those creatures will be my banner story for the entire week or month, depends if more cash comes in," he chuckled again. The doctor did not appear to be amused.

"Do you honestly believe that such things exist?"

"Even us in the medical profession encounter unexplainable things in our line of work. I'm sure you do question your disbelief sometimes when you hear a strange case, like the aswang incident, for example."

"Yes that got me wondering too but my theory \- my real theory- was that it was perpetuated by someone with a medical background, a doctor like you."

"Just like Jack the Ripper."

"Yes but of course that has to be proven yet. But even mainstream media, my competitors, acknowledge the possibility of having a doctor slash serial killer slash vigilante roaming the streets of Manila."

"But of course, it could be something else, like a real so-called aswang doing the killing."

"Are you kidding me, doctor?"

"No. I'm not."

Spanky could not believe that the doctor was actually espousing the theory that the killings were done by some supernatural creature with a long sharp proboscis like tongue and a huge bat like creature. Alcohol really does things to one's perception of reality.

The doctor was now looking at his grandfather's ring. He did notice it was emitting a faint glow, probably reflecting the tacky mood lights strung up above his head.

"If you don't mind me asking Spanky, where did you get that ring?"

He told him briefly about the ring's back-story. How his grandfather told his mother to bequeath the ring to the firstborn child and to never ever sell the thing even if the family has fallen into hard times. And how their family fell into a long stretch of bad luck but still his mother kept her word. But once his mother gave him that ring after college, his luck changed. Since then, he has not parted with it.

He showed the ring to the doctor who told him it was in Alibata - a pre-colonial writing system. "The text read "Bantay or Guardian. You do understand what that means right?"

To. enlighten me." Spanky humorously responded wondering if the blue liquor that the doctor had imbibed earlier was some form highly potent hallucinogenic drink thus their conversations are now making its way from ridiculous to bat-shit insane levels.

"The guardians or bantay are humans like you who were tasked thousands of years ago to protect that barrier between the otherworld realm and the so-called real world...If you got that from your grandfather, he could be one, and if he entrusted it to you then you could potentially turn into one."

"When you say otherworld, you mean a place where aswangs and other malignos exist."

"Yes. They exist in the real world too."

"Okay doctor. I think I'm outa here. This conversation is turning into a direction I don't want to go to," Spanky quickly stood up, "It was nice meeting you and I'm sorry for your sister but this is too much."

"I'll make you understand. Trust me, this is crucial to your survival because as we are speaking now, unknown elements are plotting to get rid of you. They could be anywhere right now."

"Why?"

"I'll explain later. First you've got to see the other world for yourself."

VI.

Spanky weighed his choices. Trust or flee. If he leaves the bar and this doctor who seems to have lost his mind, he would never know if there was any truth to the story or if what the doctor said was true, then his days are indeed numbered.

If he trusts the doctor and the fantastic story turned out to be real, then he has an instant cash cow for "People's Post," he'll be chased by the same unknown elements but at least he'll be prepared.

But in both scenarios, he could end up dead. At least in one scenario, he'll have a fighting chance.

He decided to stay. "Okay doctor. This better be good."

"Follow me," Francis motioned to a room at the end of a hallway. It was the maintenance closet. "Meet me there. I'll go first."

"You got to be kidding me," he muttered to himself.

The doctor stood up and headed towards the end of the hallway. After a few minutes, Spanky followed, clutching an empty beer bottle in one hand, as "precaution." "You'll never know," he muttered, his heart racing with every step.

He slowly opened the door then saw the doctor standing in one corner near the supplies cabinet. The room was small and clean. Two people can move around a little bit. There was a small couch on one side. He placed the empty bottle in one corner. "Sorry, it's instinctive." he said.

"I understand," the doctor responded. Spanky completely forgot that he was holding it as he entered the room, his attention was transfixed at the glowing vial of metallic blue liquid in the doctor's hand.

The one that he was obsessing about earlier, Ichi-San's specialty drink for regulars only.

"I know you're asking why I took you here but this place is crucial to making you see my point earlier. This," he said showing the vial at eye level," will help you."

Just so you'll know doctor except for alcohol I don't do other substances."

"This is something which does not exist here in your realm. It exists naturally in ours. Let me explain first what will happen when you drink this."

Spanky looked at the vial, the liquid was swirling on its own. He nodded realizing that he needed to open his mind to every possibility. Now curiosity replaced his initial trepidation and fear.

"This small amount will make you see, temporarily from the eyes of the maligno or encanto folk. Meaning, you will see us for what we really are."

"You? What are you?"

"You'll find out but let me say this before we begin, please do not be afraid of whatever you see after taking this brew. I will look different, even frightening. Think...aswang."

Spanky took a step back, he wasn't expecting it. He imagined Francis would look more like the faerie folk from the local folk stories - the male encantado who always gets the prettiest girls back to its realm.

An aswang - a hideous viscera sucking creature with a long tongue, bat-like wings, red eyes - that was the last thing he expected the doctor to morph into.

"I can sense, or rather smell, your fear Spanky. The encanto folk are sensitive and they can do those things. Some of us ca even sense the darkness weighing man's soul. At least the aswang folk can.

"But if you are really your grandfather's blood line, you could will or mask those fears to your advantage. And we will not be able to notice."

"This skill is crucial to your survival. A lot of us are instinctively predatorial, especially those who are out for blood."

"Why are you doing this to me? helping me understand?"

"For a good reason. Something that you will know later after I have erased doubts in your mind."

VII.

He took the vial from the doctors and took all of the liquor in one gulp. At first, the room expanded until it looked primeval with cathedral like ceilings etched with Alibata markings, from where he was standing the patterns resembled the markings etched in the petroglyphs back in the Philippines but more intricate, more beautiful.

He looked at the room; there was a pond in the middle with crystal waters. There were doors surrounding the room. Each one different from the other.

Then, he noticed the doctor who was walking towards him. With every step, the doctor was shedding every shred of humanity. His hair was longer, vine like, behind his back a set of black bat-like wings was emerging. His fingers were longer, the nails sharper and talon-like.

And the tongue. For a moment it unfurled fast then retreated in the doctor's once handsome mouth. Spanky now knew, Francis was an aswang.

"Don't be afraid Spanky. I am not going to hurt you."

"You could be lying."

"Then what's the point of explaining to you your real essence, of bringing you here, of warning you? Besides, I could have done that several seconds ago had I wanted you dead.

Spanky knew he was telling the truth. Dr. Francis the aswang could easily lunged himself and tear him to pieces. Now it dawned upon him that Raya, the sister, was one too.

"Raya...is she?"

"Yes, Spanky and you're right. There are reasons why she was doing it. She felt it was the only way to save herself, the only good that could come out of her existence."

The aswang was walking towards him now. Spanky was clearly petrified.

"C'mon, had I wanted to kill you, I would have done that earlier. This place would have been perfect."

"Maybe you like playing with your food," Spanky nervously remarked.

The aswang chuckled. He actually imagined the creature quickly morphing back into the doctor's more pleasant visage before turning back into its hideous form.

"Are we still in the bar or for that matter in Guam?"

"You can say that we are in the middle of both worlds. Sort of."

Spanky was still untrusting. He eyed the entire the entire room, looking for a weapon to defend himself but there was nothing, even the empty bottle of bear was gone. Plus he would have to open all of the doors to find out the right exit or entrance back to the bar, of to his reality.

Francis the creature cocked his head on one side like when a puppy does when it's curious and trying to read a stranger's face.

"You're still afraid of me are you?"

"Who wouldn't be? Have you looked at the mirror lately?"

The aswang chuckled again.

"Actually, you're just seeing my other world essence now. But if there were another person with us, he or she would see the human, more pleasant side of me."

Spanky eyed the creature from head to toe, trying to find that human side but couldn't find anything left of the doctor.

"Another question...did you drug me? Was the blue thing that you made me drink earlier some sort of a hallucinogen?

"Nope. Believe me. It's not from your world. We drink that during social occasions, but it has a different effect on humans. With the right amount, it can give them the gift of seeing the non-human side of existence."

The aswang continued, "But had I given you more than a vial, you wouldn't have survived. It takes an unusually gifted human to bear its effects."

"I hope you're telling the truth and this is not one big trip."

VIII.

"Let's take a walk so I could explain your interesting role in the whole scheme of things. How your grandparents' lineage determine your fate."

"Oh that again, the bantay conundrum," Spanky muttered.

"For a tabloid publisher, you are skeptical about these things."

"I have to be or else I'll go crazy. Right now, I think I'm on the edge."

The aswang paused, and then amusedly responded, "You've made it this far, now is not the time to go crazy. You've done crazier stuff for your tabloid."

Spanky acknowledged that the aswang made a good point.

"I have to make you see my world, our realm."

Francis pointed to one of the doors, "Let us try that one." The two walked towards the door, which was a few feet away, but from Spanky's eyes, the whole room was expanding, making the seemingly short journey more difficult with each step.

The only thing constant was the crystal clear pond with a fountain in the middle of the room, which he surmised, was the compass to whichever direction an explorer decides to take. It was the reference point for the lost.

Spanky felt he was traveling through a mirage that was forever expanding. He had to take a look back to check if the pond was still there. No matter how many steps they took, it was still there, unchanged in size.

Francis said it is just a matter of looking beyond human eyes.

"There are different places in the world that serve as portals to other encanto dimensions but most of those have been found and entrance or exit has been sanctioned by the elders. These portals lead you to where you want to go at the most parallel time as the human reality."

"Here," Francis motioned to the entire room or parts of it which Spanky could see, "the possibilities are infinite."

"You mentioned something about my bantay or guardian lineage, where does it fall in the bigger scheme of things?"

"Your bantay forebears are in-charge of that, they work with the encanto elders who look after the portals, ensuring that there is balance between both worlds and everything is followed according to the code," Francis said, still in his aswang incarnation.

"As a tabloid publisher and probably because of your bantay lineage, I am afraid that you are being targeted for elimination by this shadowy group of encantos who don't take kindly to human interference in their affairs."

"For the past several years, you have been churning out story after story of encantos causing havoc in the metropolis, both the good and bad encantos hate that. The good ones will probably just dismiss the whole thing and think that it's just in good fun but the bad apples, believe me, they think that you are revealing too much of their MO."

"MO?"

"Modus operandi. I thought you were in publishing?"

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting an aswang to say that. My bad." Spanky was still getting used to the surrealness of the conversation.

"So as I was saying, the latest series about the aswang, those articles which talked about my sister being stalked, it was practically the last straw. They decide to go against the encanto code and placed a bounty in your head."

"But I wasn't even targeting them in the story. Your sister, whom I now know as the aswang, was even portrayed as the victim, the object of the stalking."

"Even so, you cannot reason with these creatures. The guy who went to our table earlier alerted me to your presence. It seemed that he got the message too. A few of them did."

"So..Is he planning to...you know?"

"Kill you? No, despite appearances that guy respects the maligno code and wouldn't harm humans unless necessary, meaning, unless he or his family is threatened, or the human is a threat to another person. And he would do so discretely."

They finally got to one of the doors. "Since you are a guardian, by blood, you are allowed to peek into our world, or in some instances, even visit. Remember, as I told you, this portal is, shall we say in earth language, still unreported. therefore not legal, which means everything is random, we could be in the correct realm at a different date or time."

Only the main door is constant - in this case where we came through, which through Island Stir.

The aswang slowly opened the door.

Spanky could see a massive mountain meticulously terraced and planted with rice grains. It was so huge that if you look down, you would only see huge masses of clouds. Each terrace had perfect crops of different colors, each strand as tall as a human. It was as if they were grown as food for giants.

Beyond the fields, there was a massive mortar and pestle and a huge basket of unpounded rice.

"Oops I think we are in Kabunian's realm," Francis said. "I don't want to disturb him, out of respect. It looks like they are in the process of preparing for a canao or traditional feasting. We don't want to stay for that."

"Kabunian's realm exists in a different timeline so we could end up staying for ten or even a hundred years within that place," the aswang said.

Spanky remembered Kabunian as the Supreme Being of the Ibalois of Benguet, one of the upland indigenous groups in the Philippines. Kabunian is like a Zeus to them, a counterpart of the Judeo-Christian God most Filipinos worship.

He also remembered that Kabunian lives in Mt. Pulag, in the northern cordilleras.

"This could be the otherworld representation of that. A massive replica," he deduced.

They did not even bother to cross the threshold, lest they wake up the giant god.

The aswang opened another door with an intricate serpentine-like jade knocker. Inside, they saw a vast river system framed by an eternally orange sky. "We are in Naga territory. One of the realms behind the country, normal folk know of as Thailand," according to the doctor.

"You mean the Mekong River."

"This is what lies on the other side of the Mekong."

Several times, he could see a huge scaly tail emerging from the choppy waters, which looked treacherous than the one in the human world. Balls of fire were intermittently rising from the water.

Are those dragons?

"Yes they are. The Naga and Nagi who forever inhabit the river."

"I've been to Thailand and to the festival where balls would appear to rise from the water. Scientists say it was gas or something."

"Nope. The dragons made them and if you ever meet one in the future, don't ever mention that human-made factoid. It's offensive."

"I'll remember. I don't want to die in a ball of flame."

"I'm sure."

They walked around a little bit explored a few more doors before Francis stopped in front of one, telling Spanky he felt the strong urge to open it. It was calling to him. This door was made of a dark ebony wood. There was no knocker just a keyhole set in brass.

Francis touched the keyhole and the door opened.

What Spanky saw, smelled, and heard made his soul cringe. They were standing at the edge of a cliff. Below them there were campfires and caves dwellings carved out of the rock. There were black things with bat like wings scurrying below, screaming for food, males and females indistinguishable from each other.

Except for the modern clothing and the doctor-aswang's good manners, the creatures all looked like him.

"This is our realm hundreds of years ago. The first aswang clan before the first ones became, how do you call it, civilized, then went inside a portal to your world."

The creatures below the cliff did not look human at all. It seemed like they were gathered for a feast. They were gathered over several humanoid figures, which he assumed would be the main dish for the night.

Until now, in our own realm, the aswang still hunts for other faerie folk, making them the most feared among the encantos. But there is a group who has co-existed with the others, who have opted to live in peace. Some of them have been allowed to live among humans.

"Like your family?"

"Yes. But they were all born and raised in the human world thus lack our ancestor's uncontrollable ferocity."

"But sometimes we have to defend ourselves. So things happen."

Spanky did not respond.

"But let me warn you, if there are those like us, adapted and more human in ways, there are some who would not think twice about gutting you alive. The bad seeds who were able to slip out into the real world, unchecked."

"These are the ones who felt offended by what you are doing, what you have been writing. They do not want to be exposed, to be known."

The aswangs below were snarling competing for a piece of meat. Though they were safely up in the cliff, Spanky could only imagine the frenzy up close - men, women, children tearing up a piece of the meat, blood smeared on their faces."

Francis explained that the present aswang, and several generations before them, have only subsisted on blood unlike the things snarling below us. It was a form of adaptation, a way to live undetected in the shadows.

"Most of us subsist on animal blood nowadays but sometimes, we do dip our tongues in human blood once in a while but avoid the killing part as much as possible."

"Is that why you work in the medical field? for the free blood?"

"Probably."

"What about Raya, your sister?"

"Like I said, she has her reason for doing so. I can tell you that she's not doing that for kicks."

Francis took one look at the ancient aswang dwelling below then slowly closed the door.

"Now you know why some of us moved into your world. Nobody wants to live like that."

Spanky couldn't forget the ferocity of the aswang in its natural environment. It makes him wonder how the doctor and her sister subsume their natural urges. Despite all of the doctor's explanations, he believes that anything that feral couldn't just do a 360 and transform into a meek lamb.

Also, he couldn't believe that a tiny wisp of a girl could be capable of killing another person no matter if the motive was "noble or just" from her perspective.

Now that he knew that the aswang is capable of masking its true nature, Spanky wonders if any of his staff are not from the so-called real world.

"I may have to rethink what normal means when I get back. If I do get back alive," he told himself.

Spanky suddenly remembered his appointment with "the investor," Despite the doctor's explanations; he was not sure how time works in the realm. Although, he had heard folk stories of human beings abducted by encanto folk, who spent only a night in the other realm but, when they returned to the real world, ended up finding that they had been lost for days even months.

The doctor assured him that it was not so in this case.

"We were just in between realms, where time is suspended. You will still make it to your appointment, without any hitch."

They were now in the middle of the room near the crystal pond. Spanky wondered how they would be able to pick the right door to get out. There were hundreds of doors in the expanding space; he wondered how the doctor would choose the right one.

Francis pointed to the most nondescript door in the far left corner, it had an unmistakable etching of a palm tree, similar to the signage posted outside the bar. It was just there all along.

IX.

That was fast, Spanky wryly observed. "I wonder how many bars in the world has an in between room set-up like this?"

"You'll be surprised. Not all are sanctioned and regulated by the encanto elders though."

"So it's like that seedy bar in Avenida that closes up once the cops pretend to raid it...but this time it's an encanto pit stop."

"You can say that," the aswang replied. Spanky swore he could have seen it crack a hideous smile.

"Well," he thought, "there's a first time for everything - my first time to explore a strange dimension in a broom closet with an aswang, first time to uncover that those things really exist, plus the absurdness of the discovery that my grandfather or, by proxy, I could be part of some strange cult of guardians." Spanky chuckled, and the aswang looked at him strangely.

"I wonder if I could make money out of it?" Spanky wondered then looked at his aswang companion and realized that if the creature or the doctor was telling the truth then more creatures of similar ilk would be chasing him till the ends of the earth. Should he decide to write again those stories.

"Let's go back." Francis said, breaking his internal monologue.

When they came out of the tiny room, only five minutes had passed despite the fact that it felt like hours from the time he stepped inside the closet and did their exploration up until the time they got out

The bar looked the same, except for two things, the potent brew was still causing things in his brain and so, half of the bar patrons

He looked at the bar room and knew that the brew is still in effect. More than half of the patrons were nor human. Francis whispered in his ear "remember what I told you. They can smell fear and some will take advantage of that. Try to quiet your mind, relax, and think of them as just wearing masks."

"Easy for you to say."

Both of them returned to their seats.

"Had a great time?" Ichi-San asked both of them before refilling their drinks - same old red wine and beer. Spanky was surprised. He was human. He assumed the old man was some primordial and wise creature of the forest.

"No he's not one of us but he knows about our existence and can see us at times. One of the few licensed humans to operate a bar for our kind."

"I see," he looked around, except for their modern clothes, half of the patrons looked frightening, There was a half man-half horse smoking some thick tobacco. He was with a human companion, who probably did not know his true nature.

There was a group of ethereal looking creatures, all pale and elven-like, imbibing the metallic-blue drink. He assumed they were encantados and encantadas. One was poring over the karaoke song list.

"Don't stare too much, friend," Francis said.

He ignored the aswang and searched for the room hoping to see the mysterious investor. He looked at the time, it was past 9:00 p.m., wondering if he will be stood up. His mobile phone and he got a text message: "On my way."

"Your contact?"

"Yes. He's on his way."

"I don't want to snoop but your friend seems to know about this place. Did you tell him to come over?"

"Nope. It was his suggestion. Actually, I nearly lost my mind looking for this place."

"Because nobody knows this place except...."

"....an encanto or maligno," Spanky finished the creature's statement, realizing there could be more to the appointment than meets the eye."

Francis asked him to provide details about the transaction, where he met the mysterious "Investor" if he knew what he looked like and if he did bother to check the person's background.

"Nope. the offer was too lucrative. I don't want to say how much but it would have ensured my retirement. A trusted friend vouched for him, saying this so-called investor is a private man and would rather keep his anonymity."

The aswang postulated that the investor could be the same mysterious encanto who placed the bounty on his head in the first place.

"You think so?"

"Yes. I suggest that we leave now while we have time. For your safety. You can stay in my place, nobody can track you there."

Francis paid for their drinks and they hurried out of the bar. As they were about to leave, he asked Spanky to pretend to be inebriated. He acquiesced and allowed the aswang to carry him out.

The aswang led him to a green sedan. Spanky slumped on the passenger seat and closed his eyes.

In the shadows, a figure wearing a red and white Aloha shirt was watching the proceedings. His face was hidden by the dark except for a pair of red eyes, fuming mad as the car zoomed out of the underground parking lot.

X.

Spanky woke up in a well-appointed house. It was perched on a cliff overlooking the Philippine Sea. He correctly assumed it was Francis De Luna's home, a modern aswang hideout, he amusedly thought.

He could barely remember how he ended up in the couch.

Francis came out of the kitchen with a mug of coffee. "I see you're awake."

Spanky was glad he was not an aswang anymore.

"Was it real? All those things that happened last night?

Francis handed him the steaming drink, "As real as your hangover."

"Just in case you were wondering, I asked a contact to get some of your stuff...at least what's left of it...out of the hotel. Someone trashed your room last night. At first, they did not want the contact to get it but I told them you will press charges after what had happened."

"You were able to do that?"

"They know me," Francis replied. "I believe that it was the investor who did it. I've heard it through a contact. The red and white Aloha shirt seems to be the dead giveaway. It was apparently his signature."

Spanky felt lost. The first time in his entire life. "What happens now? Should I wait for these creatures to get me?"

"As I told you last night, you have to get help. But first, just a word of advice, stop publishing those stories."

He nodded, the pain erupting in waves as he moved his head up and down.

Francis gave him a card which says "Vir sapit qui pauca loquitur" at the back. It had a name of a priest, Fr. Luciano, who listed the Manila Cathedral as an address.

"What does it mean?"

"It means a wise man talks less. Find the priest. He will help you."

XI.

While he was resting in Francis' place, the doctor secured his flight arrangements and spoke to the priest who agreed to meet Spanky whenever he wants to.

Francis insisted that the publisher meet with the priest before it's too late.

Two days later, Spanky arrived at the Manila International Airport.

He immediately called his editor to let him know that he will be resting for another week and will not be taking calls nor meeting with any person.

He asked the editor to trash the aswang story series that they were planning to publish that week.

"No more of those stories. I'll meet our team when I get back to work."

Not surprisingly, the editor contested his decision, "But boss, that's what brings in the money. Are you sure?"

"Yes and make sure to inform our reporters. Let's look for other stories."

He contacted Francis' friend - Fr. Luciano, the priest - to set an appointment. But decided not to wait for another day after the priest convinced him to head to the church immediately.

Wasting no time, he asked the taxi driver to take him to Manila Cathedral to meet the priest.

Fr. Luciano was waiting for him at the front of the church.

"Spanky Bravo?"

He nodded.

The priest wasted no time.

"Come quickly, we must make sure nobody saw you come in."

Spanky was led to an alleyway behind the church. "Francis told me your story. I'm here to help and train you to become a guardian."

Spanky nodded silently. Had this occurred a week ago, he would probably laughed it off and write about it.

But after seeing those things, a veil was lifted from his eyes; he knew that he had to change in order to survive.

They were several feet under ground but his phone rang. It was an unknown Guam number. Spanky deleted it then followed the priest into the dark without any question.

# About the Author

Louella Mendoza grew up listening to stories about the aswang, vampires, and other dark creatures. As a reporter covering the news on weekdays and a dabbler of creative pursuits during weekends, Louella believes that nothing excites the senses more than a good story. She compares a good story to a skein of people, places and events, all woven into a complex tapestry. Its bumps, knots, and other imperfections make the story more interesting than the obvious narrative.

While reporters are often straight jacketed by codes and tightly boxed by rational and skeptical thinking, As a storyteller, Louella hopes to write stories, which may not be newsworthy but makes for an interesting or unique read.

Louella lives on an island in the Pacific, a mere dot in the map for some, but an endless source of fascinating stories for those who dare to listen.

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# Other books by this author

Dark Creatures: Flight of the Aswang 2 (coming soon)

Encanto Chronicles: The Gathering (coming soon)

Ilustrado de Manila (coming soon)
