You must trust and believe in people, or life becomes impossible. I think someone named Anton said that. Whoever he was, his words ring true. Especially after what happened.
It started last week with Steffi Talavera. She was never the most well liked person in town. She had the attitude where gossip came first above everything, including the truth. She was found by the beach. Everyone else assumed she had drowned, but lolo Angelo knew.
No one would listen to him until it was too late. Kevin Encina was the next one found, he was a college student studying to be a lawyer. His lifeless body was set on the street of his house. His mother still hasn’t spoken to anyone.
Portia Infante is still missing. She went out two nights ago to buy something from the sari-sari store. She never returned home.
At that point people started to listen.
Lolo Angelo gathered the rest of the elders and set a meeting. It lasted two days and at that point three more people were either missing or dead.
When the elders were finished they gathered the barangay and gave us a simple warning.
“Beware the whistle, and trust no one.”
The younger generation, myself included, laughed at the suggestion. In times like these we needed to band together and stay united. We thought we knew everything.
If only she listened. Aliah was stubborn, she wouldn’t let anyone tell her how to live her life. We were texting the night she disappeared. She told me that her mother was whistling to her from outside the house. That was the last thing she ever sent.
It only got worse once Marcelo and Darwin, the Alvarez twins, went missing. Their lola begged them to stay home, but they were getting too bored at home. They were only gone for five minutes when their lola heard a whistle. She didn’t even run outside, she knew they were already gone.
I’m even scared when I do my laundry. In these parts it’s common to whistle to summon a breeze to dry clothes. I always thought it was a peaceful way to tell nature what to do. Now I’m not so sure.
This afternoon I walked by manang Cecilia’s house and she was drying her clothes. I almost had a heart attack the moment I heard her soft whistle.
It’s getting to the point where I don’t even trust my own family. The elders talked to my mother and told her that this won’t end soon. She told me not to respond to her, no matter what happens, even if I knew she was in the next room.
It’s just trust right?
I look at my friends and don’t even listen to their voices. When they call to me I make sure I see them with my own two eyes before I go to them.
Every new day I ask myself if I’m next. If my mother will ever forgive herself for letting me out of her sight, it’s almost too much to bear.
I ask the one person who I know will tell me what’s going on.
Lolo Angelo was old, older than anyone in Dulag. No one really knows how old he is, but they talk about him in words of respect.
His house is near mine, along the same street. I go at noon, my mother wouldn’t let me go out at night and I don’t think I’d even consider it, not after everything that’s happened.
I walk inside and take his hand to my forehead. I didn’t bother to hide the fear on my face. He would find out one way or another.
He looks at me and answers my unasked question. “It won’t stop until it is finished.” I ask him what ‘it’ is and he shakes his head.
He doesn’t know, no one does. No one even knows what it looks like. It just takes you in the night with only a whistle as warning.
I start to cry. It’s not fair. I just want this to stop. I just want my friends back.
Lolo Angelo tries to comfort me with an embrace. He tells me this has all happened before and it will probably happen again.
Fifty years ago he lost his sister to ‘it’. She was just seven years old. She had just gone outside to answer the door. They both heard their mother’s whistle and she went out to let her in. That was when it started.
The disappearances and the dead lasted for months. People were too scared to go out at night.
Lolo Angelo said maybe that’s what ‘it’ wanted, to see the fear and mistrust it could create among the village.
Whatever it wants I won’t wait to see what it does.
The elders and my mother won’t leave the life they know behind, even if it’s tainted by death.
I pack my bags and say my goodbyes. I refuse to be another victim to an unknown killer.
As I take the bus to the city I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s finally over.
I look out to my new life and fell safe for the first time in a long time.
Until I hear it.
My heart nearly stops and I beg my body to stay where it is. Lolo Angelo told me that there might be a shadow before I hear the whistle and I pray to God he’s wrong.
I look at the moonless sky and hear my mother’s sweet voice.
I should have listened.
Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Aghoy description given by Oreon Peregrino
Aghoy Illustration and Watercolor by Marc Magpantay
