Doctora rubbed her temples and feigned interest in the new girl’s story.

It was something she had heard a hundred times over. ‘My boyfriend left me and I can’t take care of it by myself.’, ‘I’m too young for this.’, ‘it’s the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.’

Blah blah blah blah blah

It was late and Doctora was tired so she went straight to the point.

“We can do the procedure tomorrow. Meet me at this address and have the payment with you.”

The crying girl could only mumble a ‘yes’ through her tears.

It was going to be one of those weeks.

The girl left and Doctora waited until he arrived.

“I trust you heard all that?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t know why you bother eavesdropping on their stories. You’ll do the same thing anyway.”

“It makes it all the more… delicious.”

“You disgust me.”

“Such hurtful words. You know we can’t live without each other. It’s been too long.”

Doctora sighed and avoided his gaze.

“You have the address. Just go there at the agreed time.”

“Make sure she’s asleep. Remember that time in Laguna.”

“That was 20 years ago. I learn from my mistakes, something you should try thinking about.”

He let out a shrill laugh that sent a shock down Doctora’s spine. He threw his neck back and bellowed.

It should be loud. Why isn’t it loud? She thought.

She shook her head to clear the thought away. After the long decades she still never got used to him.

Maybe she never will.

“Just go.”

“Of course, Doctora, I will see you soon.”

He left, but it gave no reprieve.

Doctora went to the kitchen and brought out the bottle she was saving for this one.

Her ‘patients’ thought that this was her home, a single bedroom that looked neat and clean. It added to the illusion and fed on their hopes making them think that the procedure would be the same.

Such idiots.

She took a swig of gin and let the memories take her over.

She thought back to a time when she had a name.

Life was easier then, there was one goal that she needed to reach.

I wasn’t about the knowledge or the oath. She needed the title. It would complete her.

Or so she thought.

Another gulp, another memory.

It was robbery what they charged for the procedure. And she was sure that they didn’t even have any actual medical knowledge.

But she was desperate.

She pooled her savings and met them in a dingy motel. They told her to lie down and they prepared their instruments.

When she saw what they were going to use, she shouted.

She demanded that they sterilize their tools.

She told them which painkillers to get.

She spat at their incompetence and told them simply,

She wanted to be awake.

They told her it was crazy, better to be under and wake up with the procedure complete without having to look at the disturbing operation.

That was when she met him.

He walked into the room with a gravitas that made even her pause.

He told the workers to leave the room. He asked her if she really wanted to be awake for this.

She said yes.

The alcohol had gotten to her and she was sprawled on the sofa, the bottle almost empty.

She thought about the girl and her stupid choices and cried, one solitary idea racing through her brain.

Maybe after this one I’ll finally do it.

But deep down she knew she was too much of a coward to end it.

As the inebriation took over and forced her into slumber, a familiar phrase left her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

=———————————————————————————

Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Based on the Ekek myths/urban legends

Ekek Illustration by Timothy Aldrin Ocleasa

FB: @notsoperfect_art

IG: notsoperfect_art

*Note this story is in Waray

Naghulat ak hin duha kabulan para malimpyuhan an balay. Dire hira magyayakan haim nga dire ka makakag-tima para hito. Oo, pwedi ka mag tisting haim kalungaringon, pero dire nat importante ngan mawawara nala ito. Mga butang nga waray kinabuhi pero nabuhi hin maiha hasta nala nga umabot an panahon nga dire na magagamitan. Dire gad sugad hito kakuri.

Pero makuri la geap udog.

Nayakan hira Chino ngan Arla nga mabulig hira, pero bagan dire tama. Syempre, may mga kalugaringon hira nga kinabuhi, pamilya ngan iba pa nga mga butang. An pinaka urhi ko ngani nga kliyenti kay ginbayaan ak pagtapos nam dre maupay nga batunay tungod nam mga dre pagkaka-intindihan ngan hala akon na nga tanan an oras ha kalibutan.

Kumuha ak hin mga balikbayan nga karton ngan damo nga bag butangan hin mga basura tas nag drive na ak ngadto nam luma nga balay. Didto, pagkulop na manunumdoman mo an mga naglabay nga panahon han nag-uuyas ka pa ha may garden, ngan pag gab-e an kamingawan bagan nag eestorya hin kawaray sulod hit kinabuhi.

An iya mga libro an ak pinaka una nga ak gin panhatag. Hinigugma ni Apoy it pagbasa ngan kada gab-e mabisita hiya haam kwarto ngan babasahan kami permi. An iba ngani kay dre mga pambata nga estorya ngan mag iinisog hi mama ha hiya, pero karuyag ko la geap mamati. Permi gud it hiya mag hihinimu-himo hin mga pataraw-an nga nawong ngan iiba-ibahon it iya boses kada tawo ha storya. Ansya ngani nga para ha akon, kun waray adto na iya mga storya, dre ada ak magiging artist.

Waray na ak bakante nga butangan para han mga libro ni Apoy, bisan hi Chino ngan Arla, waray na gihap. Nag desisyon nala kami nga mas maupay nala ini kun ihahatag ha mga tawo nga mahilig gihap magbinasa. Ansya nga naghimo hi Chino hin listahan han mga Charities nga am tatagan. Han natapos na hi Chino, gin butang ko na ha sarakyan an mga libro ngan bumyahe na ak para ipanhatag ha charities.

Maul-ol gad ha dughan. Kada libro nga ak ginhahatag kay baga ko hin iginhahatag liwat it usa nga parti ni Apoy. Pero gin huhuna-huna ko nala nga, mga butang la ito, dire ito hi Apoy, dire ito naging hi Apoy mismo.

Masayon lat mangalimtan.

An kwarto naman an sunod nga ak susudlan. Ngan pinaka makuri ini nga parti han nga tanan kay nga tanan nga presensya ni Apoy aanhi hit iya kwarto. An luma na nga typrewriter aanhi la gihap, waray gud hiya tapod ha teknolohiya ansya waray hiya pagpalit hin computer. An luma niya nga mga albums aanhi gihap, mga litrato nira ni Apoy nga iya asawa ngan ni mama, kamaglipayon pa man nira ha mga litrato.

Guti nala ak matumba pag abre ko han portahan. Nakalasan ak kay duron kamasirom han kwarto. Ngan dire gud ak magsasayop nga pahamot ni Apoy nak nahamutan. Ansya ine an pahamot niya ha bado, ha kalo, ngan bisan ngani an iya buhok ansya geap an amoy, madukot pa adto ha buhok han iya mga apo kun maiha niya nga karga-karga. Bagan mga 3 ka minuto anay nak nakunsumo sano ko mabilngan kun diin tikang an pahamot ha kwarto.

Pero nawara dayon an amoy, bumaya dayon haak.

Ngan ha kauna-unahan han pira kaadlaw nga kamingaw, nagtuok ak utro.

Maiha ko na nga nahingalimtan an pahamot ni Apoy. An ospital an hiya naging bag-o nga balay han iya mga urhi nga adlaw ha kalibutan ngan waray oras hadto para mahuna-hunaan pa mag sul-ot hin maupay nga bado ngan magbutang hin pahamot ha liog ug ha banda kabutngaan hit iya bado.

Huminga ak hin halarom ngan lumingkod. Nayakan hira hinanabo gud ine, nga makokonsensya ka. Ginpabay-an ko la nga takpan ak hit konsensya sugad hit pagtakop haim hit taklap. Unta nakada ak para ha iya. Unta ginpa ukoy ko nala anay nak mga proyekto ngan gin updan ko nala hiya. Kun nakada la ak ha iya sapit, unta nakikita ko pa hiya han —

Nagliningkuron la ak anay ngan nag pinan huna-huna hin pera ka oras, tapos pera pa ka oras hasta ngada nak paka abat nga kaya ko na tumindog utro. An pako nak bado mahulos la agi nak pamunas han luha. Tas gin hakot ko na an mga balikbayan nga karton para himuon kun anuman nak dapat himuon.

Hingangadto ha Segunda Mana an mga iya mga bado, ansya ine an lugar nga pinaka una nga nakit-an ni Arla han nagbibiling hiya hin paghahatagan han mga bado. An mga antiks ikakatalog kay ibabaligya ni Chino online. Hagi kaguol, karuyag gud niiya permi nga ha akon an magkuri nga trabahuon.

Ginkita ko nak ginhimo ngan sakto la hiya para mangalipay ak. Kun ano pa man, gintapos ko nak trabahuon ngan pwedi na ak pumahuway kadali. Han gin-uusog ko an mga karton, may nakit-an ak nga bag-o nga bubuhaton.

An mga photo album.

An usa nga butang nga igin dadako ni Apoy han iya panahon an camera na iya napalit han 70’s pa. Nayakan hadto hi Apoy nga iya asawa nga dire niya kauryag an mga litrato na nga nakikit-an ha mga diyaryo  ansya nga nag desisyon hiya nga hiya nala mismo it magpipicture para iya kalugaringon. Danay mag eestorya hiya nga dire niya iginbubulag an camera ha iya pero mangirit la kami ngan matangdo nala. Tapos danay maukoy hiya ha  kabutngaan hit iya estorya ngan mag pipicture.

Hain na daw lat nga camera yana? Pagtapos ko halukayon tanan nga mga nasalin nga gamit ni Apoy dire ko la gihap natad-an an camera. Mayda parti haak dughan nga kun hain man hi Apoy yana, bangen aadto gihap ito ha iya, dara dara la niya.

Ginpurot ko an usa nga album ngan gin prepara ko nak kalugaringon. Syempre, dire gud maupay nga desisyon nga mangita pa ak hin mga pictures ha albums. Mangangatuok la ak utro. Mag uul-ol na liwat tak kasing-kasing. Kaso kay karuyag ko man maabat hi Apoy bisan la kadali.

Nakatulo na albums na ako ngan gin-uhaw ak. Kumuha anay ako hin tubig. Kun aanhi hi Chino, mayakan adto nga baga ak hin waray tuhay nga tinda ha mga china shop. Han gintitipig ko na an mga album nga masarang kitaun, mayda usa nga gutiay nga album nga ak nakit-an. Green an putos ngan waray title. (Permi man nagbubutang title hi Apoy ha mga albums)

Kaso gin pangita ko la gihap an sulod han album.

Tapos hasta ngada yana dire la gihap ak maaram kun ano adto hiya nga mga litrato.

Baga kasi adto hiya hin bata nga guti, bangen mga 7 lan edad, green an kolor han panit, pero may pagka maitom gihap hin guti. Dagko an mata nga baga na ngani hin naka sul-ot hin goggles, ngan maitom-itoman.

Puro litrato la hadto nga bata an sulod han album ngan mga tawo nga nakiki usyoso ha hiya.

Ginkuha ko an usa nga litrato ha album tapos pag baliktad ko han litrato may nakasurat ha luyo,

‘San Joaquin, Pasig. November 1981.’

Gin kuha ko gihap an iba pa nga mga litrato nga may surat ha luyo ngan gin dugtong-dugtong an mga nakasurat didto.

‘Mayda balita nga mayda daw nakuha nga kakaiba ha Pasig River.’

‘Kuha tikang ha Municipal Hall’

‘Damo nga tawo an nagpa singadto para hikit-an kun anuman ine nga butang.’

‘Gin priso ini nga butang.’

‘Naluoy gad ak ha hito. Baga hiyan nahadlok ha mga tawo.’

‘Nag iha la ak didto ha prisohan. Naglitrato ak hin damo. Bagan waray manla ngani ha Police nga bantay.’

(An atubangan ine han Municipal Hall) ‘Nagbabalita an mga Police nga nawara adto nga butang.’

‘Nayakan an iba nga tawo nga mayda daw kumuha hadto nga butang kay ira daw anak.’

‘An iba liwat nayakan nga igin sugo han Mayor nga igbalik adto ha Pasig River’

(Tikang ine ha pahina ha dyaryo) ‘Igin surat ngan igin gawas na ha dyaryo an estorya pero bagan gin iba han mga tawo’

An urhi nga litrato kay kuha kuno mismo ha may Pasig River ngan may naka surat nga ‘March 1990’ ha luyo han papel.

‘An mga tawo nga sugad la haak, lagas na ngan bagan dire na tutuoron, an nakakahinumdom hadto nga klase hin tawo. Napa kadto ak ha may salog kada simana para hikit-an utro adto nga butang.’

Waray ak may gin yaknan han ak nabaruan ngan nakit-an. Waray ak pag estorya bisan kan Charli ug Arla. Kun hira adto an naka diskubre hin sugad hini, dre hira magruruha-duha pag estorya dayon ha iba.

Dire manggud hira naka intindi kan Apoy sugad tak pag intindi ha iya.

Hadto mismo nga adlaw kumadto ak ha mall ngan pumalit hin camera. Dire ngani ak nasabot kun pano gumamit hin camera pero mababaruan man ito.

Ngan kada adlaw natambay na ak ha may Pasig River, dara ha huna-huna nak mga nakit-an ngan nabaruan ha album para pahinumdom haak kalugaringon kay kun ano permi ak nakadto ha Pasig River.

Tungod la han usa nga bakante nga papel ha urhi han album.

Para ini ha imo Apoy. 

=——————————————————–=

English Version

I waited two months to clean out the house. They never tell you that you can’t prepare for it. Sure, you can try to tell yourself it doesn’t matter and it’ll just be going through some old items. Things. Inanimate objects that have long outlived their usefulness. It shouldn’t be hard.

But it is.

Chino and Arla both said they would help, but that wouldn’t be right. They both had lives and families and other things to worry about. The last client I had dropped me after some creative disagreements and I had all the time in the world.

I took some balikbayan boxes and garbage bags with me and drove up to my ancestral house. In the afternoon light it radiates days long past, of playing in the garden and moonlit talks about the crushing emptiness of life.

The first thing I gave away were his books. Lolo loved reading and the nights when he would come visit us, he would stay by our beds and read us a story. Some of them weren’t really appropriate for children and mama would scold him, but I loved them. He would always make these funny faces and change his voice every time a different character spoke. I think that without those stories I wouldn’t have become an artist.

I didn’t have any space for lolo’s books, neither did Chino or Arla. We all agreed that they were better of with people that would read them. Chino made a list of charities that we could send them to and I put them in my car and drove out to donate them.

It hurt like hell. Every time I gave away a volume it was like losing a little piece of lolo. I try to remind myself; items. Things. Objects. They’re not lolo, they never were.

But it’s just so easy to forget.

The next place to get through was his bedroom. This would be the hardest part, the whole essence of lolo was in this room. It was here that he kept his rickety typewriter because he never trusted technology enough to get a computer. He had photo albums here that spanned nearly a century, pictures of him and lola and mama being happy together.

I open the door and it almost knocks me down. It’s dark and heavy, and I feel sepia tones bounce through my head. There was no mistaking the scent of lolo’s cologne. This was the cologne that clung to his clothes, his hats and would clasp to his grandchildren’s hair for hours after he would carry them. It lasts for maybe 3 minutes, long enough for me to try to find its source.

But it disappeared, leaving me alone.  

And for the first time in a few days I cry again.

Lolo’s cologne was something I’ve long forgotten. In his last months the hospital became his new home and there was no time to think about his daily routine of putting on a suit and spritzing one on the neck and the other on the center of his shirt.

I breathe deep and sit down. They said that this would happen, that the guilt would slowly creep in. I let it wrap around me like a blanket. I should have been there for him, I should have canceled my projects and stayed by his side. Maybe if I was there, I would have seen him when he—

The thought settles in my head for a good hour, and then another, until I feel strong enough to stand again. My sleeve gets soaked with my tears and I bring up the balikbayan boxes to do what I need to do.

His clothes would go to Segunda Mana, it was the one of the first things Arla saw when she was looking for places to donate. All of the antiques would have to be cataloged because Chino wants to sell them online. Typical, he always expected me to do the legwork.

I looked at my handiwork and it was enough to bring a slight smile to my face. If nothing else I completed the task I set for myself and I could hang my hat on that. As I moved the boxes, I glimpsed another challenge.

It was the photo albums.

One of lolo’s proudest achievements was that he bought a camera in the 70s. Lola always said that he never liked the pictures he saw in magazines, so he decided to do it himself. He would tell stories about his camera (that he would always keep around), but we all just smiled and nodded politely. He would stop in the middle of conversations if he thought that he could get a good shot of something.

Looking back, I wonder where that camera was. After sifting through all the things left behind, I still was never able to find it. Part of me likes to think it’s with my lolo, wherever he is.

I picked up the first album and prepared myself. Surrendering to the allure of looking through the albums wasn’t the smartest option. It would break my emotions just to put them back together. But I wanted to be closer to lolo, if only for a little while.

After the first three albums I decided to get a glass of water and managed to knock down the pile of albums, if Chino were here, he’d say that I was an uncoordinated bull in a china shop. As I knelt down to fix the mess, I noticed an album smaller than the rest. It had a dark green cover and was unmarked (Lolo always labeled his albums).

With nothing else to do I leafed through it.

To this day I’m still not sure what is in those photos.

It looked like a small child, maybe 7 years old with skin that was green that had a slightly black hue. Its eyes were big and black, and it almost looked like it was wearing goggles.

The album was filled with pictures of this creature as well as those of crowds looking at it from a distance.

I took the first picture out of the album and saw that there was something written behind it.

“San Joaquin, Pasig. November 1981.”

I did the same with the other pictures and strung the sentences together.

 “There were reports of something that was fished out of the Pasig River.”

“This was taken in the Municipal Hall.”

“Many people were there to see the creature.”

“It was kept in a jail.”

“I pitied it. It looked scared to be around so many people.”

“I stayed as long as I could and took as many photos of it as possible. The police officers don’t seem to care.”

(This photo was of the front of the Municipal Hall) “The police are telling people that the creature is gone.”

“Some people are being told that it was taken by someone that claimed that it was their child.”

“Others say that it was thrown back into Pasig River by order of the Mayor.”

(This photo was of a page of a newspaper) “The story was published in the papers, but the general public seems to have moved on.”

The last picture was of the Pasig River that was labeled “March, 1990” on its back was written:

“The only people that remember the creature are decrepit seniors like me. I stay by the river every week in hopes that I catch a glimpse of it, just one last time.”

I haven’t told anyone of what I found. I don’t even think I can trust Chino or Arla about it. If it was up to them, they would have just thrown it away and not given it a second thought.

They never understood lolo like I did.

That day I went to the mall and bought a camera. I didn’t know how to use it, but there was time to learn.

Every day I sit by the Pasig River and look through the album to remember why I’m there.

All because of one blank sleeve at the end of the album.

This is for you, lolo.

——————————————————————————————————————-

*Waray is the fifth-most-spoken native regional language of the Philippines, native to Eastern Visayas. It is the native language of the Waray people and second language of the Abaknon people of Capul, Northern Samar and some Cebuano-speaking peoples of eastern and southern parts of Leyte island. It is the third most spoken language among the Visayan languages, only behind Hiligaynon and Cebuano.

Written by Karl Gaverza

Translation by Ma. Rezza Ann Abanag-Pejana

Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Translation Copyright
© Ma. Rezza Ann Abanag-Pejana

Story inspired by the urban legend of the Pasig River Monster.

The Pasig River Monster Illustration by Michael Sean B. Talavera

IG: @maykelshan
Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/isaneleach13

I waited two months to clean out the house. They never tell you that you can’t prepare for it. Sure, you can try to tell yourself it doesn’t matter and it’ll just be going through some old items. Things. Inanimate objects that have long outlived their usefulness. It shouldn’t be hard.

But it is.

Chino and Arla both said they would help, but that wouldn’t be right. They both had lives and families and other things to worry about. The last client I had dropped me after some creative disagreements and I had all the time in the world.

I took some balikbayan boxes and garbage bags with me and drove up to my ancestral house. In the afternoon light it radiates days long past, of playing in the garden and moonlit talks about the crushing emptiness of life.

The first thing I gave away were his books. Lolo loved reading and the nights when he would come visit us, he would stay by our beds and read us a story. Some of them weren’t really appropriate for children and mama would scold him, but I loved them. He would always make these funny faces and change his voice every time a different character spoke. I think that without those stories I wouldn’t have become an artist.

I didn’t have any space for lolo’s books, neither did Chino or Arla. We all agreed that they were better of with people that would read them. Chino made a list of charities that we could send them to and I put them in my car and drove out to donate them.

It hurt like hell. Every time I gave away a volume it was like losing a little piece of lolo. I try to remind myself; items. Things. Objects. They’re not lolo, they never were.

But it’s just so easy to forget.

The next place to get through was his bedroom. This would be the hardest part, the whole essence of lolo was in this room. It was here that he kept his rickety typewriter because he never trusted technology enough to get a computer. He had photo albums here that spanned nearly a century, pictures of him and lola and mama being happy together.

I open the door and it almost knocks me down. It’s dark and heavy, and I feel sepia tones bounce through my head. There was no mistaking the scent of lolo’s cologne. This was the cologne that clung to his clothes, his hats and would clasp to his grandchildren’s hair for hours after he would carry them. It lasts for maybe 3 minutes, long enough for me to try to find its source.

But it disappeared, leaving me alone.  

And for the first time in a few days I cry again.

Lolo’s cologne was something I’ve long forgotten. In his last months the hospital became his new home and there was no time to think about his daily routine of putting on a suit and spritzing one on the neck and the other on the center of his shirt.

I breathe deep and sit down. They said that this would happen, that the guilt would slowly creep in. I let it wrap around me like a blanket. I should have been there for him, I should have canceled my projects and stayed by his side. Maybe if I was there, I would have seen him when he—

The thought settles in my head for a good hour, and then another, until I feel strong enough to stand again. My sleeve gets soaked with my tears and I bring up the balikbayan boxes to do what I need to do.

His clothes would go to Segunda Mana, it was the one of the first things Arla saw when she was looking for places to donate. All of the antiques would have to be cataloged because Chino wants to sell them online. Typical, he always expected me to do the legwork.

I looked at my handiwork and it was enough to bring a slight smile to my face. If nothing else I completed the task I set for myself and I could hang my hat on that. As I moved the boxes, I glimpsed another challenge.

It was the photo albums.

One of lolo’s proudest achievements was that he bought a camera in the 70s. Lola always said that he never liked the pictures he saw in magazines, so he decided to do it himself. He would tell stories about his camera (that he would always keep around), but we all just smiled and nodded politely. He would stop in the middle of conversations if he thought that he could get a good shot of something.

Looking back, I wonder where that camera was. After sifting through all the things left behind, I still was never able to find it. Part of me likes to think it’s with my lolo, wherever he is.

I picked up the first album and prepared myself. Surrendering to the allure of looking through the albums wasn’t the smartest option. It would break my emotions just to put them back together. But I wanted to be closer to lolo, if only for a little while.

After the first three albums I decided to get a glass of water and managed to knock down the pile of albums, if Chino were here, he’d say that I was an uncoordinated bull in a china shop. As I knelt down to fix the mess, I noticed an album smaller than the rest. It had a dark green cover and was unmarked (Lolo always labeled his albums).

With nothing else to do I leafed through it.

To this day I’m still not sure what is in those photos.

It looked like a small child, maybe 7 years old with skin that was green that had a slightly black hue. Its eyes were big and black, and it almost looked like it was wearing goggles.

The album was filled with pictures of this creature as well as those of crowds looking at it from a distance.

I took the first picture out of the album and saw that there was something written behind it.

“San Joaquin, Pasig. November 1981.”

I did the same with the other pictures and strung the sentences together.

 “There were reports of something that was fished out of the Pasig River.”

“This was taken in the Municipal Hall.”

“Many people were there to see the creature.”

“It was kept in a jail.”

“I pitied it. It looked scared to be around so many people.”

“I stayed as long as I could and took as many photos of it as possible. The police officers don’t seem to care.”

(This photo was of the front of the Municipal Hall) “The police are telling people that the creature is gone.”

“Some people are being told that it was taken by someone that claimed that it was their child.”

“Others say that it was thrown back into Pasig River by order of the Mayor.”

(This photo was of a page of a newspaper) “The story was published in the papers, but the general public seems to have moved on.”

The last picture was of the Pasig River that was labeled “March, 1990” on its back was written:

“The only people that remember the creature are decrepit seniors like me. I stay by the river every week in hopes that I catch a glimpse of it, just one last time.”

I haven’t told anyone of what I found. I don’t even think I can trust Chino or Arla about it. If it was up to them, they would have just thrown it away and not given it a second thought.

They never understood lolo like I did.

That day I went to the mall and bought a camera. I didn’t know how to use it, but there was time to learn.

Every day I sit by the Pasig River and look through the album to remember why I’m there.

All because of one blank sleeve at the end of the album.

This is for you, lolo.

——————————————————————————————————————-

Written by Karl Gaverza

Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Story inspired by the urban legend of the Pasig River Monster.

http://philurbanlegends.blogspot.com/2013/07/pasig-river-monster.html

The Pasig River Monster Illustration by Michael Sean B. Talavera

IG: @maykelshan
Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/isaneleach13

A night of fun can follow you forever.

It took her 10 years to learn that lesson. Her nights were spent bathed in lights and surrounded by strangers.

She loved the rush of the music as it spread through her body. She loved the new people, the exciting scenes. There were drinks she couldn’t pronounce and stars she couldn’t wait to remember. Her life was a party and everyone was invited.
But then she started to feel it.

The infection hid itself well, years would pass before the real signs showed. Fevers would be a normal occurrence, she would feel tired every day without reason. And there were the bumps.
The doctors told her that it was her body fighting against the infection. There were nights where she prayed they would fight harder.

She didn’t think, that’s what most people assumed when they found out. After enough bad experiences she stopped talking about it, even to her family and friends. It was the way they looked at her that changed, people used to see her for the beauty that she was, but now?

Now this was her life.

Antiretrovirals, they were supposedly her savior, but they could never quite come down from the cross. All they did was slow the progress of the virus in her body, she could live a normal life, or as close to normal as possible.

There was nothing more she wanted than to run back to her old life, of dark nights and wild passions, of finding the stranger that she would watch the sunrise with. But she was getting old and she could feel the weight of regrets keeping her close to the ground.

She would not be a prisoner of her regret.

There was still the rest of her life she needed to live. No matter how many summers passed over her, she still had hope that the future was there, waiting.

Waiting just for her.

She took a leave from work for vacation, everyone assumed it was because of the Holy Week. They expected to see pictures of her by a beach, sipping on a sweet drink and lazing in the sun.

But her true mission was far removed from the leisure and luxury that others had come to expect.

She did her research, there were tales that it went out of hiding during that time to look for more victims, children whose hearts it would make into an amulet.

She stared at the sack in the back of her car. It had stopped moving hours ago and she felt a pang of guilt. Was this really what she wanted to do?

She chased away those thoughts. She would not be defined by one thing, not anymore. Certain sacrifices would have to be made to ensure that she would find her prize.

No one knew what it looked like. There were stories of hornless goats and dogs that walked backwards. There were other tales of cat like demons with black skin. There was even a legend of a crow like body with wings and grasshopper like legs that it used to leap.

All she knew was that it was the last thing that could help her.
She took the sack and waited in the field until night fell. Her body craved cigarettes, but smoke might scare the creature off and she wouldn’t take that chance.

She held the gun close to her chest and sat silently. The bag started to rustle after a few hours, but she ignored it.

Her eyes were heavy when she spotted a large black spot moving towards her. It was fast, faster than she expected.
It reached the sack and carried it in its mouth. The creature was strong and stared at her.

Their eyes met and she raised the gun.

Four shots and the creature was gone. She couldn’t have come this far just to be left with nothing. She ran to where the beast was and spotted a small pool of black liquid on the ground.

One of her shots hit it. Her heart raced as she knelt to the liquid. She took some in her hands and swallowed.

It tasted of bitterness and bile.

It tasted of freedom.

*There are Urban Legends that state that the blood of a Sigbin can cure HIV/AIDS.

Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Inspired by the Sigbin myths

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

Lia didn’t like the weather tonight. It just had to rain on the day when she forgot her umbrella and she was worried about getting home. She had already been waiting for an hour for the rain to stop, but there was no luck there. She decided to flip a coin to see if she would risk the traffic and get a taxi or to wait in her office for another hour. It was heads. She didn’t want to think about how much the taxi would cost and she promised her parents she would be home that night in time for their anniversary dinner.

It only took her a few minutes to get a cab, despite the traffic. Lia rushed into the back seat and apologized to the driver for the rain on the seat. He just smiled and said it was no problem. She was happy that he seemed nice enough and that it was just the traffic that she’d have to deal with. She was tired of getting the obnoxious taxi drivers, always trying to extort extra money out of her. Lia put on her headphones and played a little jazz to lighten her mood. The traffic was bad so it just made sense to take a nap and she closed her eyes.

She was halfway through Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong’s “Summertime” when she heard a scream. Lia woke up and blinked to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. She took off her headphones and looked around. It was a dark room, the walls were cement and there was rusted steel everywhere. In the middle of the room there was a chair and a woman sitting on it.

The woman was wearing white, though there were red stains all over her dress. Lia approached the woman and asked if she was all right. The woman’s head was facing downwards so Lia couldn’t see her face but she could hear something coming from the woman.

‘Don’t trust him.’ ‘Don’t trust him’ ‘Don’t trust him.’ The woman repeated the words over and over again. Lia tried to get closer but there was something stopping her. She told her legs to move but they wouldn’t obey. She just stood, frozen, in front of the chair.

She could hear other voices now and they were saying the same things. The first came from another woman in white, appearing from behind the chair. This woman’s face was battered beyond all recognition. Lia tried to scream but her voice was as uncooperative as the rest of her body.

The second woman in white had a wound on the left temple of her forehead; it was still bleeding as she walked to the side of the chair. The third woman approached with her hands tied behind her back and her long, black hair covering her face. There was blood on all of the women’s clothes.

She looked at all the women and they pointed to the one still in the chair. Her head moved up so Lia could see her face. I was like looking into a mirror. The woman had her face and Lia felt a chill go down her entire body.

Lia watched as the woman with her face said ‘Don’t trust him.’ One more time.

And then she woke up.

“Summertime” was still playing when she opened her eyes. Lia looked around and she realized that the taxi hadn’t moved much, she was still very near her office. Her hands were shaking from her dream and she reached for her phone and texted her parents that she was sorry that she was going to miss their anniversary.

She told the driver that she would get out at this street. Lia ignored his protests and said that she left something very important. The rain was still pouring when she got out of the taxi and ran to her office. Part of her was thinking that she might slip in the rain, but she didn’t care.

For the first time since her dream, Lia felt safe.

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Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Inspired by the Kaperosa legends

White Lady (Kaperosa) Illustration by Leandro Geniston from Aklat ng mga Anito
FB: That Guy With A Pen

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

To my lovely daughter,

I don’t know where you are right now. I wish I did. I wish I could see you one last time. I don’t know if I can put into words how much I miss you.

You looked so beautiful in that dress. I remember you picked it out yourself. You were so proud. You styled your long, black hair so wonderfully and your smile lit up the entire room. I still remember your smile. It was your first grown-up party, and you tried so hard to act like an adult. I just wished you didn’t grow up so fast.

You were a beautiful young woman, but all I could see was my baby girl. The girl that played with her beanie babies for four hours a day, the little girl that refused to eat her vegetables until we sang her a song. My baby girl.

You spent so much time getting ready that you didn’t notice you were late for the party. You were panicking so much that your daddy and I couldn’t help but laugh. You thought your whole world was going to end.

I’m sorry. I should have been there. I should have been there when that boy broke your heart. When you were so heartbroken you ran across the street without even looking. I will never forgive myself for what happened to you.

I was your mother. I was supposed to be the one who protected you from the world. I should have saved you.

I miss you so much. I cry every day because living without you is so empty. I want to hold you in my arms and never let you go. This world doesn’t mean anything if I can’t have you with me.

I will see you again.

Please wait for me.

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Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Story inspired by the White Lady legends

White Lady Illustration and Watercolor by Yanna Gemora
FB Page: Yannami