The horror caught up to her yet again.
It wasn’t fair, it shouldn’t have been that way.
But life has a different view than most.
Alma carefully applied the ointments and said the eldritch words. She had not eaten since the week before and the others were concerned – well as much as manananggals could be.
They all knew what almost happened.
It was a brisk summer night and the sisters knew that it was time for the hunt. To be safe they all left their legs at the same place, casting dark magic to hide their lower halves as banana stalks.
The sisters soared through the sky, blocking out the silver moonlight.
Alma had begun late, she decided to leave her lower half by the river and used the incantations to summon an illusion. The humans would never know where they were, at least that’s what she thought.
She joined her sisters in flight and thought of what she would like to eat.
Menfolk? No, they were too wiry and tough. Sister Paya almost broke a tooth rending the flesh and shattering the bone.
Children? Those were a lot easier to catch. It seemed these days that there were more and more out and about past their bedtime. ‘Maybe a last resort,’ Alma thought.
Or the shining prize? There was a certain house that the sisters promised not to touch as there was a succulent pregnant woman there. And everyone knows that the more developed the fetus the tastier it would be. The sisters all drew straws and luck fell upon Alma. She could almost taste the sweet meat of the unborn.
If not for her hunger she would have seen the signs.
First was the acrid smell of the suha. It was left on the roof, most likely as a ward against the Manananggal. Alma’s nausea was palpable, but she would not give in. She squatted on the roof and let her long tongue slither down into the woman’s room, carefully, slowly. She had reached the edge of the bedframe before she realized, there was nobody there.
Alma’s screams echoed through the barangay. A man, perhaps her victim’s husband cut off her tongue with a slash by his bolo. The remains of the long, red organ flopping around like a fish out of water.
The sisters came to her aid. They were equally sickened by the suha, but she was their sister and their blood bond was too strong to deny.
Alma was carried off by the stronger sisters and they hastily made their exit. It was almost morning and they had to reattach else they would be dust in the sunlight.
There were shouts from below them and they turned and looked.
What they saw sent a chill down half of their spines.
The husband was following them, with others from the barangay, all armed with bolos, torches and sharpened bamboo spears.
The sisters rushed to their lower halves, all except for Alma.
The mob was by the river, almost on top of her other half.
Alma was weak and she didn’t have the willpower to continue casting the illusion. She had heard tales of the excruciating pain one felt when they could not reattach. That was what scared her the most.
“If I should die, please let it be fast,” she hoped the dark gods heard her prayer.
There was no choice. The illusion would run out soon, and she would have only one chance. Fly fast, grab her legs and hope that she could dodge the slashes of the bolos.
No sisters were beside her and her loneliness only added to the adrenaline pumping through her hideous veins.
She cried out a deafening scream. Momentarily, the mob was caught unawares, and she deftly flew in between the banana trees grabbing her legs. One human was lucky and managed to stab her in the shoulder. She shrieked in pain and could feel the ichor seep from the wound.
“It’s ok. You’re ok. It’s ok,” she said to herself in the middle of her sobs. “I just need to be complete; I just need to be complete.”
Alma joined her two halves together and started for the sisters’ home.
She had never felt such fear before and promised herself that she would never feel that way again. Alma would not let the humans win. From that point on she would be cautious.
Too cautious, her sisters felt.
She had stopped joining the weekly raids to the barangay, her emaciated form giving her sisters pause.
They tried to share their hunt, but, still crestfallen, she would not accept it. She felt it was a problem that only she could tackle.
Alma had never come that close to death before, though she knew its shadow always loomed around the Manananggal. She knew that one day she would have to pass on her powers to an initiate, probably one of her nieces, but those were always fleeting thoughts.
What was happening now was real.
Alma was not spending her time idling by. She sought power, but a specific kind, one not usually found in the islands she called home.
She heard of a creature from a faraway land that would put their soul into an object and they could not be killed unless that object was destroyed.
There were echoes of the Manananggal magic there, old and bloody. She had to find out for herself.
It took her many moons to travel to the land of the Lich. She disguised herself as a caregiver from an agency. No one ever suspected that she was a Manananggal, or maybe they didn’t remember their parents’ stories. Human lives were so fleeting, it was a wonder any of them were able to get things done.
Alma only had vague and broken stories about the whereabouts of the lich. But they were more than enough. Her magic was also able to let her hear conversations from miles away. She waited patiently until she heard it.
“Lich.”
The statement was from an old woman, cleaning out a dusty bookshelf.
“You know you always hear stories about them but they’re all make-believe. They said that this castle is haunted by the Lich, but look at us now, just an old woman and her cat, making the most of life.”
Alma was still trepidatious from her trauma. She would not fly unless she was holding her lower half. It made hunting more difficult, but she managed. There were scant traces of humans around the area, but she made do ripping the viscera out of deer.
She flew with her legs and landed on the upper rampart of the castle. Using her ointments and incantations she disguised her lower half as a pile of stones. Her magic was weak in these parts and she had to be quick.
Alma abandoned her legs for what she felt was the last time and ventured into the castle.
Floating through the corridors she shuddered. There was something dark, something that made her feel alive. She followed the taste of power until it led her to a cave, far beneath the castle.
Alma stopped when she saw her savior.
“You are a long way from home, creature” the wind bellowed from the Lich’s ancient form. It almost seemed like its bones were fused to the marble of the throne.
“I will not waste your time,” Alma said. “Let me know your secrets and I will leave.”
“Pitiable whelp! How dare you come into my place of power and demand such?!”
“You know of my kind, ancient as you are. You know our power. I seek yours.”
“And what can you offer me?”
“If you teach me, I will no longer fear death. I will do your bidding… Master.”
The magic ensnared her senses. The Lich sang in a long-forgotten tongue. As if by lightning, her lower half flew through the castle and settled in the middle of Alma and the Lich.
Twisting, the legs wrapped around themselves and compacted in a sickening munch.
She looked up and saw the fruits of the ritual. Her legs had become the phylactery in the form of a ruby jewel.
Alma would no longer fear the sunlight. Not the suha, not the bolos, not the humans.
Her fealty to the Lich would be no matter, she could always escape when she felt like it. As of now, she was finally ready to hunt and she said to no one in particular:
“I’m hungry.”
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Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Baconaua Illustration by Benedict Jose Villarante