Not much of my childhood was spent in Libacao.

Both my parents worked in Manila and would only take me there for vacations once or twice a year.

I would always look forward to those. Spending the day running around the coconut trees, making new friends with our neighbors and ending the night with one of Lola Maria’s stories are memories I still hold dear today.

There was one person that I will always remember though.

Every evening like clockwork, there would be a man with a shovel and a lantern going around the barangay. It always looked like he was looking for something but all I could see was him taking a shovel to some mounds.

When I asked my lola about him she just said *“Kaumangon imaw.” And made me promise never to go near him.

I said I wouldn’t, but you know how kids are.

One night when I was about ten, I lost track of time and ended up out after my curfew (around 6pm). Afraid I might get sermoned I rushed back to my lola’s house. On the way I saw the man lighting his lantern.

I knew the adults would be mad and worried if they knew what I was doing. But I was too curious to think about that.

I approached him and asked, “Excuse me, what are you doing?”

He replied with a gruff tone, “Making sure they don’t come back.”

My eyes opened wide with interest and my mouth couldn’t keep up with my thoughts.

“What do you mean ‘they’?”

“Why do you carry a shovel around with you everywhere?”

“Can I see your lantern?”

“Everyone says you dig up anthills, is that true?”

“Are you searching for something? Is that why you have a shovel?”

“Why are you out every night? What does your family think?”

On that last question he stared me in the eye and I stepped back.

“Go back to your home, child. The nights are dangerous, especially here.”

“What do you mean? I know I’m not allowed to go out at night, but this town seems pretty safe to me. Not like where I’m from in Manila.”

“JUST GO!”

I knew I wore out my welcome and rushed back to my lola’s house.

After dinner and the sermon, I had to find out more about him. I was incessant and bombarded my parents and lola with question after question after question.

They knew when to give up.

My lola started the story:

“His name is Candido del Castillo. We used to make fun of him about his name, but he took it all in stride. He was actually a very handsome young man. In those days those lads would actually take the time to woo a girl and serenade her. Not like today, with your televisions and radio and the miniskirts that let the whole world see—”

“Lola, can you finish the story?”

“Alright, alright. Back then the most beautiful girl in the barrio was Risa. It was actually a surprise when they got married. It took years of trying for Candido to be able to even take her out. She was so cold and aloof that many of us thought she would be an old spinster. I remember when he finally got a ‘yes’ from her. He took his guitar and serenaded her in the moonlight. She looked out her window and smiled (Which was a shock to most of us, we had known her for years and barely even a grin showed on her lips). Their favorite thing to do was sitting by the river, telling stories about what their lives were and where they wanted to go. They got married at the church in Poblacion and it seemed like their life together was going to be happy.”

“That was before Risa got pregnant,” lola looked wistfully to the starlight.

“You may not understand, but a pregnancy is a difficult thing. There are many ways it could end badly. And that’s what happened with Risa. I won’t let you know all the details, you’re much too young to hear them. Ever since Candido lost her, he was never the same.”

“Lola, why does he carry the shovel around?”

“There are…. stories, handed down by people older than I. When Risa died there were… murmurs about how what happened to Risa wasn’t natural, that something else was responsible.”

“What was that something else?”

“Just an old story, nothing more. It was probably easier for Candido to have something to blame rather than accept the face that she was gone.”

“But what about—-”

“It’s past your bedtime. Go to sleep and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

We never did.

As the years went by, I visited Libacao less and less. I was too busy facing the horrors of medical school to even think about that old place.

I graduated and finished my residency in Manila, choosing Obstetrics & Gynecology as my specialty. The stress of working in Manila was taking its toll on me and I decided to take some time off and go back to the province.

Lola had passed by then, leaving the house cold and empty. I spent my free time giving medial advice to people in the area.

I asked about the man with the shovel and they told me that he passed away as well.

I hope that he found the peace he was looking for.

Most of the people that come to me are women (not surprising considering my specialty), and they all seem to have the same story. Miscarriages are very common in the area with some women saying that they had at least 3 miscarriages. Women are scared to get pregnant because so many die in childbirth.

I ask for help trying to find the cause of these issues. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with the women physically, so it might be an environmental factor.

I can’t leave until I help these people, though I’m not sure how I can do that.

The only thing different that people have noticed is that there have been a lot more anthills popping up in the area.

But that can’t be connected.

Can it?

*This Aklanon phrase means ’Baliw siya’ in Tagalog, or ‘He/she is crazy’ in English

Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Story inspired by the Tanggae depictions from Aklan

Tanggae Illustration by Michael Sean B. Talavera
IG: @maykelshan
Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/isaneleach13

*Note this story is in Bicol Sorsogon

“Duwang minuto lang yada na ako. Haranihon lang ina nan makaskas man ako magdalagan.” Makusog na tibok san puso, mahagkot na kamot, nan an balhas nagtuturo. Hangos san hararom, batog san lakat.

“Basi urhi ko na ini na hangos.” Kada lakat pamate mo ikaw an pinamakaskas na tawo sa kinab-an. Maugma ang saimong pamati. “Amu na ini,” naisip mo, “Nakaya ko.” Diyot na lakat na lang.

“Hala!” Yada na tulos. Huna mo mauunahan mo siya. Inkita ka niya kan saiyang mga mata. “Ayaw!” Naisip mo, “Dili ini puwede!”

Nagbalyo ka san lakat, pabalik sa puno. “Dapat dili na lang ako nagluwas!” Inisip mo ang naging desisyon mo. “Dapat dili na ako nagdalagan! Nanu kay ginibo ko ini? Dapat dili na lang ako nagbati sainda!” Dili ka inuudungan san utak mo.

Harani ka na sa puno. “Dili man ina makalagpas.” Wara pa limang minuto an dinalagan mo. Wara pa limang minuto nagbag-o an buhay mo.

“Harani na. Diyot na lang.” Dili ka mapadakob. Dili ka mapatumba. Dili mo namamatian an pagal “Buhay pa ako.” Dakol an saimong pasasalamat.

Kapot sa dughan. “Dili ini puwede.” Nawawara ka na sa sadiri mo. “Kakaskas man.” Nagtuturo na an dugo sa kamot mo nan sa bado mo. “Nagibo ko. Dapat maayos an kamutangan ko.”

Inulit ulit mo na dapat nasa mayad an kamutangan mo hanggang sa paubos na an saimong dugo. “Dapat nasa maayos an kamutangan ko.” An urhi mo na sinabi.

English Version

“I can make it in two minutes. It’s only a few feet to the next building and I can run fast.” You can feel your heartbeat reverberate to your feet, your hands are cold and sweaty and the chill down your spine has been there for the better part of an hour. The muscles in your legs start to tighten and you take one deep breath before starting your sprint.

“This might be the last breath I’ll ever take.” The adrenaline surges through your body. Each step makes you feel like you’re the fastest person in the world. Your face betrays a smile, “This is it!” you think, “I made it!” Your objective is just a few steps away.

“Oh no.” You don’t know how it got there so fast. You were so sure that you were going to outrun it. The woman stares at you with her bulging red eyes and her hideous face twists in a scream. “No!” The voice in your head shouts “It wasn’t supposed to be this way!”

Your legs take you in the opposite direction, back to the relative safety of the tree. “Why didn’t I stay indoors?” The decisions all start coming back to haunt you “Why didn’t I take up running?”, “Why am I in this place?”, “Why didn’t I listen when I had the chance.” The voices in your head won’t stop screaming.

The tree is in sight now. “It won’t be able to get past the branches.” You realize it’s been less than five minutes since you started running. Less than five minutes would make the difference between now and the rest of your life.

“One more step and I’m there.” Just one last dash and it won’t be able to grab you. There is a moment of doubt before you lunge under the tree and crash into the roots. You don’t feel much of the pain because of your adrenaline. “I’m still alive.” You’ve never been more grateful.

Until you put your hand to your chest. “No, no, no…” Your mind trails off. “It couldn’t have been that fast.” The blood starts to trickle down your fingers onto the rest of your clothes. “I made it, I’m supposed to be safe.”

You repeat those words in your head until there’s too much blood loss.

“I should be safe.” Was what you thought before you closed your eyes, maybe for the last time.

*The Bikol languages or Bicolano languages are a group of Central Philippine languages spoken mostly in the Bicol Peninsula in the island of Luzon, the neighboring island province of Catanduanes and the island of Burias in Masbate. There is a dialect continuum between the Visayan languages and the Bikol languages; the two together are called the Bisakol languages.

The Tabaco-Legazpi-Sorsogon (TLS) dialect is spoken in the eastern coast of Albay and the northeastern part of Sorsogon. TLS is the dialect that has been most influenced by the Inland Bikol languages.

Written by Karl Gaverza
Bicol Translation by Sara Grace C. Fojas
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Translation Copyright © Sara Grace C. Fojas

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

Abat illustration by Leandro Geniston from Aklat ng mga Anito
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It’s him.

At first, I didn’t recognize him. That night, I saw a twisted face and fangs. I saw the blood-red thread and followed it to the roof.

And I saw the monster.

The fangs are replaced by a gleeful smile and the hair is slicked back with too much pomade, but it’s the same face.

I ask around and find out that his name is Fortunato Leviste. He’s in the area trying to get some votes to be the governor.

If only they knew.

Growing up we’d be told to be careful in the night, especially if we were sick. There were creatures that flew through the moonlit sky, ready to land on your roof and feast on your bowels.

My lola told me a story once about these monsters. She said they were beautiful, with ivory-white skin and alluring eyes. Men were warned against this beauty though, for it was said that they marry their victims and flee, never to be seen again.

Maybe he’s doing the same here. He’s handsome and mestizo, charming every woman in the room. They’re practically falling over themselves to have a conversation with him.

But one thing keeps nagging me.

Mananaggal are only female, right?

I think back to all the stories.

Women that remove the upper half of their bodies.

Women with batlike wings.

Women that can’t reconnect their lower parts if it’s covered with ash, vinegar or salt.

Women with a threadlike tongue that sucks the bowels of their victims and feast on them.

No.

I know what I saw.

He’s standing four feet away from me and laughing.

I wonder what he’s thinking about. His next victim perhaps?

I won’t let that happen.

Not after what I’ve seen.

I follow him out the door into the street. The smell of tobacco cloyingly lingers on my nose.

He sees me and his smile widens.

Then I tell him I know what he is and I know what he tried to do to me. I tell him I won’t let that happen, that there would be no more victims.

And then he laughs.

He tells me I’m just a hysterical girl.

Who would believe me?

The police?

My friends?

My family?

What could they do?

He walks by me and looks me in the eye. Fear rolls down my spine.

“I’m going to go ahead,” he says “I haven’t had dinner.”

I could feel his tongue get longer, long enough to reach the back of my neck.

I fall to the ground, tears streaming down my face.

No.

I won’t give him the satisfaction.

I find out where he’s staying.

And prepare.

Salt, garlic and a knife.

I hope this is enough.

Please God, let this be enough.

*The Iqui is also known as Ikki / Ike

Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Story inspired by the Iqui description in Creatures of Philippine Lower Mythology. Ramos. 1971.

Iqui Illustration by Michael Sean B. Talavera
IG: @maykelshan
Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/isaneleach13

I think it was 2005 when our family last had a vacation. Mom wanted somewhere to relax and dad always agreed with whatever mom chose. So we went off to Samar to have fun by the beaches. We were entertaining my Filipino-American cousins who came from the Midwest and wanted to shake the cold off and enjoy what the Philippines had to offer. I enjoyed the trip, at least until the Saturday we were supposed to leave
.
My cousins were all younger than me, in their twilight years between adolescence and childhood, so it fell to me to take care of them when the adults wanted to have their alone time. It was me, my cousin Marissa, who was about 12 at that time, Marlon, 13, but thinking he was 30, Mavic, 11 years old and glued to her cellphone and Michael, the know it all at 14 years of age.

We got along for the most part, but everyone had such different personalities it was a wonder we were all related.
That Saturday we had all our bags packed and we were killing time in between checking out and boarding the van to the airport. Looking back, I don’t remember what I was doing, probably telling my cousins to behave.

I distinctly remember getting bored of waiting and looking around the hotel lobby, that’s when I first saw the woman.
There wasn’t anything special about her, other than her wearing black in the oppressive sunlight. Apart from that I noticed that her eyes were red, as if she had been crying recently. Marlon bumped me and I lost sight of the woman for a second and when I looked back, she wasn’t there.

I didn’t think much of it, not until Mavic wouldn’t answer her phone. Tita was inconsolable, Mavic was just going to the bathroom, and she never came back. I tried to tell the adults about the woman I saw, but they all ignored me. They went straight to the police and I was left with my cousins.

We extended our stay. Tita didn’t want to leave unless the police could find Mavic. She said that they had to be the most corrupt or most inept police force in the world. She said those kinds of things to make the situation seem more bearable.
I shared a room with the rest of my cousins, Marlon was busy thinking of scenarios that could have happened to Mavic and Michael was humoring him. Marissa was quiet then, she was closest to Mavic among all us cousins and her disappearance made her scared.

I remember her taking me aside before we slept and asking me if I saw her too. I thought she was talking about Mavic, but I now know I was wrong.

The next morning we woke up and Marissa was gone. Our titos and titas were frantic. Two missing children in the span of a few days was too much for them. They made arrangements for the rest of us to go back home while some of them would stay and help with the search for Mavic and Marissa.

I didn’t tell them that morning that I saw the woman again. She was just standing in the lobby wearing all black that covered everything except for her eyes. She wasn’t doing anything, just standing there, looking around the lobby.

I looked at her and our eyes met.

They were red, a more crimson shade than what I remembered the last time I saw her. It was only a moment, but it sent chills down to my very core. My heart wouldn’t stop beating, my breath became shallow, even my hands began to shake. I couldn’t explain why, but I was completely terrified.

As soon as the moment ended I rushed into my hotel room and began to cry.

I knew the woman had something to do with the disappearances of my cousins, but the adults wouldn’t listen to me. But, no, that was what I told myself. The truth was I was scared, scared that I would be next if I talked about her.

I never told anybody about what happened to me that day and I tried my best to forget about that whole experience. Tita stayed the longest still searching for her missing daughter, but days turned into months that turned into years.

I’m in my thirties now, I have a house and a job, even a girlfriend that means the world to me. I still keep in touch with my cousins in the states, the ones that are left. I Skyped Marlon recently and we talked about things we could to if I ever visited them in the Midwest. He told me we could try some new restaurants in their area and go look at the farmlands. But something kept nagging at me, some thought that my mind had tried so hard to keep locked.

I tried to bring up what happened in 2005 as subtly as I could. It was taboo to talk about that trip with any member of my family. He still wouldn’t get the hint so I asked him point blank if he remembered anything from that trip.

“No, why do you ask?” His tone signaled that there was something he wanted to say, but he couldn’t articulate it.
“There was just something I remembered.” I had to be honest. I told him about the woman and how, just looking in her eyes was enough to terrify me.

“You saw her too?” My heart sank. I started remembering more details about that trip. I was awake the night Marissa disappeared and I saw her walk towards the window of our room. We were on the third floor and I thought she just wanted to get some fresh air.

But I remember her walking towards something red, then I went back to sleep.

So now, here I am, preparing for a trip back to that resort. Marlon and Michael will meet me there and we all know what we saw. The woman, if she was one, took our cousins. We will find out what happened to them.

God help us.

————————–————————–————————–—

Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

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

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

Color by Alexa Garde
Website: Lexa.us

The woods seem different now. It’s been a while since they all gathered and they didn’t know if it would be the same. They didn’t have to worry; everyone knew their places around the fire. They didn’t know who would start the story this time, so they drew straws. Luck came to the leader. He fumbled his glasses and sat on the stone chair. Just like old times.

He looked around at his old friends, much older now, just like he was, but time didn’t do anything to their stories. Not in this place. He drew a breath and started:

“My story is about a group of friends who find something that brings them together, but ultimately also tears them apart.” His hands shake as he grabs the pouch. It’s been too long since he’s done this, but he remembers it shouldn’t matter. He grabs a handful and tosses it in the fire.

“Submitted for the approval of the midnight society, I call this story: The Tale of the Black Feather.

Angela, David, Danielle and John were friends that liked to explore places off the beaten path. They’d spend their vacations traveling around wherever they could drive to.

This time their hearts led them to the North, somewhere near Vigan. Danielle’s parents were from that area and they were able to board at her great-lola’s house. It was a good deal, they had free board and they were able to go around the area to their hearts content. That kind of luck was a sign of a good trip.

David and Danielle were the type to stay in while John and Angela went outdoors, so while the other two were off finding a tree to take pictures with, David and Danielle went to scout the places where they could eat.

‘There sure are a lot of old people here,’ David said. ‘It’s a thing with this town, there aren’t many people our age since most of the younger generation moved to the bigger cities to find jobs, the ones that did stay behind… actually I don’t know about them, I should ask my great-lola about it. I don’t think we’ve met anyone under 50 today.’ Danielle, stopped by a craft store and started picking out souvenirs.

‘What makes your lola so great?’ David knew better than to stop a girl in the middle of shopping, and this happened a lot which is why he always kept his phone handy. ‘She’s my lola’s mother, dummy and you’ve said that joke five times already.’ Danielle took a bracelet she thought was pretty. ‘Well it was funny then too.’ David started a game and hoped her browsing would end soon.

Angela and John were looking at the forest near the town and they were lost. As usual. ‘I think we should go north.’ Angela had the compass and she was waving it around. ‘Do you even know how to use that?’ John was too busy taking pictures to notice they were in a situation. ‘Move a little to your left, your arm is blocking my light.’

A peal of thunder echoed through the forest and John snapped out of his photographer instincts. ‘I didn’t pack a waterproof case, we should head back.’

‘What do you think I’ve been trying to do?’ Angela’s struggle with the compass had reached its end. ‘Okay I think I found where north is, we just need to keep going—-‘

‘Watch out!’ John tackled Angela to the ground. ‘What was that for?!’ Angela shouted, but she was answered with another question.

‘What kind of bird is that?!’ John picked up his camera and tried to get as many shots as he could of the fast moving creature.

‘This is not the time to be taking pictures!’ Angela grabbed his arm and started to run. ‘Whatever it is it’s starting to get violent and I’d like to see my next birthday.’

‘But—-‘ John started to protest but one look at her face and he knew he already lost. ‘Fine! Go into that cave, it won’t follow us in there.’

Angela and John ran as fast as they could, avoiding the thick patch of brush blocking their way. ‘My camera!’ John fumbled with his hands and tried to get it back. ‘Is your camera more important than your life?!’ Angela grabbed him again and pushed him to the cave. ‘My camera IS my life! Let me go!’ John struggled for a second before he saw the bird headed straight for them. He scrambled for the cave shouting, ‘Fine, but you owe me a new one!’

‘I think we’re safe.’ Angela leaned against a rock. ‘There’s no way it can fly in here.’

‘Angela–’ John motioned to his friend to look ahead. ‘What the hell is that?!’

David and Danielle were worried. It was already 8pm and their friends were later than usual. ‘Something happened to them.’ Danielle stood up and took her backpack. ‘We have to find them.’

‘I’m sure they’re fine. They probably got lost. Again. Remember Palawan?’ David was going through his third serving of bagnet.
‘Don’t you notice anything when you’re eating?’ Danielle pointed to the restaurant. ‘We’re the only ones here.’

‘And your point is?’ David took another bite of bagnet.
‘The cashier and the waitress also left. There’s no one in the restaurant next door and the streets are empty.’ She started walking in the direction of her great-lola’s house.

‘Wait! Shouldn’t we pay for dinner?’ David looked at his food and wondered if he could bring the plate.

‘Just leave some money! We’re running out of time and we need answers!’ Danielle was running now and David knew she was going to be mad if he didn’t catch up to her.

‘Why am I always stuck with the bill?’”

The story teller looked around and saw his friend’s faces illuminated by the fireside. Years of memories and countless stories flooded through his mind. He smiled and said, “I declare this meeting of the midnight society closed,” as he took a bucket and doused the fire.

There were shouts and protests around the circle and he knew they would ask what happened after.

They had to wait until next week to find out, as always.

————————–————————–————————–—–

Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

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

Boroka Illustration by Leandro Geniston from Aklat ng mga Anito
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