*Note this story is in Cebuano

Nagkinabuhi siya sama sa kalayo, ang tanan nga iyang nahikapan nahimong usa ka hayag nga siga.

Siyempre walay makapugong kaniya, bisan pa adunay daghan nga nakahimo niana nga sayop. Sa dihang iyang ibutang ang iyang kasingkasing sa usa ka butang, daw ingon og ang uniberso wala maglungtad. Siya lamang ug ang iyang mga angay buhaton. Mogugol ako og daghang mga gabii sa pagtan-aw sa iyang ginama, magadayeg sa mga hampak sa iyang canvas.

Ang enerhiya nga nagdan-ag gikan kaniya usa ka ihalas nga puwersa, dili kini mahilom ug wala siya maghago sa pagsulay sa pagtago niini. Nag-agas kini sa iyang matag lihok bisan unsa man ka gamay ug walay hinungdan. Gidasig niya ang uban pinaagi niana nga kusog. Pipila ka mga gabii, sa akong hunahuna, mahimo niya nga makuha ang kalibutan kung gusto niya.

Tuguti ko nga mubalik sa sinugdanan.

Nahimamat nako si Leonora duha (2) ka tuig ang milabay. Kaniadto ug karon, usa ako ka naglisud nga artista, naningkamot sa pagpangita og inspirasyon bisan asa ko moadto. Usa na siya ka dako nga ngalan sa eksena sa pagpinta nga adunay daghang mga eksibit sa ilawom sa iyang bakus.

Naghiusa kami sa mga aso nga panganod ug sa napakyas nga mga paglaom.

Gusto nako hunahunaon sa dihang kami nahimong higala. Kada semana human niana moadto ko sa iyang studio ug maningkamot og kat-on kung unsa man akong makat-onan gikan kaniya.

Ulahi nako nakaamgo nga dili nimo makat-onan kung unsa ang anaa niya.

Usa ka gabii, pila ka bulan ang milabay, kauban nako siya samtang naggama siya sa iyang labing bag-o nga piraso. Kini giulohan og ‘usa ka langay nga sayaw sa pula’ (‘A slow dance of red’). Usa kadto ka talan-awon nga piraso, talagsaon alang kaniya nga buhaton, apan siya miingon nga gusto niyang hinumdoman ang kabukiran sa iyang panimalay sa pagkabata.

Siya gikan sa Kiokong, Bukidnon, usa ka lugar nga wala pa nako maadtoan, ug usa ka lugar nga akong nahibal-an pag-ayo. Pinaagi sa iyang mga dibuho nga akong nalantawan ang lig-on nga katahom sa bato ug ang mga suba nga ilang gisagngan.

Kanunay niya kong ginapangutana kung husto ba ang hitsura niini ug akoa siyang ginapahinumduman nga iyang balay ug dili sa akoa ang iyang gipinta, bisan pa, sa pagbalik-lantaw, sa akong hunahuna, ang pangutana wala gitumong kanako.

Mas malipayon kadto nga mga panahon.

Wala ko kabalo unsa akong isulti sa nahitabo. Gikakurat kini sa tanan, ilabina sa mga suod kaniya.

Kaming tanan nahibalo nga siya aduna’y kaugalingong mga demonyo nga ginalabanan, ug kaming tanan nagpahibalo kaniya nga kami ania kon siya mapandol.

Apan wala siya misangpit.

Ako… Gusto nakong pahimuslan kining higayona para pasalamatan ang tanan nga nagtapok aron sa paghinumdom kang Leonora. Aduna siya’y luná sa atong mga kasing-kasing ug kini motubo lamang karon nga siya mipanaw na.

Samtang nagtan-aw ko sa mga nawong dinhi, pipila ka pamilyar ug pipila ka estranghero kanako, dili nako malikayan nga maghunahuna sa kung unsang paagi gusto unta ni Leonora sa pagpinta niini. Siya ang talagsaon nga talento sa pagkuha sa esensya sa emosyon sa pipila lamang ka mga hampak sa pinta.

Ang pipila ka… maanindot….nga mga hampak…. Ako… Dili nako kini mahimo.

Sayop kining tanan.

Si Leonora wala mamatay tungod sa overdose.

Gisulayan niya nga isulti kanamo kung unsa ang iyang giagian, pinaagi sa iyang mga dibuho, apan nagmagahi kaayo kami sa pagpaminaw.

Tan-awa ang iyang kataposang mga buhat. Ang mga kamot nga gikunis,ang talinis nga mga ngipon, ang taas nga dila. Naa didto ang tanan.

Ug gisulayan niya nga pahunongon kini.

Giingnan ko niya nga namati kini sa mga tingog sa kamatayon, tingali mao kana ang hinungdan nga naggugol siya og daghang oras sa sementeryo. Kaming tanan, giisip lamang namong susama kini sa binuhatan sa usa ka artista, diin, dili kita makahukom kung asa nagagikan ang inspirasyon nilang mga artista.

Oh Dios… kung naminaw lang unta kami.

Tan-awa ninyo! Walay bisan unsa sa lungon!

Walay subay kaniya bisan asa. Giingon nila nga nawala ang iyang lawas sa morge, apan karon nahibal-an ko na.

Kadto nga…. butang ang nagbuhat niini.

Katapusan niyang hangyo nga hugasan og suka ang iyang lawas.

Wala’y mibuhat sa hangyo. Katingad-an kaayo. Abi namo og binuang lamang kadto.

Karon wala’y usa nga mikatawa.

Leonora pasayloa ko. Naminaw unta ko. Namati unta kaming tanan. Ang sala dili ra nako. Wala ka namo makit-i labaw pa sa imong pagka-artista, ug karon tan-awa kung unsa ang nahitabo, nagabantay sa usa ka lungon nga walay sulod, nagalaum nga mutaas kanimo ang among mga pag-ampo.

Apan ang pag-ampo dili na makatabang kanato.

Nagahangyo ako kaninyong tanan nga nagtigom dinhi sa paghinumdom sa iyang katapusang mga buhat. Hibalo-a ninyo kung unsa ang iyang gilabanan.

Balik sa inyong mga panimalay ug damgoha siya.

Mao kana ang labing gamay na atoang mahimo.

=——————————————–=

English Version

She lived like fire, everything she touched turned into a bright blaze.

There was no stopping her of course, though there were many that made that mistake. When she put her heart into something it was as if the universe didn’t exist. It was only her and what she needed to do. I would spend many nights watching her work, admiring the brushstrokes on the canvas.

The energy that radiated from her was a wild force, it wouldn’t be kept silent and she didn’t bother trying to hide it. It leaked through her every movement no matter how small and inconsequential. She inspired others with that energy. Some nights I think she could have taken over the world if she wanted to.

Let me go back to the start.

I met Leonora 2 years ago. I was then and now, a struggling artist, trying to find inspiration wherever I went. She was already a big name in the painting scene with many exhibits under her belt.

We bonded over smoke clouds and failed expectations.
I’d like to think that’s when we became friends. Every week after that I would go to her studio and try to learn what I could from her.

I realized too late that you couldn’t learn what she had.
One night, a few months ago, I was with her while she was working on her latest piece. It was entitled ‘A slow dance of red’. It was a landscape piece, unusual for her to do, but she said she wanted to remember the mountains of her childhood home.

She was from Kiokong, Bukidnon, a place that I’ve never been, and a place I know all too well. It was through her paintings that I was able to glimpse the rugged beauty of the rock walls and the rivers they stood guard over.

She would always ask me if it looked right and I had to remind her that it was her home and not mine that she was painting, though, looking back, I don’t think the question was directed at me.

Those were happier times.

I don’t know what to say about what happened. It was a shock to everyone, especially those closest to her.

We all knew she had her own demons to fight, and all of us let her know that we would be there if she ever stumbled.

But she never asked.

I… I want to take this opportunity to thank everyone that gathered to remember Leonora. She had a place in all our hearts and it will only grow now that she’s gone.

As I look over the faces here, some familiar and some strangers to me, I can’t help but think of the way Leonora would have wanted to paint this. She the rare talent of capturing the essence of emotion in a few strokes of paint.

A few… beautiful…. Strokes…. I… I can’t do this.

It’s all wrong.

Leonora didn’t die from an overdose.

She tried to tell us what she was going through, through her paintings, but we were too stubborn to listen.

Look at her final works. The clawed hands, the pointed teeth, the long tongue. It was all there.

And she tried to stop it.

She told me it listened for the sounds of death, maybe that’s why she spent so much time in the cemetery. We all brushed it off as an artistic peculiarity, after all we can’t judge where artists get their inspiration from.

Oh God… if only we had listened.

Look for yourselves! There’s nothing in the coffin!

No trace of her anywhere. They said her body was lost at the morgue, but now I know better.

It was that…. thing that did this.

Her last wish was that her body be washed with vinegar.

No one did the request. It was too strange. We thought it was a joke.

Now no one’s laughing.

Leonora I’m sorry. I should have listened. We all should have listened. The fault is not mine alone. We couldn’t see past the artist in you and now look what happened, watching over an empty coffin hoping that our prayers would be lifted to you.
But prayer can’t help us anymore.

I beg all of you gathered here to remember her last works. Look for yourselves what she was fighting against.

Go back to your homes and dream of her.

That’s the least we can do.

*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 Arcy Salvacion
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Translation Copyright © Arcy Salvacion

Illustration by Edson Espiritu
IG: @blackink.es

Inspired by the busaw/buso description in Creatures of Philippine Lower Mythology. Ramos. 1971.

The post Busaw – Cebuano Translation appeared first on Philippine Spirits.

*Note this story is in Tagalog

Walang “on the job training” sa trabaho ko. Kailangan mo lang makisama, at huwag hayaang lamunin ka ng takot.

Nasaan na ba ako?

Oo nga pala, nasa karanasan ko pagtatrabaho sa sementeryo.

Halos 40 taon na ang lumipas ng umalis ako sa Mindanao para sa magandang bukas na ng aking mga  anak. Si Carmen at Berto.

Alam mo naming nakapagtapos sila ng kolehiyo di ‘ba? Lagi nila akong pinipilit na umalis na sa aking trabaho, sa iba na lang daw. Basta malayo sa mga nitso’t buto, lalo na noong namatay ang kanilang ama, naku! Pero hindi ko nakikita ang sarili ko na umalis sa lugar na ito.

Doon ako naglagi, doon sa museleo na kulay asul.

Naging hilig ko na ang paliguan ng asul na pintura ang mga libingan. Tignan mo, masarap sa mata tignan ang  itsura ng libingan, kalmado.

Ano nga? Ay, pasensya na! Iniiba ko na naman ang usapan, kaming mga matatanda ay ganito na talaga madalas.

Ayon, na naniniwala ba ko sa mga multo?

Hindi mo naman kailangang maging baliw para maniwala!

Noong unang dating naming dito, ginigising kami ng mga tunog mula sa kadena tuwing alas tres, aba’y wala namang mga tao.

Yung asawa kong ‘yon, masayahin at mahilig uminom.

Isang beses sa kaniyang kalasingan, kumuha siya ng bungo at sinama niya sa paglilibot sa buong sementeryo. Nang gabing din iyon, nagpakita sa kaniya ang kaluluwa. Dali-dali akong pumunta sa kinaroroonan niya, pero wala namang ibang tao doon. Pagkatapos noon, nagkasakit siya. Syempre isa lang ang magpapagaling sa kaniya, ang paghingi ng tawad. Kaya ako’y nag-alay sa multo para sa paghingi ng tawad.

Mabisa iyon, ng araw din iyon ay gumaling ang aking asawa!

Natatawa na lang ako kapag naalala iyon.

Nawala na naman ba ‘ko sa usapan natin?

Sige na nga, sasabihin ko na sa iyo.

Hindi ko talaga, plinano na magtagal dito. Ang asawa ko talaga ang nangangalaga sa mga libingan  bago pa ako dumating galing probinsya.

May mga naririnig na akong kuwento galing sa mga lolo at lola ko. Na may mga nilalang na naniniwalang hindi dapat nirerespeto ang mga yumao.

Lalo na kung hindi sila gutom.

Sa matagal na pagtatrabaho ko rito, may iilan din naman akong nakita.

Mayroon d’yan na kayang pasabugin ang tyan ng patay sa pamamagitan lang ng paghawak sa kabaong.

Kaya lagi kong pinapaalalahanan yung mga pamilya na mag-iwan ng bukas na ilaw. Nakatutulong yan laban sa mga   ganung nilalang.

Yung mga nakalibing dito, iba-iba iyan ng karanasan. Mayroon diyan katulad sa sitwasyon ko, umalis sa sariling bayan. Kaya lagi kong nirerespeto kung ano man ang mga tradisyon nila.

Katulad ng libingan doon.

Ay, doon sa bandang kaliwa.

Tama, ayun nga.

Napansin mo ba yung malaking piraso ng metal sa libingan?  Pinakiusap ‘yan ng pamilya niyan na dapat lagi iyan nandyan.

Hindi nila sinabi kung bakit, hindi rin naman ako nagtanong kung bakit. Siguro kailangan talaga iyon. Bilang proteksyon sa mga mahal mo sa buhay kahit na sila ay patay na.

Kaya ngayon, magsisimula na ako.

Ang pinakanakakainis sa mga mga multong ito, iyon yung mga hindi marunong mag-isip nang mabuti. Sa ibang lugar, ang tawag sa kanila ay wirwir. Ako ang tawag ko sa kanila ay mga buwisit.

Binabantayan ko lagi yung mga bagong libing tuwing gabi. Para lang masigurado na hindi nila, oo nila dahil grupo-grupo sila kung pumunta, hukuyin ang libingan at kainin ang patay.

Noon e, kayang-kaya ko pa. Pero ngayong tumatanda na ako ay pinapahirapan na ako ng mga buto ko.

Dumating na nga sa puntong, gusto ko ng sumuko.

Pero may tumulong sa akin.

Pinapalibutan na ng mga wirwir yung bagong libingan.

Nang marinig ko ang tunog ng isang saksopon.

At parang kidlat, itong sementeryo ay napuno ng iba’t ibang instrumento. Hawak-hawak ito ng mga kahindik-hindik na mga nilalang.

Pero ng binuka nila ang kanilang mga bibig upang tumugtog, aba! Napapasayaw ako.

Hindi ko alam kung sa henereasyon niyo ngayon e alam niyo ang tunay na tunog ng Jazz. Pero sa mga panahong ‘yon, narinig ko.

Namangha ako. Tahimik akong nakatayo ng biglang may tumapik sa akin.  Matangkad na  Amerikano. Pumalakpak siya at malakas na sinabing “Let’s make more lovely music for our audience!”

Doon ko lang napansin na tumigil na pala sa paghuhukay ng libangan yung mga wirwir. Sumasayaw na ito sa saliw ng banda. May nakita akong trumpeta, trombonyo, tambol, mayroon pa nga atang piyano na gawa sa buto.

Hindi ko na maalala ang mga sumunod na nangyari. Parang sinabi pa nga ng Amerikano na kailangan pa niya ng miyembro para makompleto ang tunog na nais nito. Ano ibig niyang sabihin? Ay, hindi ko alam!

Siguro, yung Amerikano at kaniyang banda ay nandyan lang. Napapasayaw sa mga wirwir.

=————————————————–=

English Version

There’s no “on the job training” for what I do. You just have to adapt and not take let the fear overtake you.

Now where was I?

Oh yes, my experiences in the Cemetery.

Nearly 40 years ago I left Mindanao to search for a better life, it was for my children, you see.

Carmen and Berto. You know they both finished college? They kept (and keep) trying to get me to move somewhere else, away from the bones and coffins, especially after their father died. But I can’t imagine leaving this place.

I stay in a small mausoleum over there by the blue one.

My favorite thing to do is giving the tombs a fresh coat of paint, and well, I think blue is really calming.

Yes? Oh I’m sorry! I keep changing the topic, I get that way sometimes. Most people do when they’re my age.

Do I believe in ghosts?

Well you would have to be crazy not to!

The first time I arrived from the province my husband and I would wake up at 3 in the morning to the sound of chains. No one was there of course. No person, at least.

My husband was a happy man that also liked to drink a lot.

One time he played with a skull and carried it around the cemetery.

That night the ghost showed itself to him. I rushed to where he was, of course, but there was nothing there. Then he got really sick. I did the only thing I could think of and asked for forgiveness, and gave an offering to the spirit.

It worked and my husband managed to get better within the day.

Those were good times, me and him and the graves.

I got off topic again, didn’t I?

Alright, let me tell you about it.

I never planned to be here for long. My husband took care of the graves before I came here from the province.

There were stories I knew from my lolos and lolas. Creatures that didn’t think that the dead were something to be respected.

Not if they were hungry.

In my years I’ve come across a few kinds.

There were the ones that would make a corpse’s belly bust just by touching the coffin.

I’d always tell the families at the wake to leave bright lights. That always helped against these creatures.

The dead buried here come from all walks of life. Some of them travelling far from their roots like I did. I always made sure to respect their traditions.

Like the grave over there.

No, the one to the left.

Yes, that one.

If you look closely you can see a big piece of metal on the grave. The family requested that it be on there at all times.

I didn’t ask, and they didn’t tell. It was just something that had to be done. To protect your loved one even after they passed.

And now I get to my story.

The most aggravating of these spirits were the ones that were too stupid to know better. In some places they called them the wirwir. I just called them annoying.

Every night after a new coffin was buried, I would have to keep watch to make sure they (yes they travel in packs) keep from digging through the grave and eating the body.

It was tolerable when I was younger, but these old bones ache.

There was a point where I didn’t think I could handle it anymore.

But on one strange night I had help.

The wirwir were clumped together around the newly set grave

Then I heard the saxophones.

In a flash the cemetery was filled with instruments.

Grotesque creatures of all shapes and sizes opened their mouths.

And it made me want to dance.

I don’t know if you young people know what real jazz sounds like, but it was there.

I stood silent, overwhelmed by what I was seeing, then someone tapped my shoulder.

It was a tall American (I could tell by his accent). He was dressed like he just stepped out of a movie.

He clapped his hands and shouted to the creatures, “Let’s make more lovely music for our audience!”

Then I noticed the wirwir were joining in. They had stopped digging for their next meal and were dancing to the beat of the bone-drums. I saw trumpets, trombones, bass and even a piano made of polished white bone.

I don’t remember much after that. I think the American said he needed more members to make the sound complete. What that meant I didn’t know.

I’d like to think that the American and his band are still out there somewhere.

Giving the ghouls the time of their lives.

=——————————————————————-=

*Tagalog is an Austronesian language spoken as a first language by a quarter of the population of the Philippines and as a second language by the majority. Its standardized form, officially named Filipino, is the national language of the Philippines, and is one of two official languages alongside English.

Written by Karl Gaverza

Translation by Kenn Empuesto
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Translation Copyright © Kenn Empuesto

Inspired by the Wirwir description in Vanoverbergh, Morice. (1938). “The Isneg Life Cycle II: Marriage, Death, and Burial.” PCAC 3 (3)

Wirwir Illustration by Ethan of @Mangkukulang

FB:@Mangkukulang

IG:@Mangkukulang

The post Wirwir – Tagalog Translation appeared first on Philippine Spirits.

*Note this story is in Tagalog

“Anong nakita mo?!”

“Lolo, tama na, marami na siyang pinagdaanan.”

“Inilalagay niya sa panganib ang pamilya natin. Hindi pa ba sapat na namatay ang tatay niya?! Ngayon naman binubulabog niya ang mga kaluluwa. Hindi ninyo naiintindihan kung gaano ito delikado.

“Lolo, hindi niya alam kung ano ang ginagawa niya. Curious lang siya.”

“Ni hindi natin alam kung anong ginawa niya, baka—”

“Nakita ko.”

“….Kuya, anong nakita mo?”

“Anong ginawa mo?”

“Sinunod ko yung instruction. Pinuntahan ko ang pinutol na puno para sa ataul ni Papa tapos inilagay ko ron yung mga gamit na dala ko.”

“Anong mga gamit kuya?”

“Galing sa ataul ni Papa. Noong gabi ng lamay niya, pumunta ako ron at nakita ko mismo.”

“Sabihin mo sa akin anong nakita mo.”

“Nakakita ako ng mga alitaptap at nakita ko rin ang pagtapon ng mga bituka. Mayroon ding lumulutang na mga ulo, mga braso at mga binti. Nakita ko uli si Papa, pero nilampasan niya ako. Nakita ko ang mga anino na nabuhay at pinalibutan ako. At doon nakita ko.”

“Anong nakita mo?!”

“Nakita ko ang buso.”

=—————————————=

English Version

“What did you see?!”

“Lolo, please, he’s been through enough.”

“He’s put this family in great danger. Wasn’t it enough that his father died?! Now he goes invoking the spirits. Neither of you understand how dangerous this is.”

“Lolo, he didn’t know what he was doing, he was just curious.”

“We don’t even know what he did, he could have—“

“I saw.”

“….Kuya what did you see?”

“What did you do?!”

“ I followed the instructions. I went to the tree that was cut down for Papa’s coffin then I put the pieces that I took there.”

“What pieces kuya?”

“The ones that I took from Papa’s coffin. On the night of his funeral I went there and I saw.”

“Tell me what you saw.”

“I saw the swarm of fireflies and I saw the intestines being spilled. I saw floating heads and arms and legs. I saw Papa again, he walked right past me. I saw the shadows come alive and wrap around me. And then I saw it.”

“What did you see?!”

“I see the buso.”

=——————————————-=

*Tagalog is an Austronesian language spoken as a first language by a quarter of the population of the Philippines and as a second language by the majority. Its standardized form, officially named Filipino, is the national language of the Philippines, and is one of two official languages alongside English.

Written by Karl Gaverza

Translation by Reina Mikee
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Translation Copyright © Reina Mikee

Story inspired by the Buso entry in Creatures of Philippine Lower Mythology. Ramos. 1971. and Bagobo Myths. Journal of American Folklore. 1913.

Buso Illustration by Leandro Geniston from Aklat ng mga Anito

Watercolor by Mykie Concepcion
Tumblr: http://mykieconcepcion.tumblr.com/

FB: That Guy With A Pen

The post Buso (Shadow) – Tagalog Translation appeared first on Philippine Spirits.

*Note this story is in Cebuano

Di man unta dapat ing ani.

Pirti nakong amping. Abi nako akong natabunan og maayo akong sekreto. Basta naay pista, mo ikyas ko sa amoang balay ug sa sunod adlaw, mo ngisi ko sa akong mga ginikanan nga murag wala’y nahitabo ug mo biya para mo skuyla. Usahay mangutana sila nganong kapoy daw kaayo akong itsura pero ako ra silang ingnan nga tungod sa akong daghan nga tun-anan. “Daghan ko ug mga test,” akong ingon sa ilaha, ug ila ra sad tuohan.

Hangtod sa niaging semana, ni bisita akong maestra. Iya gi ingnan akong mga ginikanan nga padong nako mahagbong sa akong mga klase. Ana siya nabalaka siya sa akoa.

Gusto ra siya manghilabot. Kung di unta niya, kauban na unta nako akong mga higala sa pista. Pila ka buwan ang ni agi para magkausa ang wirwir ug kagkag, ug di to mahitabo kung wala ko.

Natanggong ko sa akong kwarto, gi kasab-an sa akong Mama. Abi niya naa ko’y uyab. Gi ingnan ko niya nga wala’y bili nga mag uyab-uyab karon ug dako kaayo ko og potensyal. “Naay mga tao nga mo ingon nalang og bisag unsa para makuha ilang gusto.” “Wa ka namo gipa dako nga ing ani.” “Nganong mangilad man ka namo?”

Iyang kasaba taas kaayo pero akong gi tubag sa unsa iyang gusto madunggan. Di nako mangilad, masaligan ko nila. Nag hilak kong ni tan-aw sa akong Mama ug ni saad nga di na ko makig kita sa lalaki nga uyab kuno nako.

Ug ni tuman man sad ko sa akong saad.

Dugay ko wala nakig kita sa akong mga higala. Akong gi hulat hangtod sa ni takdol ang bulan para maka ikyas ko sa amoa. Gi kapoy nako sa mga pekeng ngisi sa mga babayi sa akong iskuylahan. Sige sila og sakay sa unsa ilang nahibaw-an nga normal, dili sila makabati sa unsa ka nindot ang mo ikyas sa mga di kasagarang mahitabo, sa unsa ka nindot mo dawat sa kaugalingong mga pangandoy nga gi bawal kay dili man himoonon ug tawo.

Gi mingaw ko nila. Gi mingaw ko sa tingog sa bukog kung sopsupon nako sila. Gi mingaw ko sa baho sa uga nga dugo sa akong mga ngabil. Gi mingaw ko sa tambol ug tingog sa kamatayon.

Naglakaw nako papunta sa sementeryo. Nindot sa paminaw ang kahayag sa bulan sa akong panit. Mabatian nako ang mga pagkurog sa mga tambol sa akong dughan.

Nagsugod na.

Niay aksidente sa niaging mga adlaw ug namatay si Emilio Canoy. Gi lubong dayun siya sa usa ka sirado nga lungon bisag wala pa gi embalsamar. Dili ko makatabang maghuna-huna sa mga malami nga nagpaabot sulod sa lungon.

Ni abot ko sa iyang lubnganan ug na kuratan ko.

Kauban sa mga wirwir ug kagkag ang usa ka ebwa. Mas dako ni sa akong nakit-an sauna ug nalipay ko, usa na pud ka higala.

Akong ubang higala gi kaon na ang lawas ni Emilio, nagsugod na sila bisag wala pa ko. Ang mga parte sa lawas ni Emilio naa na sa ilang mga baba ug nagsugod ko og laway. Pero akong gi ingnan akong kaugalingon nga naa pa’y oras unya. Karon, akong atimanon ang bag-ong higala nako.

Ang mga ebwa hadlukan, dali mahadlok sa gamay nga suga, pero kaming tanan tigpangkaykay. Akong gi hatagan ang ebwa ug piraso sa atay ni Emilio.

Mura ug premyo ang tan-aw sa atay, ihatag lang ni sa mga gipasidunggang mangangayam. Nahuna-hunaan nako ang gi ingon sa akong maestra. “Ang atay lugar sa atong mga emosyon. Ang mga bugtong nga ‘pighati,’ ‘luwalhati,’ ‘dalamhati,’ gikan sa orihinal nga bugtong para sa atay, ‘hati.’”

Ni hunong sa pag-atras ang ebwa ug gi kuha ang atay ug ni kaon. Ni duol ko niya ug gi hikap ang iyang ulo. Nabatian nako ang koneksyon sa among duha, usa ka babayi ug usa ka mangtas, nalingaw sa pagkaon og tao. Ni paspas og pitik ang akong dughan.

Ni tan-aw ko balik sa lawas ni Emilio ug naghulat sa akong turno. Daghan pang nabilin. Ni ginhawa ko sa baho sa kamatayon ug pamati nako mas buhi pa ko karong orasa kesa sa ubang higayon sa akong kinabuhi.

Pero gi guba niya tanan.

Usa ka gutlo nag pista ra mi sa akong mga higala, sunod na dayun naa na akong maestra ug mga tawo gikan sa lungsod, padong namo, mga armas sa ilang mga kamot.

Ni shagit ko sa akong mga higala pero ulahi na. Gi putol sa mga bolo ug gi lungagan sa mga bala sa pusil ang mga wirwir ug kagkag.

Ni dalagan ko kauban sa mga mangtas nga naka ikyas. Kabalo nako karon nga akong lugar dili kauban ang mga tawo. Nadaplisan ko og bala sa akong kilid pero gi aswat ko sa usa ka ebwa. Pipila ka oras ang nilabay hangtod sa nakapangita mi og lugar nga mataguan.

Daghang dugo ang ni tulo gikan sa akong samad. Laom ang pasok sa bala ug wala ko kabalo kung makaya pa nako. Wala ni hawa ang ebwa sa akong kilid pero nakatutok na siya sa akong samad ug sa dugong nilagak. Akong gi tilawan ang akong dugo. Wala pa ko kasulay og preskong dugo ug akong nabatyagan nga walay makakompara kalami niini

Ni tudlo ko sa ebwa ug sa mga nabiling wirwir ug kagkag ug ni ngisi.

Kabalo ko akong kamatyanon dili masayang.

Magpadayon na ang pista.

=———————————————————————————=

English Version

The Diary of a Teenage Cannibal Part 3

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

I was so careful. I thought I covered my tracks completely. The nights when there would be a fiesta I would sneak out of my room and the next day I would smile at my parents as I got ready for school. Sometimes they would ask me why I looked so tired, but I blamed it on my studies. “There were too many tests that I had to deal with,” I would say, and my parents would believe me.

That is, until last week when my teacher paid us a visit. She told my parents that I was failing all my classes. She said she was worried about me.

She just wanted to meddle. If it wasn’t for her I would be enjoying the feast with my friends. It took me months to get the wirwir and the kagkag to trust each other and I don’t know if old rivalries would flare up if I wasn’t there.

I’m trapped in my room, being given a lecture by my mother. She thinks that I’m secretly seeing some boy. She tells me that he isn’t worth it and that I have so much potential. “There are people that will say anything to get what they want.” “We didn’t raise you to be like this.” “Why would you lie to us?”

The sermon goes on and on and I can barely keep my eyes from rolling to the back of my head. I tell my mother what she wants to hear. That’ll I’ll be honest from now on, that they can trust me. I look at my mother with tears in my eyes and promise that I’ll never see that boy again.

And technically I did keep my promise.

I had to wait until the next full moon to meet my friends. Hours of fake smiles and pretending I was like all the other girls took its toll on me. They dance to the putrid rhythm of their normal lives, they’ll never know how good it feels to escape from the pretension of normalcy, to fully embrace your primal urges and kiss the taboo.

I miss them. I miss the sound that bone makes as I bite into it to suck out the marrow. I miss the smell of dried blood on my lips. I miss the drumbeats and the sound of death.

I travel to the graveyard to see them. The moonlight feels perfect on my skin. I can feel the vibrations of the drumbeats race through the ground to find my heart.

It has begun.

There was a car accident a few days ago and Emilio Canoy didn’t make it. They had a closed casket ceremony and buried him right away, not even embalming him. I couldn’t help but think of the treasure that lay within.

I go to his grave and am surprised.

An ebwa fends of the wirwir and the kagkag. It’s bigger than any I’ve ever seen before and I’m overjoyed, another new friend to add to the collective.

My friends have already exhumed most of the body and I see that they had already started without me. Pieces of Emilio were suspended in their mouths and my mouth starts to water. There will be time for that later, I tell myself, for now I have to welcome our new friend.

The ebwa are cowardly by nature, kept at bay by even the smallest light, but we are all scavengers. I take a piece of Emilio’s liver and I offer it to the beast.

It’s a prized part, only reserved for the most honored among the scavengers. I think back to what my teacher said. “The liver is the repository of our emotions. Words like ‘pighati’, ‘luwalhati’, ‘dalamhati’ all trace part of their origins to the old word for liver, ‘hati’.

It works, the ebwa ceases its retreat and feasts on the organ. I approach it and it lets me touch its head. I feel a connection between us, the girl and the monster, both enjoying the same taboo. It makes my heart race and my pulse quiver.

I look back to the body of Emilio and wait for my turn. There’s enough of him to go around. I breathe in the smell of death and feel more alive than I ever have.

But she just had to ruin everything.

One moment I’m enjoying the fiesta with my friends and another my teacher, along with a group of townspeople, rush towards us, weapons in hand.

I scream to let my friends know they are coming but it’s too late. One by one the wirwir and the kagkag fall to the bolos and guns of the townsfolk.

I run with them. I know now that my place isn’t among humans. A misplaced bullet hits my side, but the ebwa carries me to safety. It takes an eternity for us to find a cave where we can hide.

I’m losing a lot of blood. The shot hit deep and I don’t know if I’ll make it. The ebwa stays by my side, but I can notice it staring at my blood. I take a bit of the crimson liquid and taste it. I never had fresh blood before, and nothing can compare to the rich taste.

I gesture to the ebwa, as well as the few remaining wirwir and kagkag and I smile.

I know my death will not be in vain.

The fiesta will continue.

==————————————————————————————————–=

Continued from the Wirwir’s tale

Inspired by the Ebwa description in Creatures of Philippine Lower Mythology. Ramos. 1971.

Illustration by Julius Arboleda

The post Ebwa – Cebuano Translation appeared first on Philippine Spirits.

*Not this story is in Cebuano

Nagpulong ang mga mangangalisyam para sa ilang pista, pero wala sila kabalo nga wala sila nag inusura.

Pipila na ko ka buwan nagtan-aw sa ilaha, pareho kaayo sila sa mga Kagkag nga akong nakauban, pero naa sad sila’y kalahian.

Una, wala sila’y pista parehas ka nato. Ang kada usa nga Wirwir magtambay sa mga lubnganan pareha anang mga buwitre ug mangalkal sa mga lubnganan kung nakapamati sila na nag inusara nalang sila. Di na gani sila mag hulat sa uban nilang mga kabanay. Kung makasuot sila ug pigura sa tao, basin nawong sa akong mga amigo ba ron, wala pa ko ka kita.

Kada gabii ko mo bisita sa mga kagkag. Tuo sa akong mga ginikanan natulog na ko sa akong kwarto ug gusto ko kana ra ang ilang tuohan. Kabalo ko nga ang akong kamaayuhan ra ang ilang gi atiman pero dili sila makasabot sa akong mga nakita ug nahibaw-an

Dili sila makasabot nga ang oras nga pamati nako nga buhi ko kay ang oras nga ako i-gugol sa mga patay.

Na hunong akong paghuna-huna sa pag siak sa bukog ug sa tam-is nga tingog sa pagkalata sa usa ka unod. Usa ka rason ngano lahi sila sa mga kagkag. Ilang bungkagon ang mga patay nga lawas ug mo puyo sa sulod niini, usahay mo abot og usa ka semana ilang pagpuyo sa kalabera. Gi himo ‘guro na nila para hadlukon ang mga ubang ungo nga mo kaon ug patayng lawas.

Makatawa ta usahay nila, hadlokun ang ubang ungo, bisag wala’y maka hunong nila basta pagkaon na nila ang hisgutan.

Akong gi butang akong ulo sa salog utro ug gipaminaw ang kanindot nga tingog sa kagabihion, ang tingog sa mga patay. Gi tudluan ko sa mga kagkag kung unsaon paggamit sa akong lawas para mapaduol ko sa lubnganan ug mga sekretong niini.

Kadungog ko sa pamilyar nga ginhawa sa nalabtan na og kinabuhi, duol lang sa lubnganan. Pipila pa nga adlaw ang kinahanglan para malubong ang patayng lawas pero wala’y kapareha ang kalami sa mga lawas nga bag-ong gi lubong.

Pero makahulat ra na sila. Lain akong tuyo diri karon.

Akong gi tarong og posisyon akong dalunggan sa salog ug nagpaabot sa tingog nga pasabot naa nay nakit-an nga bag-ong pagkaon ang mga mangangayam. Para makuha ilang premyong gi atngan, ilang kaoton ang yuta ug gubaon ang mga lungon.

Oras na para mangita og mga amigo.

Ni hishis ang wirwir, di sila gusto og mga tawo ug di ko makabasol nila. Bisag akong tawo mismo, di sad ko ganahan og mga tawo.

Ako silang gihatagan og butang nga nagpasabot maayo akong tuyo sa ilaha, mga pipili ka dalunggan nga nabilin gikan sa piyesta sa mga kagkag. Kanunay nila i-ulahi og kaon ang pinakalami.

Ni palibot ang mga mangangayam sa akoa, na hadlok ug nagduda. Ako nabantayan naa sila’y kutsilyo nga gihimo gikan sa bukog, pang panalipod sa mga tawo parehas nako.

Hayag kaayo ang bulan karon ug makita nako ang mga wirwir sa lubnganan. Karon nga nagpakita nako sa ilaha, ilang pagkamaukiton ni paibabaw kaysa sa ilahang kahadlok.

Ni tan-aw ko sa mga mata sa pinakadakong wirwir ug ni paak sa mga usa nga dalunggan akong gi dala.

Usa ka halakhak ang ni buto sa lubnganan. Ang uban ila gi kagulkol ang ilang mga butang nga gihimo gikan sa bukog, klarong nalingaw sa ilang nakit-an.

“Tinood, tawo ko pero parehas ra ko ninyo,” akong huna-huna sa akong kaugalingon.

Ang wirwir kanina nga ni sulod sa usa ka patayng lawas ni gawas sa iyang bag-ong panimalay ug gi hatagan ko og atay. Akong gi dawat ug ni sugod na ang pista.

Ni tan-aw ang wirwir sa akong mga mata og ni utnga.

“Kinsa ka?” Murag mao’y iyang pasabot.

Akong gi isa akong tudlo ug gi pahid sa akong baba nga nagkamuritsing og dugo. Akong gi pakita sa wirwir.

“Usa ka amiga.” May unta nakasabot siya.

Dugay na nga ang mga ungo sige ug tago sa kagabihion. Pero kaya nako ng bag-uhon kay oras na nga dapat makakita og adlaw akong mga higala.

Gi dala ko sa akong bag-ong amigo sa iyahang panimalay. Naglaway ko sa baho sa dugo ug sa yuta. Akong gi dawat ang imbitasyon sa wirwir nga mo kaon kauban niya.

Ako siyang gi hatagan og dalunggan ug gi kaon dayun ni niya.

Pero kalit siya nahunong, gi isa niya iyang ulo ug ni shagit.

Sayo ra kaayo silang niabot.

Ang mga kagkag nag bag-o na ug itsura, gi sul-ob ang mga porma sa mga mananap. Akong higala nagpalayo ug ni suksok sa patayng lawas nga among gi estaran karon. Murag gusto nila nga mag pista sad, pero ang uban dili welcome.

Ni shagit ko og kusog.

Ning lupad ang mga mata sa akoa, murag nakasabot ang wirwir ug kagkag sa unsa akong gustong himoon.

“Kinahanglan nato mag kinausa kay naa pa’y mas labaw nga hulga sa atoa.” Akong tingog ni lanog sa tibook sementeryo.

Gi butang sa mga wirwir ilang mga kutsilyo, ug gipadaplin sa mga kagkag ilang mga bungo.

Ang duha ka grupo di angay mabalaka kay parehas ra kaming tanan.

Gusto man kaha sila makakaon ug tawo, diba?

Akong nagkadugo nga kamot akong gi gamit sa paggunit sa akong wirwir nga higala, ug ang usa nako ka kamot akong gi bira ang pinakaduol nga kagkag.

“Kauban ta.” Akong gi sulti gamit akong baba ug akong mata, para masabtan gyud ko nila.

“Sugdi na ang kapistahan!”

=———————————————–=

The Diary of a Teenage Cannibal Part 2

The hunters gather for their feast, but little do they know they are not alone.

I’ve been watching them for months, so similar to the kagkag that I’ve spent so much time with, but also very different.

For one, they don’t have feasts like we do. Each wirwir hangs around graveyards like vultures and dig up the graves as soon as they think they’re alone, they don’t even wait for others of their kind to join in. If they can change their form like my friends, I haven’t seen it.

I’ve spent most of my nights around the kagkag. My parents think I’m quietly sleeping in my bedroom and that’s the way I want to keep it. They mean well, for old people anyway, but they would never understand.

The only time I feel alive is among the dead.

My thoughts are interrupted by the breaking of bone and the sweet sound of crushed flesh. Another way they are different from the kagkag. They hollow out the corpses and live inside them, sometimes for weeks at a time. I think it’s so that they can scare away the other corpse eaters.

What a silly notion, scaring the ghouls, as if anything can keep them away from their next meal.

I put my head on the ground and listen to the black harmony I love so much, the sound of death. The kagkag taught me how to use my senses in ways that I could keep the shroud of the grave close to me.

I hear the expiration of another soul not far from the graveyard, it may take a few days to get buried but nothing tastes as delectable as a freshly buried corpse.

But that can wait. I’m here for something different.

I press my ear closer to the earth and wait for the telltale beat that tell me the hunters have found their next meal. They part the earth and crack the coffin to get to their prize.

It’s time to make some new friends.

The wirwir hiss and snarl as I approach, they’re not fond of humans and I can’t blame them. Neither am I to be perfectly honest.

I give them a token of peace, some ears leftover from the last feast I had with the kagkag. They would always save the best parts for last.

The hunters surround me with fear and suspicion. I notice they have knives made from bone, probably to defend themselves against those that look like me.

The moon is bright tonight and I can see all the wirwir from around the graveyard. Once I made my presence known their curiosity outmatched their fear.

I lock eyes with the largest wirwir and take a bite out of one of the ears.

It’s laughter echoes through the graveyard. The others rattle their bony implements and join in the amusement.

“That’s right, I may be human, but I’m just like you,” I think to myself.

The wirwir that I made contact with shambles out of its corpse home and offers me a piece of liver, I gladly accept and start the feast.

The others seemed to lose interest once I proved that I was like them. They walked back to the graves and coffins, more focused on their next meal.

The wirwir looks me in the eye and grunts.

“What are you?” It seems to ask.

I take my finger and wipe the blood from my mouth. I spread it around my hands and offer them to the wirwir.

“A friend.” I hope it understands.

Too long have the ghouls stood scared against the workings of humankind. It’s up to me to make sure that my friends have their time in the sun.

So to speak.

My new friend takes my hand and leads me to his corpse house. The smell of blood and earth makes my mouth water, and I accept the invitation and share a meal with the wirwir.
I offer him the ears and he devours them like a glutton.
Suddenly it raises its head and shrieks.

No. They’ve come too early.

The kagkag shift from their animal forms and my new friend retreats back into the corpse we were sharing. They seem to want to hold one of their fiestas, and others are not welcome.
I shout at the top of my lungs, a deep, guttural dirge.

For a moment all eyes are on me, the wirwir and the kagkag both seem to understand what I’m trying to do.

“We must all come together to face a bigger threat.” My shout echoes to the far end of the cemetery.

The wirwir lay down their knives and the kagkag set aside their skulls.

Both groups need not worry, for we are all the same.
We all want a little piece of humanity, don’t we?

I take my bloodstained hands and hold my new friend and the closest kagkag.

“Together.” I say with both my eyes and my words.

“Let the fiesta begin.”

=———————————————-=

Continued from the Kagkag’s tale

Inspired by the Wirwir entry in Creatures of Philippine Lower Mythology. Ramos. 1971.

Wirwir Illustration by Leandro Geniston from Aklat ng mga Anito
FB: That Guy With A Pen

The post Wirwir – Cebuano Translation appeared first on Philippine Spirits.

*Note this story is in Cebuano

Ni abot na pud ning orasa.

Ang mga tao ganahan magpalayo sa mga lubnganan. Dili sila ganahan makahinumdom nga ang mga patay naa ra gihapon duol nila—sa ubos sa ilang gi barugan, mga lawas na ning gahi agi sa toneladang yuta nga gi taklob sa ila. Pero di sila angay mabalaka, dili dugay magpabilin ang ilang mga patayng lawas sa ilang gi kabutangan. Usa ka tingog sa tambol ang nisurok sa palibot sa sementeryo. Dili kaayo kusog kapareha anang mabatian kung naay selebrasyon, pero ang mga bungo sa tao wa gihimo para sa mga kasikas. Kinahanglan sila mahimong abtik ug utokan.

Mangutana ‘guro ka nganong naa ko dinhi. Ngano sama nakong respetadong babae naa sa usa ka sementeryo, nagsunod sa tingog na madunggan didto. Nagsugod ni tungod sa akong pagkamausisaon, parehas sa mga naandang sugilanon. Ni ingon akong mga ginikanan nga di mo adto sa lubnganan, ug ni adto ko. Ing-ana ka simple.

Sa unang gabii nakadungog ko sa tingog sa tambol. Ni lingi ang mga iro, kwaknit, ug mga mananap. Ni tan-aw sila nako, ug wala ko kabalo unsa’y himoon. Ni tudlo sila sa usa ka dakong dahon sa saging ug naa didto si Manong Tonio. Pero sa niaging bulan, ni tambong ko sa iyang lubong.

Ila kong gi ubanan sa patayng lawas ug nakakita ko nga mura silag ga pista. Usa ka makalilisang nga pista. Naa sila’y kutsilyo ug sundang nga gi gama sa bukog, pero ako rang nabatian kay kalinaw ug kahapsayon. Wala ko nahadlok, di parehas sa mga lain tao. Bisag kadtong ila kong gi tagaan sa ilang handang pagkaon, wala ko nahadlok.

Naa na pud ning orasa, ug nagkakusog ang tingog sa tambol.

Kinsa ka ha ron ilang pagpistahan?

=————————————————————–=

English Version

It’s time again.

Most people like to keep graveyards at a safe distance. They don’t like to be reminded that the dead still linger somewhere in the cold, dark earth, but they shouldn’t worry, the dead never stay in the grave for long. The drums ring across the gravestones. The sound isn’t as loud as you would expect from the celebrations, but human skulls weren’t made for noise. They had to be resourceful.

You would ask why I’m here. Why a respectable girl like me would be in a cemetery following the sound towards them. It all started with curiosity, like most stories do. My parents told me not to go to the graveyard, and I went. It was as simple as that.

That first night I heard the drums. I saw the bats and dogs and bugs turn into them. They looked at me as soon as they turned, and I didn’t know what to do. They pointed towards a huge banana leaf and on it was Manong Tonio. A month before I was at his funeral.

They led me to the body and I could see they were celebrating. It was a macabre fiesta. They had knives and clubs made out of bones and somehow, I felt at peace. The fear that I expected never arrived. Not even when they offered me a piece of their meal.

It’s time again and I can hear the drumbeats get louder.

I wonder who will be the feast this time.

=————————————————-=

Inspired by the Kagkag entry in Creatures of Philippine Lower Mythology. Ramos. 1971.

Kagkag Illustration by Leandro Geniston from Aklat ng mga Anito
FB: That Guy With A Pen

The post Kagkag – Cebuano Translation appeared first on Philippine Spirits.

*Note this story is in Tagalog

Case #GJKM7721

December 12, 1977

Magulo ang loob buong San Aguilar Funeral Home. Tatlong araw bago ang pangyayari, ang punenarya ay kinailangang ilipat dahil sa isang posibleng pagbuga ng gas sa gusali. Ang buong lugar ay hinarangan at walang tao ang pinayagan sa mismong lugar nang mga panahong iyon.

Matapos iangat ang harang, nadiskubre ng mga inspector ang isang nakakahindik na tanawin. Ang lahat ng mga bangkay sa morgue ay nagkalat sa buong lugar. Ayon sa mga naunang teorya, ang salarin ay gumamit ng mga pampasabog sa mga katawan sa hindi pa natutukoy na dahilan. Kung isasalokal ang bawat pagsabog, ang karagdagang pagsisiyasat at mga awtopsiya ay nagpapatunay na ang lahat ng pagsabog ay nagmula sa tiyan ng mga bangkay. Walang nakitang mga bakas ng paputok na ginamit sa pagpapasabog.

Tumagal naman ng ilang araw ang paunang imbestigasyon sapagkat mahirap tukuyin kung sa aling bangkay nabibilang ang ilang bahagi ng katawan na nagkalat roon. Ito ay na naipabatid sa pamilya ng mga biktima at ang punerarya naman ay nahaharap sa isang reklamo dulot ng matinding kapabayaan.

Ang naturang kaso ay tila isang likas na krimen lamang, ngunit ang pagkakakilanlan ng salarin ay hindi pa rin matukoy ng mga imbestigador. Nang makumpleto ang mga autopsy, napag-alaman na ang ilan sa mga bangkay ay may mga marka ng kagat na patungo sa mga buto. Sa pagtingin nila sa listahan, napagtanto ng mga imbestigador na lahat ng mga katawan na may marka ng kagat ay hindi pa na-e-embalsamo.

Tila ba isang hindi matukoy na makapangyarihang nilalang ang hinahanap ng mga pulis. Ang pamamaraan ng krimen ay hindi pa nalalantad ngunit ang mga imbestigador ay tiwala na masusubaybayan nila ang sanhi ng mga karumal-dumal na kilos na ito.

Sa kasalukuyan ay wala pa ring pinaghihinalaang suspek, kaya ang kaso ay nananatili pa ring bukas hanggang ngayon.

=——————————————————-=

English Version

Case # GJKM7721

December 12, 1977

The San Aguilar Funeral Home was in a state of complete disarray. 3 days earlier the funeral home had to be evacuated due to a possible gas leak in the building. The whole area was put under a blockade and no person was allowed within the premises for that period.

After the blockade was lifted, the inspectors discovered a gruesome sight. All the corpses in the morgue were splattered across the area. Preliminary theories were that the perpetrator had used explosives on the bodies for some unknown purpose. It seems as if all the explosions were localized, further investigation and autopsies revealed that the blasts all originated from the stomach area of the corpses. No explosive residue was found.

The preliminary investigation took several days, as it was difficult to ascertain which body parts belonged to which corpse. The families of the victims were informed and the funeral home is now under a suit for gross negligence.

The case does seem criminal in nature, but the profile of the perpetrator eludes the investigators. Once the autopsies were completed it was found that certain bodies had bite marks going all the way into the bones. Looking through the records, the investigators realized that all the bodies with bite marks had yet to be embalmed.

It would seem that the police are dealing with a highly deranged individual. The method of the crime has yet to be discerned but the investigators are confident that they will be able to track down the cause of these heinous acts.

Currently, no suspects have been considered. The case remains open.

=———————————————————–=

*Tagalog is an Austronesian language spoken as a first language by a quarter of the population of the Philippines and as a second language by the majority. Its standardized form, officially named Filipino, is the national language of the Philippines, and is one of two official languages alongside English.

Written by Karl Gaverza
Translation by Christian GL
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Translation Copyright © Christian GL

Story inspired by Calag entry in Creatures of Philippine Lower Mythology. Ramos. 1971..

Calag Illustration by Leandro Geniston from Aklat ng mga Anito
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The post Calag – Tagalog Translation appeared first on Philippine Spirits.

There’s no “on the job training” for what I do. You just have to adapt and not take let the fear overtake you.

Now where was I?

Oh yes, my experiences in the Cemetery.

Nearly 40 years ago I left Mindanao to search for a better life, it was for my children, you see.

Carmen and Berto. You know they both finished college? They kept (and keep) trying to get me to move somewhere else, away from the bones and coffins, especially after their father died. But I can’t imagine leaving this place.

I stay in a small mausoleum over there by the blue one.

My favorite thing to do is giving the tombs a fresh coat of paint, and well, I think blue is really calming.

Yes? Oh I’m sorry! I keep changing the topic, I get that way sometimes. Most people do when they’re my age.

Do I believe in ghosts?

Well you would have to be crazy not to!

The first time I arrived from the province my husband and I would wake up at 3 in the morning to the sound of chains. No one was there of course. No person, at least.

My husband was a happy man that also liked to drink a lot.

One time he played with a skull and carried it around the cemetery.

That night the ghost showed itself to him. I rushed to where he was, of course, but there was nothing there. Then he got really sick. I did the only thing I could think of and asked for forgiveness, and gave an offering to the spirit.

It worked and my husband managed to get better within the day.

Those were good times, me and him and the graves.

I got off topic again, didn’t I?

Alright, let me tell you about it.

I never planned to be here for long. My husband took care of the graves before I came here from the province.

There were stories I knew from my lolos and lolas. Creatures that didn’t think that the dead were something to be respected.

Not if they were hungry.

In my years I’ve come across a few kinds.

There were the ones that would make a corpse’s belly bust just by touching the coffin.

I’d always tell the families at the wake to leave bright lights. That always helped against these creatures.

The dead buried here come from all walks of life. Some of them travelling far from their roots like I did. I always made sure to respect their traditions.

Like the grave over there.

No, the one to the left.

Yes, that one.

If you look closely you can see a big piece of metal on the grave. The family requested that it be on there at all times.

I didn’t ask, and they didn’t tell. It was just something that had to be done. To protect your loved one even after they passed.

And now I get to my story.

The most aggravating of these spirits were the ones that were too stupid to know better. In some places they called them the wirwir. I just called them annoying.

Every night after a new coffin was buried, I would have to keep watch to make sure they (yes they travel in packs) keep from digging through the grave and eating the body.

It was tolerable when I was younger, but these old bones ache.

There was a point where I didn’t think I could handle it anymore.

But on one strange night I had help.

The wirwir were clumped together around the newly set grave

Then I heard the saxophones.

In a flash the cemetery was filled with instruments.

Grotesque creatures of all shapes and sizes opened their mouths.

And it made me want to dance.

I don’t know if you young people know what real jazz sounds like, but it was there.

I stood silent, overwhelmed by what I was seeing, then someone tapped my shoulder.

It was a tall American (I could tell by his accent). He was dressed like he just stepped out of a

He clapped his hands and shouted to the creatures, “Let’s make more lovely music for our audience!”

Then I noticed the wirwir were joining in. They had stopped digging for their next meal and were dancing to the beat of the bone-drums. I saw trumpets, trombones, bass and even a piano made of polished white bone.

I don’t remember much after that. I think the American said he needed more members to make the sound complete. What that meant I didn’t know.

I’d like to think that the American and his band are still out there somewhere.

Giving the ghouls the time of their lives.

=——————————————————————-=

*For maximum effect read the story while this is playing

Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Inspired by the Wirwir description in Vanoverbergh, Morice. (1938). “The Isneg Life Cycle II: Marriage, Death, and Burial.” PCAC 3 (3)

Wirwir Illustration by Ethan of @Mangkukulang

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The post Wirwir appeared first on Philippine Spirits.

*Note this story is in Tagalog

Case #JKGM 9888

Nanganganib ang barangay ng San Pascual kaya tumawag ang kapitan nito sa mga pulis. Isang linggo bago ang Undas nang dumating ang tawag at nagkakaroon ng mga reklamo ng bandalismo sa kalapit na sementeryo. Dalawang pulis ang ipinadala para pag-aralan ang sitwasyon.

Ayon sa kanilang imbestigasyon, mababaw lang ang bandalismong naganap. Nabungkal ang lupa ng mga puntod na humantong sa pagkaladlad ibang mga kabaong. Ang sabi ng pulis wala namang mamahaling mga bagay na nakabaon sa mga puntod. Ang mga singsing at iba pang mamahaling mga bagay ay nandoon pa rin sa mga labi ng mga yumao. Wala ng ibang kakaibang nakita ang mga pulis bukod sa mga nawawalang mga hinlalaki ng mga yumaong nakaladlad.

Iginigiit ng kapitan ng barangay sa mga pulis ang mga kaganapan sa sementeryo habang papalapit ang Undas. Pinadala ulit ang parehas na dalawang pulis para magbantay sa sementeryo buong gabi para mahuli ang gumagawa ng pambababoy.

Nagtutunggali ang pinasang pagsisiyasat ng dalawang pulis. Ang sinabi ng isa may malaking sumugod na aso sa mga pulis at kinagat ang kaniyang sapatos. Ang sinabi naman ng pangalawang pulis, nakita niya ang batang lalaking gumagawa ng bandalismo at hinabol niya ito, wala siyang malay sa malaking asong kumagat sa kaniyang kasama hanggang sa susunod na araw.

Dahil sa kakulangan ng mga pulis sa paligid, hindi nila nabantayan ang buong Undas, pero nagpapasalamat sila dahil nagtapos ito ng mapayapa. Walang bandalismong naganap at taong nabalita.

Makalipas ang ilang mga linggo, nagreklamo ang mga nagbabantay sa sementeryo dahil naganap ulit ang bandalismo sa lugar. Sinira na rin pati ang mga mosoleyo.  Walang mahahalagang bagay na kinuha sa mga katawan bukod sa isiniwalat ng matandang imbestigador, sinabi niya na pinutol ang mga daliri sa paa ng mga yumao.

Ang kongklusyon ng mga inspektor ay mayroong mabangis na hayop na naghahanap ng pagkain at nagkataon lang ito sa mga katawan.

Ang ibang mga pulis, lalo na yung taong nagsabing may batang lalaki na gumagawa ng bandalismo, hindi sumang-ayon sa pagtatapos ng imbestigasyon. Hindi kayang sirain ng isang hayop ang bakal ng mosoleyo, at mayroong mga tambay na nakatira sa loob at labas ng sementeryo.

Dahil walang ebidensyang nagpapatunay sa sapantaha ng kaso, ito ay isinara. Lumipas ang ilang buwan nakakuha ulit ng tawag ang estasyon ng pulis mula sa mga nagbabantay sa sementeryo. May nagbungkal ulit ng mga puntod, pero nandoon pa rin ang mga pag-aari nila, ganoon pa man kalakip pa rin dito ang mga nawawalang daliri sa paa at mga hinlalaki ng mga yumao.

=————————————————————————–=

English Version

Case #JKGM 9888

The captain of barangay San Pascual called the police in a state of distress. The call came a week before Undas and there were complaints of vandalism in the nearby cemetery. Two officers were dispatched to investigate.

Based on their reports the vandalism seemed minor. The ground around the graves was disturbed and some coffins were left exposed to the elements. The officers noted that there was nothing valuable in the graves themselves, wedding rings and other expensive objects were still with the remains. Nothing else out of the ordinary was noticed, except for a peculiar lack of thumbs on the bodies that were fully exposed. 

The barangay captain insisted on a police presence in the graveyard on the days leading up to Undas. The same officers were sent to guard the graveyard during the night in the hope of catching the vandal in the act.

Conflicting reports from the two officers were submitted. One claimed that a large dog attacked the officers and nearly tore his shoe off. The other officer insisted that he saw the vandal was a young boy and gave chase, he was not aware of the attack on his comrade until the next morning.

Due to the lack of officers we are not able to spare resources to guard the whole Undas, but thankfully the holiday finished peacefully. No reports of vandals, human or otherwise were reported.

The next few weeks caretakers from the cemetery complained of the vandal becoming more bold. Even the mausoleums had been broken into. Nothing was taken from the bodies but a senior investigator noted that parts of the toes appeared to have been torn off.

The conclusion that the inspectors reached is that some sort of animal had been foraging for food and chanced upon the bodies.

Other officers, especially the one that said the vandal was a young boy, disagreed with the conclusion. An animal could not have broken through the mausoleum locks, and there were reports of vagabonds living in and around the cemetery.
With no evidence to support either theory the case was closed. Every few months the station gets calls from the caretakers about graves being dug up, but valuables still remained intact, though with each report the curious description of missing toes and thumbs is highlighted.

=———————————=

*Tagalog is an Austronesian language spoken as a first language by a quarter of the population of the Philippines and as a second language by the majority. Its standardized form, officially named Filipino, is the national language of the Philippines, and is one of two official languages alongside English.

Written by Karl Gaverza
Translation by Emman Bernardino
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Translation Copyright © Emman Bernardino

Umangob Illustration by Erik John Paredes

Inspired by the Ifugao Umangob legends

The post Umangob – Tagalog Translation appeared first on Philippine Spirits.

*Note this story is in Hiligaynon

“Pwede mo ma lantaw ang idalom sang katre ko?” Nagluya ang tingog ni Jess tungod sang mga bulong. Amo ina ang iya gina himu kada gab-e sugod sang nagsaylo kami sa hospital, nagapati siya nga may ara ang sa idalom sang iya katre nga gapamasakit sa iya.

Tatlo ka bulan nga pagsulay kag bulong kag wala man siya gihapon naga-ayu. Kabalo ko nga ang kabuhi indi dapat patas pero sais-anyos palang si Jess. Dapat wala bata nga magaagi sa mga inadlaw sang mga dagum kag tubo, kag indi gihapun makabaton sang bisan ano nga sabat. Indi gid patas.

Nagyuhum ako kag ginhalukan iya agtang. “Wala halimaw sa idalom sang imo katre, magpahuway ka na. Kinahanglan mo ang imo kakusog para sa “test” mo buas, sige?” Nagyuhum si Jess sa akon kag nagtulog. Ang kalig-on sang mga kabata-an, gapabilib guid sa akun, pero nagala-um ako nga maka-igo ina para makasalbar pa siya isa ka adlaw.

Wala guid. Napatay si Jess sa ina nga gab-e. Natulugan ako sa tupad ya kag ang sunod ko nalang nabal-an ang mga doktor kag nars nagadinalidali kag nagashinagit. Ginpunggan ako sang isa ka nars kay gusto ko guid makita ang gakatabo.

Gindul-ong ko sang nars sa may pertahan kag didto ko una nga nakita. Sa una sa hunahuna ko isa lang sa mga tubo nga nagatakod kay Jess, pero daw may indi insakto sa ina nga tubo. Kadako gid to para maging tubo ukon ano man gid kag nagatapos ina sa ubos sang katre.

Amo lang to ang nadumduman ko sa ina nga gab-e kag kadamo sang mga malain nga bagay nga nagkalatabo pagkatapos to. Ang lawas ni Jess “nadula” sang pakadto na sa pulenarya, hambal sang morque nga wala man lain nga matabo sa transportasyon, pero ang bangkay wala to nag-abot.

Ginahimo ko ang tanan nga makaya ko para mabal-an kun ano natabo kay Jess. Ang hambal ka mga nars nga may nagsulod sang isa ka bulan sa ikatlo nga palapag sang hospital, basi konektado to sa pagkadula ni Jess.

Ibalik ko siya.

Basta malubong lang siya.

English Version

“Can you check under my bed?” Jess’ voice was weak from the treatments. It had been her routine every night since we moved to the hospital, she was convinced there was something under her bed that kept making her sick.

Three months of tests and medicine and she still hasn’t gotten any better. I know life’s not supposed to be fair but Jess is only six years old. No child should have to go through days of needles and tubes and still not getting any answers. It wasn’t fair.

I smile and I kiss her forehead. “There aren’t any monsters under your bed, now go get some rest. You need your strength for the tests tomorrow, alright?” Jess smiles at me and drifts off to sleep. The resilience of youth never failed to impress me, but I hoped that it would be enough to get her through one more day.

It wasn’t. Jess died that night. I had fallen asleep next to her and the next thing I knew doctors and nurses were rushing in and shouting. One of the nurses had to restrain me because I kept trying to see what was happening.

The nurse led me to the door and I that was when I saw it. At first I thought it was one of the tubes that was attached to Jess, but there was something off about it. It was too big to be a wire or anything like that and it ended at the bottom of the bed.

That’s all I remember from that night and there were too many strange things that happened after. Jess’ body was “lost” en route to the funeral home, the morgue says there was nothing wrong with the transport, but the body never got there.

I’m doing all I can now to find out what happened to Jess. The nurses said that there was a break-in a month ago on the third floor of the hospital, maybe that’s connected to Jess’ disappearance.

I will get her back.

If only to bury her.

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