A Separate Existence

          Nick alighted from the dusty jeepney, thanking the driver in the local tongue before producing a few coins of currency in payment. He lugged his huge backpacker’s pack onto his back, adjusted the straps and waved the driver goodbye. A foreign correspondent for The Examiner, he had convinced his editor late yesterday to allow him a slight deviation in his travel plans after hearing a rumour of possible Aswang activity in the province of Capiz in the Western Visayan region of the Philippines. He’d been in Manila covering the current political situation when he had learned the curious piece of news. Wanting to catch the next flight out of the capital, Nick had sold the idea to his editor as a ‘human interest’ story – a chance to construct a profile of the people affected by the election. 3

          He walked the last couple of kilometres, in the humidity of mid-afternoon, to barangay Rizal Norte, a decent-sized village in the municipality of Tapaz, Capiz. Here, a contact had arranged lodging for him with a willing Filipino family. With his cotton shirt clinging to his sweaty skin, Nick sighed gratefully as he entered the deep shadow thrown by a row of thatched cottages, and a slight gust of wind provided further welcome relief from the heat of day.4

          Many of the residents gave him surreptitious glances as he passed, but their faces crinkled with smiles as he greeted them. Nick took in the sights as he strolled through the barangay; most of the residents he saw were engaged in some sort of endeavour. A group of bare-footed children lounged under an open-air shelter, listening intently to an older woman. As he moved closer, Nick heard the undulating speech of a storyteller – the woman’s voice rising and falling as she filled the children’s minds with some local legend. 5

          As he stopped by the shelter and leaned against one of the poles, the children barely paid him any attention. Their faces portrayed intense rapture at the woman’s words, and they leaned toward the woman as one when she lowered her voice.6

          Nick smirked at their screeches as the storyteller abruptly snapped open two wooden fans and waved them like wings beside her. She turned her body from side-to-side, the children in the direction of her stare drawing back from her in fits of nervous giggles. 7

          The story finished, and only then did those under the shelter become aware of Nick’s presence. A handful of the youngsters scampered off, each teasing the other about their reactions to the story. Two small girls and a boy of around ten remained.8

          Nick addressed the woman in her tongue. “You have a remarkable ability to capture your audience.”
 9

          The woman folded the fans and tucked them away in a pouch beside her. “You is that West’ner,” she replied in halting English, ignoring his praise.10

          Nick nodded. He spoke in English this time. “You understand English?”11

          “Enough.”12

          He indicated the three children as he asked her, “You tell tales of the Aswangs to the children?”13

          “Not tales. Truth. Manananggals stalk the deepest shadows of the moonless night, and the young ones must understand the danger,” she said, lapsing into her native language.14

          “I heard rumours…”15

          “Truth,” she spat, interrupting him before he could continue. “One preys on this barangay. It has for many moons now. Of what interest is it to you?”16

          Nick glanced down at the children, concerned that what he needed to say might frighten them. Hoping that they wouldn’t understand English, he replied, “There were reports of a woman’s body, with grievous injuries to her torso, discovered just outside of this barangay. I wanted to confirm how she died, if her injuries do indeed prove beyond a doubt that the Manananggal exist.”17

          The woman narrowed her eyes and shooed the children away before she responded. She took a deep breath as she rose and strode toward him. Stopping just in front of where he stood, she spoke slowly, her voice devoid of any emotion, “Take care not to meddle in our concerns, Mr. Westerner. You only mean to ridicule our ways and culture, to paint us as a primitive society subsisting on folklore and unnecessary fears.”18

          “I…”19

          She waved away his response with a dismissive flick of her hand. “You are all the same. Meddlers,” she said, in English once again.20

          Nick stood silent for a moment, contemplating if he could press the issue or not. He decided against any further questions and turned away. 21

~*~
22

          Maganda Magsaysay watched the foreigner leave, glad that he held his tongue. Her gaze followed his movement through the barangay until he reached the doorstep of Datu Matapang. She waited in the shadows until he was welcomed into the residence. She already knew he would disrupt the calm routine of the barangay with the questions he had no right asking, exciting the children and meddling in their affairs. 23

          Gathering up her pouch, she left the shelter and walked from the main area of activity to a small cottage on the western outskirts of the barangay. Hanging ornaments, made from the local Capiz shell from the northeast of the province, glimmered in the late afternoon sunlight as they twirled and twisted in the breeze. Beside them, strings of garlic bulbs stoically guarded the residence from a creature she had warned the children about earlier. 24

~*~
25

          Night fell on barangay Rizal Norte, bringing with it the sounds of the forest creatures awakening. Nocturnal insects buzzed through the air, the humidity of the summer heat invigorating them, spurring them to seek sustenance. Most prevalent were the mosquitoes, and the sound of muttered curses and slaps joined the cacophony of evening. 26

          As the cadence of sleeping breaths settled over the area and clouds obscured the moon, another figure used the cloak of night to hide its true nature. Filled with the need to fulfil a burning lust, the figure glided through the darkness toward a small cottage near the centre of the barangay. 27

          Ligaya slept soundly within. Though her husband, Makisig, remained absent, she felt safe. Like the rest of the villagers, she religiously strung garlic in her windows and over her door. Due to her condition, she also had garlands of jeruju affixed above the windows. 28

          So confident was she of the safeguards that she dismissed the scratching on the thatch that woke her. Many night creatures often roosted on the roofs of the cottages, and she simply rolled onto her side and drifted off to sleep once more. 29

          Once assured of her slumber, a figure dropped soundlessly from the ceiling and regarded the pregnant woman with eager yearning. 30

~*~
31

          Nick woke to weak light and panicked, whispered voices.32

          Rolling from the small cot, he wiped a hand across his face and tried to decipher the whispers. He recognised his host’s voice and that of another two villagers, both men introduced to him the night before. One was the local equivalent of the sheriff, and the other a healer of some reputation. Another couple of voices interjected and seem to grow in volume and anger. 33

          “The people need to be told, Datu.”34

          “Please, Bayani, keep your voice lowered. I may have allowed our guest to study this legend, but it would not be advisable if he knew more than he should.”35

          “Why invite him here?”36

          “I couldn’t afford not to allow him access to Rizal Norte. We need money as much as the next barangay, and who knows what we will miss out on once the election is decided.”37

          “Makisig will be furious when he returns.”38

          “Not if we keep our mouths shut.”39

          “Have they found the infant yet?”40

          Nick listened for a response, but the silence stretched for several seconds. 41

          “Let us talk of this no more.”42

          “Datu? The people…”43

          “No. Secure the cottage and let no one near.”44

          “The remains?”45

          More silence followed the question. The speaker seemed to grow impatient for a response and made the query again. 46

          “Amado, please…”47

          “Datu, you can’t expect us to leave her in that… state.”48

          Nick heard an exasperated sigh – likely made by Datu. 49

          “Do what you can. And, please, be careful.”50

          Shuffling feet and the creak of a door hinge indicated that most of the speakers had exited. After counting to thirty, Nick shuffled from his room and exaggerated a yawn.51

          “Today we take a tour, Mr. Woolfe. I show some of our produce, yes?”52

          Nick smiled, but beneath the visage, he fumed. They were stone-walling him; from what he had overheard, something horrendous had occurred the night before, but apparently they would try very hard to ensure that he didn’t discover it. 53

          “I appreciate your time and hospitality, Datu. Perhaps there may be time later in the day to interview some of the villagers?”54

          An uneasy grimace flickered across Datu’s face before he answered, carefully, “Perhaps. But you may find that a day’s journey on foot around the area will be tiring. You may wish to rest before the evening meal.”55

          Nick nodded. “Perhaps tomorrow.” 56

~*~
57

          Amado and Biyani both stood, speechless, as they surveyed all that remained of Ligaya. The full light of mid-morning only served to chase away the lingering shadows and did nothing to soften the image of streaks and gouts of blood or the wounds upon which flies already crawled. Both men held a cupped hand over their nose and mouth, and when one spoke, his voice emerged through his fingers muffled and breathy. 58

          “Do you honestly believe this is the work of the Manananggal?”59

          The other man shrugged. “I don’t know, but evil has been here. What human would rip an infant from its mother?”60

          Amado’s eyes slid to Ligaya’s gaping abdomen where the darkest blood had pooled. It looked as if some wild animal had ripped her open and feasted on the soft flesh within. He retched, his stomach rebelling, and he fled the room.61

          Biyani followed a moment later, bending over as he expelled a stream of vomit into the tall grass beside the hut.62

~*~
63

          Maganda knew something had changed the moment she set foot outside her door. The storyteller gazed up at the morning sky, scowling at the wispy clouds that skittered down from the mountaintops and rolled into their valley. It would rain before the day was out, she was sure of it. Rizal Norte would need something to wash away the evil she felt prickling at the base of her spine.64

          The barangay’s dozen or so children raced toward her as she entered the main thoroughfare, each demanding their favourite story. Each implored her in their own way: Some tugged at her skirt, others at the pouch slung over her shoulder, and the rest with eager and hopeful looks. 65

          She held up her hands. “Enough.”66

          The children ceased their hassling. 67

          An older boy smirked with malicious glee. “I heard talk of a Tik-Tik,” he said, making the sound near a group of smaller children.68

          The children huddled around Maganda and a couple of the younger children whimpered.69

          Her lips thinned as she turned her attention to the older boy. 70

          “Amihan…”71

          “It’s true. Papa said so.”72

          She motioned him to her and waited until he stood just in front of her before she leaned toward him and dropped her voice. “Who?”73

          “Ligaya Tabilla.”74

          Seven months pregnant with her first child, Maganda noted to herself, and a perfect victim for the Manananggal – or Tik-Tik as some villagers referred to it. 75

          “Tell me, Amihan, is there something amusing about this terrible thing?”76

          The grin dropped from the boy’s face and he cast his gaze to the ground. 77

          “No.”78

          “Speak of it no more. And if I see that smirk again, I will not hesitate to apply my hand to your buttocks.”79

          The boy shuffled. “Yes Maganda.”80

          Stepping back from him, she addressed the whole group. “Today, I will tell you the tale of Mariang Makiling.”81

          Smiles and raucous cheers greeted her announcement.82

          She began the tale as they walked the remainder of the distance to the thatched shelter together. “The guardian of the mountain is beautiful; her eyes twinkle as if lit by a thousand stars, her black hair flows down her back in a shining waterfall and her skin is as perfect as the land she overlooks. One day…”83

          The children settled around her, each in quiet repose as the story unfolded in their minds.84

~*~
85

          Nick spent the entire day trailing Datu on a very thorough tour in the area around the barangay, learning much about the produce they cultivated and nothing about the rumours of the Manananggal. If anything, the chief avoided all mention of the local myths and legends, even those concerning the gods and goddesses inherent to their culture. Frustrated, he finally quizzed his guide.86

          “Tell me about the recent attack – the woman from your village, found…”87

          Datu froze. “Mr. Woolfe, please, I realise you came to confirm a superstitious rumour, but I must ask you to remember that my people are still mourning their loss.”88

          Nick shook his head. “What of the woman discovered this morning?”89

          Datu’s dusky skin paled. “No, no more questions. You will leave my barangay tomorrow. I will not have you inciting fear and terror.”90

          “Was it one of those creatures?” 91

          The Filipino turned on him, his face darkening with rage. Nick stepped back, his hands held up and palms out in surrender. 92

          “You will leave. You will not write about my people!” 93

          Nick shrugged in defeat. He had enough material to write an article portraying the life and culture of the barangay, but he hated that he would go back to his editor empty-handed in relation to the local legend.94

          The two men trudged back to the village in awkward silence.95

~*~
96

          Rizal Norte was in a state of chaos as the sun began its descent toward the horizon. Several men bore a canvas stretcher upon which a lumpy shape sat under a grubby sheet. Keening also filled the air; despite Datu’s instructions, Makisig Tabilla had arrived home to find his slaughtered wife and had rampaged through the village ranting and seeking the perpetrator of the deed. Children huddled in doorways or against their mother’s skirts and several women wailed with grief. Thunderous clouds in the east painted an ominous backdrop to the tableau of pandemonium. 97

          Nick drifted away from Datu as the villagers turned their attention to their chief. 98

          The first person to note his return was Makisig Tabilla, who now marched up to him and grabbed him by his shirt. “My wife!” he screamed in despair. “Our child. Why? Why wasn’t she protected?”99

          Datu hung his head, ashamed.100

          Makisig pummelled Datu’s chest with his fists. “You are our protector. You are supposed to protect us, our families.”101

          Though most stared at the confrontation, the men bearing the stretcher continued forward, eventually stopping at Datu’s right side.102

          As Makisig crumpled to the ground at his feet, Datu turned away, catching sight of the men and the stretcher. “What is this?”103

          The man closest to him lifted the sheet to reveal what was underneath.104

          Datu gasped.105

          “We found it behind the hut.”106

          “This is good news – it cannot have survived the day. Display it to all and so that we can be sure of its demise, burn it and scatter the ashes to the four winds.”107

          The men nodded their understanding and pulled the sheet from the stretcher completely.108

~*~
109

          From where he was standing, Nick didn’t see what was on the stretcher until it was lifted and paraded for all to see. He fumbled blindly in his bag for his camera, unable to tear his eyes from the grisly display.110

          Good Lord, he thought, as Datu addressed the residents. Surely, they aren’t accepting that as proof? His fingers finally snagged the strap of his camera and he lifted it from his bag. 111

          His mouth went dry as he focused the zoom on the camera. He’d been assigned to war-torn zones on occasion, but he’d never come close to the horror that the view-finder now captured. His heart racing, he depressed the button with a trembling finger. Each shutter click captured an instant of the gruesome procession and the victorious and gleeful faces that lined the roadway. 112

          After giving it maximum exposure, the men unceremoniously dumped the severed torso and legs in the middle of the dusty road.113

~*~
114

          Maganda observed the procession with grim disapproval. It was one thing to prove the existence of the creature, and another to display the remains, especially to the children. Seeing the bloodied torso discarded on the roadway angered her, and she turned and slipped away – she had no desire to see the remains desecrated further.115

          Lightning slashed across the sky and thunder rumbled as she returned to her cottage. As she closed her door on the start of the rain, she failed to notice the figure that had followed her at a distance, and who now lingered in the closing shadows.116

~*~
117

          Nick hurried away from the scene as soon as he could, his camera and its precious images clasped in his hand. While the villagers celebrated, he retrieved his possessions from Datu’s hut. Now that he had sufficient material to base his article on, there was no point in remaining in the barangay. There was, however, one person he wanted to interview.118

          As he skirted the crowd, he noticed that she left the scene and he hurried to catch up with her. He followed her all the way to a small hut outside the village. Dropping his backpack to the ground, he propped it against a tree as he watched her enter her hut. 119

          Pulling what he needed from the pack, he finally approached the door through the driving rain.120

~*~
121

          The knock startled her. Composing herself, she opened the door.122

          “Leaving so soon?” she asked with a sneer.123

          “My work is finished here.”124

          “Is it?” She nodded her head at what he held. 125

          He smiled. “Well – nearly finished. I still have a few things I need to know.”126

          Maganda loosened her hair from her usual braid and her black glossy hair cascaded around her shoulders. 127

          “Some things are not yours to know.”128

          Nick shouldered past her and stood in the dim light cast by a single lamp. “I don’t particularly care, but you will tell me,” he replied, lifting what he held.129

          She laughed and he frowned, puzzled. 130

          “Do you believe the legend – that of the Manananggal – a woman both human and demon, able to separate from her legs and fly on wings?”131

          Nick waved a hand in the direction of the village. “They believe, and that is all that matters.”132

          Maganda grinned. “Oh, they believe. As you knew they would. After all, isn’t that why you came to our barangay, Mr. Woolfe, to prey on the minds of those made gullible by superstition?”133

          Nick frowned.134

          “I’ve learnt to recognise people like you.”135

          Nick’s frown deepened as his mind processed her peculiar turn of phrase. “What?”136

          “You dare to come into my barangay and creep about satisfying your selfish desires. Did you not think that there might be truth in a legend?”137

          “Superstitious fear,” he snapped. “Heathen people with malleable minds.”138

          She laughed. “Stupid man.”139

          Nick’s hand tightened around the item he had brought with him.140

          “My kind don’t feast on the pregnant or newborn, nor are we human as the legends say we are. Legends are quite… convenient, aren’t they? You know this yourself, Nicholas Woolfe, do you not? You’ve used tales the world over to your advantage.”141

          The knife clattered to the floor from his hand as Nick trembled with paralysing fear. 142

          “How… how did you know?”143

          “My kind knows everything, Mr. Woolfe. We share a collective consciousness. It is not difficult to recognise evil when one embodies evil. You should have realised that one day you would step upon another’s hunting ground.”144

          Nick attempted to back away, but found he couldn’t. 145

          “Watch,” she said.146

          Even if he had wanted to look away, Nick couldn’t. Across from him, the woman grew in stature and her skin smoothed to a flawless bronze. Leathery wings burst from between her shoulder blades, spreading out to fill the room. Her fingers lengthened, as did her nails. The nails eventually tapered to sharp points. Her face and jaw elongated and her lips stretched back to reveal feline-like teeth. He watched in disbelief as her waist collapsed until only a stretch of skin remained. Without a sound, the skin parted as she flapped her wings once, and left the bottom half of her standing.147

          Maganda ran a hand over the detached torso and legs, the skin seamless and smooth. “See? Not like that abomination you left for the men to find.”148

          Nick swallowed down the lump of terror building in his throat.149

          She flapped again and hovered in front of him. A clawed hand reached out and slid one finger down his cotton shirt. Buttons dropped to the floor with tiny plunks as the sharp nail sheared through the threads. The shirt remained closed for a brief second before it fell open.150

          “Do you want to know what we like to eat?” 151

          Nick dreaded confirmation of the alarming thought that now zinged through his mind.152

          “We wait for years for such a delicacy,” she said with a smile, as she carefully traced one clawed nail across his skin.153

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