Deep in the tropics, Alejandro Manalo paid his respects to his great aunt Isabella. It was her who raised him after his mother and father were crushed under their collapsing house during an earthquake, one of several that ravaged the islands on the same day. It was her arms he cried into when he found out he had no home to return to from school. From that day on, she was like a mother to him.
He fell to his knees when he heard of her death: she suffered a heart attack while cooking dinner for herself. The neighbors smelt the smoke of the burning food sitting on the unwatched stove.
They buried her on the little remote island she grew up in. The children and the children of her old neighbors wept and mourned her loss, none wept as sorrowfully as Alejandro himself.
His wife, Maria, accompanied him, carrying him through his grief. Though their marriage wasn't the perfect one they imagined to one day have as hopeful children, her company was well-needed.
A kindly, distant cousin let them stay the night at her place. She admitted she has been awfully lonely since her children left her to live away from the island and in the cities. Her house was far from her neighbors, a lot of land and trees between them.
Though she was very hospitable, she was quite strange. Before she went to bed, she gave them a jar of salt and a vial of vinegar. "If you must go outside," she warned, "take these with you. It will keep you safe from the manananggal and the aswang." She produced what looked like a ceremonial dagger: the handle was made of wood, wrapped in leather and the blade, a stingray's barb. "Your auntie wanted you to have this."
Alejandro was never much of a believer in such superstitions, nor was he religious. In truth, he only went to church to accompany his Isabella, and that was when he was a teenager.
"It's so hot. I can't sleep," complained Alejandro, "I need to go outside."
"Don't forget the salt," teased Maria, giggling.
Alejandro gave a tired laugh and headed out without the holy armaments. He grabbed one of the chairs, set it against a fence and started to drink from a bottle of beer. The late-night air was just as hot and thick as it was inside. Maria joined him for about half an hour later, uncomfortable with being alone in their room.
He was trying to lighten the mood by reminiscing about a time Isabella caught him drinking in his room when something moved in the edge of the forest beyond.
"Alejandro," whispered Maria, pointing, "Do you see that?"
Alejandro stood up, took a few steps forward, and squinted at the shadows.
The figure moved closer slowly, appearing to limp. It was a young girl, who was about thirteen years old. She was bleeding between her legs, and her face was red and wet with tears.
"Oh my God," muttered Alejandro as the girl approached them, her hands holding up her torn and bloody clothes.
"Help me," she said, "help me ... "
From the woods behind her, an angry voice of a man shouted.
"Get her!" it said.
A huge man with a long knife in a hairy hand rushed out of the darkness and grabbed a fistful of her black hair.
"I'm going to kill you," he bellowed at her as he dragged her screaming back into the woods.
Alejandro and Maria were shocked. Ordering Maria to get into the house, he went upstairs, calling his cousin.
"Anna," Alejandro cried, "a girl has been kidnapped! Anna!"
But there was no response.
On the landing, he could see that Anna's bedroom door was wide open. He wandered in and the room was empty. On Anna's bedside table was a jar of salt, a bible, and a small vial of vinegar. Under her pillow, Alejandro could see something shiny. He found it to be an old, rusty revolver, fully loaded. On one wall of the bedroom hung a hunting rifle as well.
He headed downstairs and as he flew to the front door to go outside, his wife stopped him.
"Alejandro," she said, impeding him, "Are you crazy? Don't go out there."
But he shouldered passed her, telling her to lock the doors and shut the windows until he returned. He also told her about the rifle in Anna's bedroom.
Taking his flashlight with him, he hopped over the fence and sprinted into the forest. Deep within, he shouted threats, telling the men who took the girl to let her go.
Alejandro heard a scream of pain that sounded like it belonged to the girl. He headed off in the direction it came from. When he saw a faint light, of which could be some kind of campfire by it's yellowish-orange, he shut off his flashlight and approached slowly, gun drawn.
"All of you," he called out to the figures around the fire, brushing branches and leaves out of his face, "Let the girl go."
In the clearing, near the fire was a small house, and in the doorway, a man with black eyes stared at him with hate. He curled his lips to reveal his sharp, shark-like teeth and snarled at him like a mad dog.
The young girl's terrible screams turned into childish, mocking laughter as soon as she spied Alejandro.
The man with the knife charged at him from his left. Alejandro, seeing him from the corner of his eye, spun to face him. He fired two shots at his attacker: one hitting his right shoulder and the second blowing his brains out as he staggered from the first.
The girl, losing all mirth, hissed at Alejandro. More men and women eased out of the shadows of the forest and from behind the house. Some of them brandished sharp tools, hammers, and staves. He swept the barrel of the gun at each of them, yet none of them were deterred. They only snickered and licked their lips.
"He is the man of she told us about," said the man with the sharp teeth, "Look for his wife."
He glimpsed at the fire and realized something was roasting on the spit. Skewered was the corpse of a woman. Alejandro shuddered as he recognized their prey's face, though her hair was burned off.
"Anna?" he muttered to himself.
Someone behind him threw a black sack over his head. When he elbowed the man in the belly, he heard him curse.
Another man's voice came closer, and something hard crashed into his skull and he fell unconscious.
When he came to, the place he was no brighter once he opened his eyes. He could barely see the shape of his hand in the darkness. The floor, he could tell, was of cold concrete and moist. He was naked as well. He crawled forward, hands reaching out for something, anything to give him an idea of his surroundings. His hands felt cold, metal bars. He stood up, pain shooting through his head, and began to shake the bars. It smelt awful in this dungeon.
They were sturdy and didn't budge an inch. He heard a voice behind him. He jumped and slammed his back against the bars.
"Who's there?" he shrieked frantically to whoever was in his cell with him.
"Alejandro," his wife with a weak voice said, "is that you?"
"Keep talking to me," he begged, "so I can find you."
He blindly made his way to Maria, and they embraced when they felt each other. She was also naked and shivering.
"What's happening?" she asked her husband, "where are we?"
"I don't know, Mar," Alejandro said as he squeezed her, "Oh God, why is this happening?"
Maria explained what happened to her. They broke in through the front and back doors. There were a dozen of them. She shot one of them, one with sharp teeth and inhuman looking. Though the rifle's bullet pierced his belly, he treated it as if though someone through a pebble at him. He was annoyed nevertheless. He ripped the rifle from her hands and bent it in half, destroying it. He snapped his fingers, his nails long and cracked. The rest surrounded her, tying her up and covering her face with a sack.
"We have your husband, little one," the bestial man had said in soft tones a patient mother would use to calm a squealing baby, "you will not be killed, for the queen desires you both for the sweet fruit you will bear her."
Alejandro held her and kissed her forehead when she was done telling her story.
"It will be alright," Alejandro said to her, "I promise you, we will get out of here."
Farther in the darkness, well beyond the bars, someone laughed madly.
"No you won't," a woman called, "and you never will! You're trapped in here until you rot! I've been in here for years. Me and my lovely husband."
These words made them shudder.
"Don't listen to her," Alejandro pleaded, "I will get us out of here."
A man screamed close, perhaps in the cell next to the woman, assuming this was some kind of prison.
"SOMEONE HELP MY WIFE!" he screamed as he rattled his door, "SHE'S NOT MOVING, SHE'S NOT BREATHING!"
The racket did not go unchecked. A door from above the steps slammed open. Alejandro crept up to the bars and looked to his left, where the pathway between him and madwoman ended with stairs that ascended. Two men walked down the steps: One man held an iron lantern in one hand and Anna's revolver in the other; the other man was short, naked, and goblin-like and in his hands was a wooden club with a single spike in it.
When the lantern's light lit came to his level, Alejandro looked around him. The wetness on the floor and walls was a mixture of blood, feces, piss, and semen. The madwoman, appearing to be in her sixties, across from him smiled coyly at Alejandro.
The duo stepped in front of Alejandro and Maria's cell. The smaller man stared at Maria's nakedness with red eyes. Maria shivered, covering her breasts and cleft.
"Love your wife," The man with the lantern said.
It was not a question or a suggestion. It was an order.
"What?" Alejandro said with a quivering voice.
"If not you, it will be me or him," the lantern man responded, pointing at his assistant, giggling and snapping his teeth at his wife like a wolf. "But the best fruit is born from that of will and love. So says the queen."
"Refuse ..." the smaller man begged of Alejandro, his starving stare still on Maria, "it's fine if you refuse ... if your tired I can—"
A smack across his ugly face with the hand that held the pistol shut him up.
"Do not talk," was all the lantern man said.
"Will you love your wife?" the man said slowly, sounding like this was the last and only time he would ask.
"Jesus Christ," muttered Alejandro, "Maria, I ... "
His wife understood, nodding in agreement.
They came together as lovers. The man with the lantern stayed and watched until Alejandro finished.
"I'll have you next," said the old woman to Alejandro, "I can still have children. I will gladly feed the queen."
"No, you can't," chastised the small man, "even if you could, I wouldn't touch you."
The man with the lantern turned to face her. He noticed her husband's emaciated pale corpse.
"Your husband is dead," announced the lantern man, "and Daga is correct. You are too old."
"Don't let my looks fool you, I can—"
The revolver's blast sent the old woman's brains to splatter over the concrete wall. Her skinny, lifeless body fell over her dead husband's. The lantern man opened the door to her cell.
"Daga," the lantern man ordered, "take them. Their bones will be used for a broth for our clan."
"Lobo," the man in the cell next to the old woman cried, "my wife, save her! Save her and she will bear you more children. Please!"
Lobo, the lantern man, saw that it was too late and that his wife was already dead. He commanded Daga to come back down and drag her up as well. When the widower tried to stop Daga from taking his wife, the small man struck him in the ribs with the side of his club.
The small man, Daga, looked puzzled inspecting the dead woman's bloody wrist.
"Why so limp," he mumbled.
The man leaped on Daga, quickly recovering from the blow.
Daga screamed and cursed as he struggled with the widower, who seemed to be pumping his fist into the shorter man's belly.
Daga's body went limp, and the widower kept holding him in front of him as he charged the man named Lobo.
Lobo fired two shots, both hitting Daga's still warm corpse. The widower took Daga's club and buried the spike between the lantern man's eyelids. He jabbed mercilessly at Lobo's throat with whatever sharp item he used to kill Daga. Lobo fired one more shot as he died, this one grazing the widower's shoulder.
In his hands, Alejandro could see that the shiv in his hand looked like it was made out of bone.
"Get us out," Alejandro begged, amazed at what just happened before him, "please, please."
More faces appeared from the cells of the prison, longing for freedom.
The widower fished the keys out of Lobo's pocket and took the revolver for himself. He released all the prisoners, including Alejandro and Maria. About two dozen others were caged with them in this dark dungeon.
"Only one bullet left," complained the widower.
Alejandro thanked and praised him.
"Don't thank me yet," he said.
"That gun," Alejandro said, "it belonged to my cousin."
"Now it belongs to me," he said not unkindly and beckoned the rest to follow him.
Above, it sounded like a hundred voices rent the air; cries of panic were mixed with commands and orders from brave voices.
"What's going on up there?" asked one of the prisoners, a skinny man with long black hair.
Gunshots and shouts of pain echoed in the hall above.
"Let's go," said the widower, "our allies are here. They will kill the queen."
"But we have no weapons," one prisoner complained, "not even clothes."
"Join or escape," said the widower, "those are your choices."
All who wanted to join followed the widower, picking up whatever weapons lay on the ground. Witnessing the might of the aswang, Maria begged and begged Alejandro to join those who escape wanted to escape.
They took clothes off the dead and headed down corridors, hoping they wouldn't run into their captors or the monsters they worked with.
A door in front of them swung open from a kick.
The escapees flinched, expecting trouble, but it was part of the mob that intended to burn and kill the beasts. It was José, Anna's husband, who kicked down the door.
"Alejandro, Maria," he said, "is Annalisa with you?"
He frantically searched the crowd with desperate eyes. When Alejandro told him she has already been killed, José shouted in anger.
"They said would leave us alone!" he said to no one in particular, "They lied to me!"
When Alejandro tried to stop him and ask him what he meant by that, he stormed past him, pistol in hand. The rest of the mob pooled into the foyer with torches and machetes. Two stayed behind to help the escapees return back to their homes.
But it was not long before the mob came pouring out of the room they stormed, screaming for their lives. Maria shrieked and pointed ahead. The wild-looking man of great strength fought back the mob with his own men who had the same frightening appearance as him: solid black eyes and needle-like teeth.
They lifted and threw the villagers like rag dolls and threw them. One was powerful enough to bury his fist into one of his attacker's belly, reach inside and pull his heart out to eat. The holy items did some work to hold the aswang at bay, but the clan, the traitorous humans, fired their guns at the crucifix wielders.
Alejandro only saw one of the aswang fall. His leg blown off by a shotgun's blast, a man drove a stingray dagger, similar to the one his auntie passed on to him, into his eye. The aswang began to convulse and his pallid flesh swept off his cracking bones.
A bullet plowed into the wooden door, a foot away from Alejandro's head, reminding him to run. Maria in his hand, they both bolted through the open door.
The survivors followed a woman in front who held a torch high above her head.
"Follow me," she said.
The people in front of her turned and screamed at something in the sky. Alejandro looked up and saw giant bats the size of men flying across the night sky. No, not bats, Alejandro realized, manananggal. 315Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡl8Nj55Yrxt
They were just how Isabella described: They were legless bodies of women with great leather wings. Their fiery scarlet eyes looked down on them with malice and hunger.315Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpK7ItLyBpI
The creatures swooped down from the sky, tongues like snakes lashing the wind. A beast took one of the survivors and they all scattered in a panic. They ran to the road and a man was about to start his truck. Alejandro waved him down and shouted they were with the woman with the torch. Alejandro and Maria sat in the back and the torchbearer sat in the passenger seat, throwing her torch aside.
The driver said they would be welcome to stay in the village. At one of the houses, and an older couple let them stay under his roof. All they ask was that he pours the salt around the house.
On the way down the road, Alejandro recognized a street near Anna's house. He asked the driver if he could pass by the house, and he obliged, telling him to be quick or else he would leave him if any aswang came.
Alejandro came back, the jar of salt, the vial of vinegar, and the stingray dagger.
The next day was busy. Men, women, and children moved about, packing up, and getting ready to leave the island before sundown. There wasn't even time to mourn the loss of the members of the mob that marched into the grand house that night. All around the village, Alejandro could find no sign of José.
"The queen manananggal is getting stronger," one of the villagers said as he helped his children into a car, "she will kill us all if we don't leave."
"This island is theirs now, once again," an elderly woman told Alejandro as he helped her pack her things.
From what Alejandro gathered, the earthquakes that occurred disturbed the queen manananggal's tomb, revealing her body to the incestuous clan who then did sacrilegious rituals to resurrect her. Through her magic, she converted some of them to the flesh-eating aswang by biting them, sucking their blood, and then allowing them to drink hers. The worthy lived, but the unworthy burst into boiling blood and flame.
It was two hours before sunset when Alejandro and Maria were able to board a ship that would take them back south, away from this cursed island. He saw some people emptying containers of salt around buildings, making the sign of the cross, and holding spears tipped with stingray barbs. Salt and ash were intolerable to the unholy beasts, he remembered auntie Isabella telling him. He also remembered that the barbs of stingray were deadly if they were dug deeply enough into their corrupted flesh. "A hundred arrows or a hundred bullets," Isabella's voice echoed in his mind, "the barb of a stingray is worth more than all of them."
Growing up, Alejandro never understood why Isabella would tell him such frightening stories about the manananggal. He figured that parents or grandparents made the moral of the story that if they were bad, the monsters would know and drag them away, so they would be too scared to disobey.
But that was not the case with his great aunt. There was no "... so that's why you should be a good boy," or in fact some kind of spirit in her telling to entertain him. Now that he remembered the times she would tell him about such beasts, he remembered that she too had a fear in her eyes.
It was as if she was warning him. Warning him that there would always be some nights darker than the others. Holding the dagger in his shaking hands, Alejandro tested the point of the stingray's barb with a finger.
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