*Note this story is in Cebuano

“Kinahanglan ka musalig ug mutuo sa mga tao, kay kun dili, maglisod ka sa kinabuhi.” Mga pulong kana ni Anton. Wa gyud ko na siya mailhi, apan sakto sya. Napamatud-an nako na sa mga minglabay nga panghitabo.

Nagsugod ang tanan kay Steffi Talavera. Wa’y ganahan ana niya sa among lugar – chismosa. Usa ka adlaw nakaplagan sya sa baybay, wa na’y kinabuhi. Ang tan-aw sa kadaghanan, nalumos; pero kabalo si Lolo Angelo sa tinuod nga storya. Pero wala’y mutuo kay Lolo, hangtod sa nauwahi na ang tanan.

Sunod nga nakit-an ang lawas ni Kevin Encina, usa ka college student nga nagplano mahimo’g abogado. Sukad nakit-an sa iyang inahan iyang patay’ng lawas sa daan sa gawas sa ilang balay, wa na sya makig istorya bisan kay kinsa. Hangtod karon.

Mingsunod ang pagkawala ni Portia Infante. Igo ra siya nigawas arun mupalit sa tindahan adtong miaging gabie; wa na sya kauli. Gipangita gihapon sya karon.

Tungod sa sagunson nga mga insidente, naminaw na ang mga tao.

Gitapok ni Lolo Angelo ang tanang katiguwangan arun hisgutan ang mga panghitabo. Niabot og duha ka adlaw ilang miting; nadungagan sad og duha o tulo ang nangawala ug nangamatay. Gitapok nila ang tibuok barangay og gipasidan-an ming tanan:

“Pagmatngon mo sa mga taghoy, ug ayaw salig bisan kinsa.”

Kaming mga batan-on, nahimuot ra sa ilang pulong. Karong mga panahuna, mas importante nga mag uban og magkahiusa. Kana among gihuna-huna, hilas kaayo mi sa among mga nahibal-an.

Unta naminaw lang siya, pero gahi’g ulo si Aliah. Dili na sya musugot nga but-an sya sa iyang kinabuhi. Nagtext-text pa mi adtong gabie sa iyang pagkawala. Niingon pa sya nga gitaghuyan sya sa iyang mama gikan sa gawas sa ilang balay. Mao na to iyang kinaulahiang text nako.

Nisamot ang tanan pagkawala ni Marcelo ug Darwin, ang kambal nga Alvarez. Perting hangyo sa ilang lola nga magpuyo sila sa balay, apan gipanglaay na gyud daw sila. Kadyot lang sila nawala sa panan-aw sa ilang lola sa dihang nakadungog sya og taghoy. Wa na siya minggawas arun apason iyang mga apo; kabalo sya nga wala na sila.

Mahadlok na ko manglaba. Sa among dapit, naandan na nga mutaghoy arun muhangin og paspas mauga ang mga nilabhan. Sauna, usa kini ka malinawong pamaagi arun muhangyo sa kinaiyahan; karon di na ko sigurado.

Ganina sa hapon, minglabay ko ilang Manang Cecilia samtang nanghalay sya. Abi ko’g atakihon na ko sa kasingkasing sa dihang nitaghoy sya.

Niabot na sya sa punto nga di na ko makasalig sa akong kaugalingong pamilya. Giingnan si Mama sa mga tiguwang nga taud-taod pa bag-o ni mahuman. Maong iya ko’ng giingnan nga di mutubag niya, bisan unsa’y mahitabo, bisan pa nga kabalo ko nga naa ra sya sa pikas kwarto.

Salig ra man na diba?

Di na gani ko kasalig sa tingog sa akong mga higala. Kung ilaha kong sampiton, di ko muduol hangtod di nako makita ilang mga nawong.

Kada adlaw gapangutana ko sa akong kaugalingon kung ako na ang musunod, kon mapasaylo ni Mama iyang kaugalingon og mawala ko sa iyang patan-aw. Sakit kaayo hunahunaon.

Akong gipangutana ang usa ka tao nga nahibalo kung unsa gyud ang nagapanghitabo.

Tiguwang na si Lolo Angelo, kinatiguwangan sa tibuok Dulag. Wa nay nahibalo kung pila na gyud iyang edad pero tanan gatahod niya.

Duol ra mi’g balay, isa ra’g dalan. Udto ko nibisita kay di musugot si Mama nga mulakaw ko’g gabie; sa tinud-anay wa sad koy plano, human sa tanang panghitabo.

Nisulod ko sa iyang balay og ni-amen. Wa na ko nagpakaarun ingnon nga isog, makita ra niya ang tinuod.

Wa pa ko kapangutana apan iya na kong gitubag, “Di ni maundang hangtod di ni mahuman.” Nangutana ko kung unsa diay “ni”, apan nagpanglingo lang sya.

Wa sya kahibalo; walay nakahibalo. Wa’y makaingon unsa’y nawong ani basta manguha ni sa kangitngiton ug taghoy ra ang pasidaan.”

Minghilak na ko. Dili ni patas! Gusto na nako ni mahuman. Gusto na nako mabalik akong mga higala.

Gigakos ko ni Lolo Angelo. Ingon siya nahitabo na ni sauna ug mahitabo pa utro puhon.

Gikuha sad iyang igsuon nga babaye singkwenta na ka tuig ang nilabay. Pito ra sya kauig ato. Igo ra sya niabri sa pultahan paghuman nila nadungog ang taghoy sa ilang mama gikan sa gawas sa balay. Ug didto na nagsugod.

Niabot og pila ka bulan ang pagkawala og pagkamatay sa pipila ka mga tao.  Nangahadlok na tanan mugawas og gabie.

Niingon si Lolo Angelo nga basin mao ang gusto mahitabo “niini”: ang mapuno og kahadlok ang tanan ug mawala ang pagsalig sa matag-usa sa barangay.

Kung unsa man gani ang tumong “niini”, di na nako gusto mahibal-an.

Dili na mubiya ang mga katiguwangan ug ang akong mama, bisan pag naay hulga sa kamatayon. Nag-impake ko ug nanamilit. Di ko musugot nga ako’y sunod mahimong biktima.

Sa akong pagsakay sa bus padulong sa syudad, nakaginhawa ko ug nahuwasan. Human na gyud!

Malaumon ko sa bag-o nakong kinabuhi. Nakabati na gyud ko’g kaluwas.

Dihang nadunggan nako.

Murag niundang akong kasing-kasing ug akong gipangusgan akong lawas nga dili kini mulihok. Matud pa ni Lolo Angelo, makakita kuno ka’g anino bag-o pa nimo madungog ang taghoy; niampo ko sa Ginoo nga dili kani mao.s

Gihangad nako ang kawad-on sa bulan sa langit, ug akong nadungog ang mapagpanggaong tingog ni Mama.

Unta naminaw lang ko.

=———————————-=

English Version

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.

*The Cebuano language, alternatively called Cebuan and also often colloquially albeit informally referred to by most of its speakers simply as Bisaya (“Visayan”, not to be confused with other Visayan languages nor Brunei Bisaya language), is an Austronesian regional language spoken in the Philippines by about 21 million people, mostly in Central Visayas, western parts of Eastern Visayas and most parts of Mindanao, most of whom belong to various Visayan ethnolingusitic groups, mainly the Cebuanos. It is the by far the most widely spoken of the Visayan languages, which are in turn part of wider the Philippine languages. The reference to the language as Bisaya is not encouraged anymore by linguists due to the many languages within the Visayan language group that may be confused with the term.

Aghoy description given by Oreon Peregrino

Aghoy Illustration and Watercolor by Marc Magpantay

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