They called him ‘The lightning man’.
It was a great spectacle. He, shouting out against the typhoon, missing being hit by two bolts of lighting by literal inches.
The video went viral overnight and as of this morning had reached a million views.
Everyone wanted to know about the Lightning man and how he saw his situation.
Was it blind luck? A prayer answered?
Whatever it was I was going to find out.
I readied my recorder and notebook and stepped out of the car.
The winds were strong this afternoon. The forecast called for scattered thunderstorms. Appropriate for the setting I suppose.
I can feel the phone buzz in my pocket. The message read “DEADLINE 11PM URGENT”
My editor was out for blood. Apart from the lightning man I still owed her a piece on migrant worker’s conditions in Singapore.
If I finish the interview in an hour or less, I should be able to get everything done by the deadline.
I let out a sigh. If only past me could see what I’ve become.
After four years on the job the idealism of journalism wore itself out. Mediocre pay, long hours and office politics were my reality. But hey, at least I get to travel sometimes? That’s probably the Stockholm Syndrome talking.
Well it’s time to see what makes the lightning man tick.
He opens the gate and I’m surprised. He’s wearing a well-tailored suit and a large grin.
I compliment him on his clothes and he earnestly replies that it’s the first time he’s ever been interviewed about anything.
Oh great, I think. It’s going to be one of those interviews. When they prepare themselves this much you just know they’re dying to tell their life story.
Remember the deadline Pia, 11PM sharp. You don’t need another shouting match with your editor.
The lightning man leads me to his living room and we sit beside each other by an antique narra table.
=———————————————————-=
“Hello Mr. Severino, thank you so much for taking the time to talk with me. My name is Pia Robianes of the Chronicle. Would you mind if I record this interview?”
“Of course not Pia. Whatever you need. I’m a big fan of your work. I read the Chronicle all the time.”
Ugh he’s using my first name and he’s seen what I do. That’s never a good sign.
“Alright, can you tell our readers about the incident from your point of view?”
“It all happened on a Friday night. I was sitting right here in the sala when I noticed that my dog Sena wasn’t responding to my calls. I looked for her all over the house but I couldn’t find her. The winds were strong and there was thunder everywhere but through it all I managed to hear Sena’s bark coming from the outside. I rushed out immediately and screamed out her name to see where she was. That was when the lightning hit. I swear I thought I was dead in that moment. I rushed back into the house and waited out the storm. The CCTV was able to capture what happened and I posted it on social media and well, you know the rest. It’s a good thing they missed me. I live alone and no one would have ever found me if I got hit.”
“What happened to your dog?”
“I wasn’t able to find Sena after that.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
A lost dog. An interesting angle for the story.
“So what do you think about both bolts of lightning missing you? That must have been a one in a million chance of that happening.”
“1 in 3,222,000. I checked.”
Of course he did.
“With those chances how do you think you left without any injury?”
“I think this helped me.” He let down a small, white object. “This is my agimat. It’s always been useful to me and has given me great luck in many things.”
Finally, something interesting.
“How did you get it?”
“I made it myself.”
“What is it made out of?”
“Bone.”
At that moment a loud rumble of thunder jolted me out of my seat.
“Very interesting Mr. Severino. Would you mind if I went to the bathroom?”
“Of course it’s up the stairs and the first door to your right.”
“Thank you.”
=———————————————————————————–=
Something’s off. I can feel it in my gut.
The house was huge. Big enough that you would need help cleaning it. But everything was pristine. No traces of dust anywhere.
Maybe you’re just being paranoid Pia. He dressed up for the interview, it stands to reason that he’d clean up the house as well.
There’s another story here though.
I finish my business in the bathroom and head back to the living room.
The lightning man isn’t there.
I take a breath and refocus. Maybe he’s just getting us some water.
Ten minutes pass and I throw that thought out.
Then I realize the recorder was still on.
I rewind it to the point just after I had left for the bathroom.
He only says one sentence and it brings chills to my spine.
“Such a beauty. She will go great with the rest.”
-==—————————————————————————–==
Self-preservation told her to grab her things, run out to the car and never look back.
But self-preservation lost out to journalistic curiosity.
Who were “the rest”?
And why would the lightning man want her to be a part of them?
She decided to check the house room by room. She was bound to find something if she looked hard enough.
But she wasn’t stupid. The lightning man may be around any corner and she had to be careful.
The first few rooms were of little interest, just moldy old books and an empty dining room.
As she crept by what looked to be the kitchen a fetid smell assaulted her senses, coming from a nearby door.
She looked behind her to make sure the lightning man wasn’t there and headed to the source of the odor.
What she saw nearly made her vomit.
Bodies were piled up, in varying states of decomposition. All of them women.
She took out her phone and began to take pictures.
At least there’s enough signal to get this uploaded.
In the corner she could see a small table.
Pia don’t be stupid. Pia run away and get the police. You have enough evidence. Pia you WILL die if you stay here.
She ignored her internal monologue and skulked to the table.
It was filled with tools and solid white material.
Upon closer inspection she realized the lightning man was working with bones.
The agimat, she thought.
You have enough evidence. Run. Run now.
She remembered that there was a door to the outside by the kitchen.
She might have made it if she ran two minutes sooner.
=——————————————————=
“So you’ve seen my collection.” The lighting man’s hands coiled around her neck. “You know, I’ve been watching you for a long time now. ‘The darling of the Chronicle’. I knew I had to do something drastic to get your attention. You don’t know what I sacrificed and what I angered. But you’re here. I can’t wait to add your beautiful bones.”
It wasn’t the first time she was in this position and she thanked the mandatory self-defense classes for her escape.
She’d never complain about Krav Maga again.
The thunderstorm was in full force now, wind and rain were obscuring Pia’s vision.
How the hell do I get to the car, she thought.
“Get back here!”
Pia hit the ground as the lightning man tackled her.
In the struggle she realized that the lightning man was wearing the agimat.
Journalistic intuition told her that that was significant and that it might be her only way out.
She ripped the agimat from the lightning man’s neck and crawled away from him.
The lightning man screamed and Pia was blinded by the crash of lightning directly hitting her would be captor.
As she regained her senses she faced a large, white dog, crackling with electricity. It nodded its head and vanished in an instant.
=——————————————————–=
The police managed to get there within the hour. They found more bodies littered inside the house.
They think that the lightning man hired girls that no one would miss as maids. When he was done with them, they’d join the rest of his collection.
I called my editor and let her know what happened. It was the first time in 3 years that I’ve heard her happy. And she seems relieved I survived.
I look towards the sky and wonder what happened. What the hell was that dog?
But I’ll have time to find that out.
And as I look at the charred corpse of the man that tried to murder me. I think, in the end, the lightning man lived up to his name.
=——————————-=
Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Inspired by the Kimat description in Cole, Fay-Cooper. (1922). “The Tinguian.” FMNH-AS, Vol. 14, no. 2, p 295
Kimat Illustration by CJ Reynaldo
IG: @caldatelier