*Note this story is in Cebuano

Gitawag nila siyag “Ang Tawong Kidlat”.

Dili basta-bastang talan-awon. Siya, samtang gasiyagit-siyagit ngadto sa bagyo,

hapit mapapas sa kalibotan sa nasipyat nga paglabay sa kidlat.

And video sa maong panghitabo nag-viral pagka-ugma. Ug ganina lang gyong

buntag miabot na og milyon ka views.

Tanang tawo buot masayod sa Tawong Kidlat ug giunsa iyang panan-aw saiyang

sitwasyon.

Naswertehan ba? Mga pag-ampo nga natubag?

Bisan unsa pa gani na, kinahanglan nako ni mahibaw-an.

Giandam nako akong recorder ug notebook, ug migawas na sa akong sakyanan.

Labihan ka kusog sa hangin karong hapona. Ingon sa balita naa daw

katag-katag nga pag-ulan. Haom ra gyod para sa akong pagabuhaton karon, sa akong

pamati.

Akong mabatian ang vibration sa akong cellphone nga akong gibutang sa akong

bulsa. Mabasa sa mensahe ang mga pulong “DEADLINE 11PM URGENT”.

Nangitag patay ning akong editor. Gawas pa sa Tawong Kidlat, utangan pako

niyag usa ka piyesa mahitungod sa kahimtang sa mga migrant worker sa nasod sa

Singapore.

Kon mahuman nako ang interview ubos sa usa ka oras, siguro ako ning

mahuman tanan bag-o ko maligsan sa deadline.

Nakapangagho na lang ko. Kon matambagan lang nako karon akong

kaugalingong niaging mga milabay nga oras, dili unta ko maing-ani karon.

Sa upat katuig nakong tinarbaho, ang akong ideyalismo sa pagka-peryodista

napapas na lang og iya. Gamay ang suholan, taas nga oras sa pagtrabaho, naa pa

gasamok-samok ang reyalidad sa politika sa opisina. Pero, sige na lang, at least

makabiyahe-biyahe ko panalagsa, diba? Mao na guro ning giingon nilang Stockholm

Syndrome.

Siguro, panahon na arong atong sutaon kon unsay makapaigting niining Tawong

Kidlat.

Giabrihan niya ang gate ug natingala kaayo ko. Gasuot kinig pamiste gikan sa

maayong sastre pakapinan pas dako niyang ngisi.

Akong gipabati kaniya akong kahimuot sa iyang nindot nga suot ug maikagon

kining mitubag nga una pa daw niya kining higayon nga mga interview mahitungod sa

bisan unsang hisgotanan.

Oh, nindot ni, hunahuna nako sa akong kaugalingon. Mao ning klaseha sa mga

interview diin grabe ang ilang pagpangandam aron mapabati sa kadaghanan ang

sugilanon sa ilang kinabuhi.

Ayaw kalimot sa deadline Pia, 11pm impunto. Dili na kinahanglan nga

magpataasay pa mog tingog sa imong editor.

Gigiya kos Tawong Kidlaw sa iyang sala ug tapad mi nga naglingkod tupad sa

usa ka karaang lamesang narra.

=———————————————————-=

“Hello, Mr. Severino, daghang salamat sa imong gigahin nga oras aron

makigstorya. Ako diay si Pia Robianes gikan sa The Chronicle. Okay ra ba sa imo kon

ato ning i-record ang maong interview?”

“Ngano god og dili, Pia. Bisan unsa nga imong kinahanglan. Kon wa ka

masayod, usa ko ka dakong fan sa imong mga sinulat. Kada adlaw ko gabasag The

Chronicle.”

Tsk. Gitawag ko niyas akong first name ug nasayod na kini sa akong mga sinulat.

Dili gyod ni maayo basta ingon ani.

“Sige. Mahimo mo bang mapaambit sa atong mga mambabasa kon unsa ang

nahitabo kanimo gikan sa imong kaugalingong pagtan-aw?”

“Nahitabo to tanan gabii sa usa ka Biyernes. Galingkod-lingkod ra ko sa sala

tong akong nabantayan akong iro nga si Sena nga dili gapanumbaling sa akong mga

tawa. Ako gyod siyang gipangita sa tibuok balay pero dili nako kini makita. Kusog kaayo

ang hangin adtong tungora ug grabe ang pagdalugdog pero bisan pa nianang tanan

ako gihapong nadunggan ang panagpaghot ni Sena gikan sa gawas sa balay. Dali-dali

kong migawas ug nagsiyagita sa iyang ngalan aron masuta kon diin kini. Mao na

kadtong tungora nga naigo kos dakong kidlat. Abi gyod nakog patay nako ato ba. Dali

kong misulod balik sa balay ug nagpaabot nga mawala ang bagyo. Nakuha sad kadto

sa CCTV ang tibuok panghitabo ug ako kining gi-post sa social media. Ug mao kadto,

nahitabo na dayon ang tanan. Ako ra gyod nagpuyo niining balay ug kon naigo ko adto,

wala gyoy makakita ni makadumdom nako ba.”

“Unsa diay nahitabo sa imong iro?”

“Wala na nako nakita si Sena human ato.”

“Pasensya kaayo.”

Irong nawala. Nindot nga anggulo sa maong storya.

“So, unsa imong maingon mahitungod sa mga kidlat nga hapit nakaigo kanimo?

Dili gyod to basta-bastang panghitabo, usa sa milyon katsansa nga kadto mahitabo.”

“Usa sa 3,222,000. Akong pagtan-aw”

Siyempre, iya kadto gisuta.

“Unsa imong gihunahuna nga wala gyod kay bisan unsang tatsa human sa

maong panghitabo?”

“Pamati nako nakatabang kini.” Naa siyay gibutang nga puti ug gamay nga

butang. “Mao ni akong agimat. Bisan kaniadto pa, dako na kaayo kinig tabang nako ug

gahatag sad kinig dakong swerte nako sa lain-laing mga butang.”

Tu-ara, mao na ni akong gihulat.

“Asa ka gikan ani?”

“Akong binuhat. Akoy nagbuhat ani.”

“Sa asa mani gama?”

“Bukog”

Adtong tungora usa ka lanog na pagdalugdog ang nakapaigting kanako sa akong

lingkoranan.

“Nindota god ani. Kanang, okay ra kon mogamit sako kadali sa inyong CR?”

“Of course, saka lang sa hagdanan ug naa anang unang pertahan sa tuong

bahin.”

“Salamat, salamat.”

=———————————————————————————–=

“Pamati nako naay dili mao.”

Dako kaayo ang iyang pinuy-anan. Dako kaayo nga kinahanglan kag katabang

nga maglimpyo. Wala nagkulang ang iyang balay sa nindot nga mga butang. Walay

abog sa bisan asang dapit.

Pero basin nadala rakas imong kaugalingong pagbati, Pia. Iya gyod

gipangandaman ang inyong interview, ug natural ra gyod nga manglimpyo siya sa iyang

kaugalinong balay.

Naa pa say laing istorya dinhi.

Dali nako gihuman akong akong angay humanon sa CR ug mibalik dayon ko sa

sala.

Wala ngadto ang Tawong Kidlat.

Miginhawa kog lalom ug nagfocus. Siguro nagkuha ra kadtong tubig.

Dali nakong gilabay ngadto nga hunahuna human wala pa kini nakabalik kapin

napulo na kaminuto.

Ug akong nabantayan nga gaandar pa man diay ang recorder.

Akong girewind ang record ngadto sa punto nga mibiya ko para mag-CR.

Mibungat lamang kinig pipila ka storya ug nagdala kinig kahadlok sa akong

kalawasan.

“Pagka-anyag nga baye. Mohaom gyod to ngadto sa uban.”

-==—————————————————————————–==

Ang iyang pagbati nga mabuhi ang nagtukmod kaniya aron manghipos ug

modagan na padulong sa iyang sakyanan, wala nay paglingi-lingi pa.

Pero kining maong pagbati mas mitimbang ug mikiling ngadto sa natural nga

pagkamsuktanon sa usa ka peryodista.

“Kinsa kaha ning ‘uban’”?

Ug ngano kaha buot sa Tawong Kidlat nga mahimo siyang kauban niining

ubana?

Nakahukom siyang tagsa-tagsaon ang mga kwarto niiing maong balay. Siguro

aduna siyay makitang interesante kon kugihan lang niya kinig tan-aw.

Pero dili sad siya ing-ana ka hangal. Basig nagpaabot lang diha sa kilid-kilid ang

Tawong Kidlat maong dapat mabinantayon kini.

Wala ra kaayoy nakitang interesante sa unang mga kwarto: mga librong

gipang-agub-ob ug usa ka bakanteng lawak-kan-anan.

Pero sa iyang pagpaniid sa usa ka lawak nga morag usa ka kusina, nakatimaho

kinig dili mao nga naggikan sa duol nga pertahan.

Milingiw siya sa iyang luyo aron masiguro nga wala ang Tawong Kidlaw. Ug

mipadayon kinig ukoy sa direksyon sa natimahoang pansot.

Hapit siya nakasuka sa iyang nakita.

Mga patayng lawas nga nakaday-a nga anaa sa nagkalain-laing estado sa

pagkadugta. Tanan mga babaye.

Gikuha niya ang iyang phone ug gisugdan ang pagkuhag mga litrato.

Maayo na lang nga adunay igong signal aron maupload kini.

Sa usa ka suok, aduna siyay nakitang gamay nga lamesa.

Pia, ayaw paghinangal. Pahawa na diha ug panawag og pulis. Igo na ang

ebidensya nga imong nakuha, Pia. Mamatay ka gayod diri Pia kon dili pa ka mohawa.

Wala niya gisubay ang iyang hunahuna ug mipadayon og ukoy padulong sa

maong lamesa.

Napuno kinig mga himan ug usa ka puti ug gahi nga butang.

Sa igong pagpanukit, iyang naamgo nga aduna kini gikubi-kubi sa mga bukog.

Ang agimat, hunahuna niya.

Aduna nakay igong ebidensya. Dagan. Pahawa na.

Nakadumdom siya nga adunay pertahan padungong sa gawas duol sa kusina.

Makagawas pa unta siya kon midagan na siya duha ka minuto kaniadto.

=——————————————————=

”So, nakita na nimo akong koleksyon.” Milukop ang kamot sa Tawong Kidlat sa

iyang liog. “Kabalo ka, taod-taod na sad tika ginabantayan. ‘Ang darling sa The

Chronicle’. Kabalo ko nga kinahanglan aduna koy buhaton aron makuha imong

atensyon. Kon kabalo lang ka kon unsa akong gisakripisyo ug kinsa akong

nangapasuko. Pero ang importante ni-a na ka. Dili nako makahulat nga idungag imong

maanyag nga mga bukog.”

Dili kini niya unang higayon nga mabutang siya niining maong posisyon ug

nakapasalamat siyag ahat sa mga mandatory self-defense classes para sa iyang

pag-ikyas.

Dili na gyod siya magreklamo sa iyang klase sa Krav Maga sunod.

Dili na sad mabangbang ang kakusog sa dalugdog, ang hangin ug ulan

nakapabuta sa panan-aw ni Pia.

Unsa nako ning yati nga makasulod sa sakyanan, hunahuna niya.

“Balik nganhi!”

Napandol si Pia ug mihasmag kaniya ang Tawong Kidlat.

Sa ilang panagsukliayg kusog, iyang nabantayan nga gasuot sa agimat ang

Tawong Kidlat.

Mihunghong kaniya ang pagbating pagkaperyodista nga kadto usa ka

importanteng butang aron siya makalingkawas sa kasamtangang sitwasyon.

Gilabni niini ang agimat gikan sa liog sa Tawong Kidlat ug mikamang palayo niini.

Misiyaok ang Tawong Kidlat ug nabuta si Pia sa paghagsa sa dakong kidlat nga

miigo sa iyang dumadakop.

Pagbalik sa iyang panimuot, nakaatubang kaniya ang usa ka dako ug puti nga iro

nga nagpiti-piti sa kuryente. Miyango kini sa iyang ulo ug kalit nga nawala.

=——————————————————–=

Nahiabot ang kapulisan human sa usa ka oras. Nakita nila ang daghang mga

patayng lawas nga nagkatag sulod sa balay.

Sumala nila pangkuhaon sa Tawong Kidlat ang mga babayeng pamati niya nga

wala nay mangita kanila isip katabang. Para kon mahuman na siyag gamit kanila,

himuon kini niya parte sa iyang koleksyon.

Gitawagan nako akong editor ug ako siyang gipahibalo sa nahitabo. Kadto ang

kinaunhang higayon sulod sa tulo ka tuig nga ako siyang nakitang malipayon. Ug

nahuwasan sad daw ang iyang kaguol human nakabalita nga okay na kini.

Mihangad ko ngadto langit ug nakapahunahuna ko kon unsa tong nahitabo

ganina. Unsa man tong iro-a to?

Pero ako ra tong gahinag oras aron sutaon kadto.

Samtang gitan-aw nako ang napaig nga lawas sa tawong buot mohunos sa

akong kinabuhi, pamati nako, human niining tanan, gipanindigan gyod sa Tawong Kidlat

ang iyang ngalan.

=——————————–=

English Version

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.

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.

=—————–=

*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.

Written by Karl Gaverza
Cebuano Translation by Gil Nambatac
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Translation Copyright © Gil Nambatac

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

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