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.
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*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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