[7:45 AM]
[August 27, 2018]
[Manila City, Metro Manila, Philippines]
Manila, marked as the second most dangerous city in Asia. Not only had it become the capital of the criminal underworld, but also the capital of a nationwide wave of cannibalism.
Brutal killings had spread across the shadowy corners of Metro Manila, leaving a trail of fear that stretched back to the 1800s. Locals called it the 'Carcass Killings'—a wave of murders so gruesome it became an urban legend of its own.
Among the cities haunted by this terror, Manila ranked second with the most documented cases, its crowded streets hiding secrets that refused to die.
In the middle of it all lived Christian Espinoza, a 18-year-old boy staying at his uncle's apartment along Pedro Gil Street. Unlike most, Christian wasn't afraid. He was fascinated-drawn to the city's darkest tales like a moth to a flame.
Christian wasn't like most kids. While others spent their nights playing games or scrolling online, he was drawn instead to the chilling whispers of urban legends-stories that blurred the line between myth and reality.
At school, he was known as a campus journalist, though most of his works were often rejected by the campus press because they always revolved around conspiracy theories. On the internet, he is known as @_theoverseer for posting controversial articles on WordPress about topics related to mass killings in the Philippines.
Christian grew up in the province of Capiz, a place forever whispered about as the home of the Aswang, shape-shifting monsters from Filipino folklore, often described as a blend of vampire, werewolf, and ghoul characteristics. Strange stories were part of everyday life there, and he carried with him memories of eerie experiences that only deepened his fascination with the legend.
He was the eldest in a broken family, forced to mature faster than the rest of his siblings. His childhood ended when the night tragedy struck, their mother died while pregnant with his youngest sibling. His relatives thought that it was caused by miscarriage.
But Christian never believed that. He remembered something else: a shadow at her bedside, and the sickening vision of a creature hovering over her. Whether it was grief or truth, he swore it was the Aswang that had stolen her life.
For now, he is temporarily living in his uncle's apartment in Paco because of his scholarship at MetroManilaUniversity. Even though he was only a Grade 11 Senior High School student, he had already passed the entrance examination for a scholarship program by the city mayor.
Christian was obsessed with one creature from Filipino folklore—the Aswang. His fascination wasn't born from stories, but from trauma. When he was a child, he claimed to have witnessed the very monster that murdered his mother.
He remembered it vividly: a dark figure looming over her, its leech-like tongue burrowing into her mouth as it drained the life from her body. That night became the root of his nightmares, a memory that never loosened its grip on him.
Every night, he constantly researched brutal killings happening all over the Philippines on his computer, and whenever he slept, he was tormented by recurring nightmares about his mother's death.
This morning, he was sleeping deeply, but his dreams were filled with horror.
He woke from his nightmare drenched in sweat, his pulse hammering against his ribs. The sudden jolt sent him tumbling off the top bunk, landing hard on the floor with a thud. His paperworks scattered across the floor.
Groaning, he pushed himself up and glanced at the clock. 7:45 AM. His stomach dropped because he had overslept again.
He rushed to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and tried to shake off the images that still lingered from the dream. The pale reflection staring back at him didn't look any less haunted.
Wiping his face with a towel, he hurried back to his room and changed into his school uniform, tugging on the white polo and dark slacks in a frenzy. After changing clothes, he organized his paperwork, put them into a folder, and then packed it into his bag. His uncle would kill him if he skipped another class.
In the living room, he saw a sandwich omelette inside a lunchbox placed on the top of a table.
"Good thing, Uncle Andy forgot his packed lunch."
He opened it and ate, serving it as his own breakfast then he grabbed his backpack and walks outside and locked the apartment, and went downstairs to exit the building.
The sky was overcast. It was peaceful, breezy, with no traffic but only the faint sound of an ambulance.
He immediately looked for jeepneys, a popular form of public transport in the Philippines. After two minutes of waiting, his phone vibrated:
[TIME: 8:06 AM]
[NOTIFICATIONS:]
• Playlist: Spoliarium - By: The Eraserheads
• BREAKING NEWS:
- A dead body of a high school student found near a school in Paco, Manila.
- Police raids a Meat Factory in Bulacan and Valenzuela City
A jeepney finally arrived. He boarded, squeezing in with other passengers. He took out his wallet and paid the driver.
"Bayad po, sa Taft Avenue po, isang estudyante."
("Payment, going to the Taft Avenue, one student.")
As the jeep drove on, he thought about his nightmare last night. In the dream, he returned to his childhood.
He stared blankly out the jeepney window, remembering the time he saw his mother die.
Back when he was young, he often brought tea to his mother, who was pregnant with his youngest sibling, in their ancestral house in Roxas City. That same year, his grandmother would always tell him stories about the Aswang - a creature with a long tongue and the power to shapeshift. Then a tragedy struck, destroying his childhood and nearly driving him insane.
After a meal, he heard the loud crash of a plate upstairs. Out of curiosity, he quickly rushed to his mother's room.
When he opened the door, he was shocked.
"Mama?"
He saw his mother collapsed on the floor, bleeding from her stomach, with a long tongue stretching down from the ceiling into her mouth. Horrified, he stepped back as the tongue quickly retracted upward. He grabbed his phone and shined a light toward where it had come from, only to see a pale, thin man with black eyes, long nails, sharp teeth, a snake-like tongue, and a bloody mouth.
"Christ.."
Frozen in fear, his heartbeat thundered. The man descended from the ceiling, wiping blood from his lips.
As he drew closer, he aimed the flashlight at the creature's face. Slowly, the familiar features emerged under the harsh light-and his entire body froze. His hair stood on end as the horrifying truth revealed itself: the monster before him was none other than his father. Once loving and dependable, he was now nothing more than a bloodthirsty beast, as if every trace of his humanity had been erased. This traumatized him entirely.
What haunted him now was not the creature, but his own father-who had become a ferocious monster.
The creature's tongue slithered out, brushing against Christian's face- tasting his skin.
He woke up to the blaring traffic and the rumble of the train through the Pedro Gil station, his body slick with sweat. Inside the jeepney, the other passengers stared at him in silence, their gazes heavy and unsettling. The jeepney finally screeched to a halt at the Police Checkpoint on Taft Avenue crossing-the last stop. One by one, the passengers climbed down, leaving Christian alone. Only when the jeep was empty did he step off, his feet touching the hot pavement with hesitation.
As soon as he stepped out of the jeep, a sudden downpour hammered the street. Rain splashed against the steaming pavement, the sound drowning out the noise of traffic. He fumbled for his umbrella, snapping it open in a rush before hurrying toward the staircase of the nearby train station built into the side of a building. Each hurried step echoed with the hiss of rainwater, as though the city itself was trying to swallow him whole.
When he reached the stairs, he joined the stream of people rushing upward, their hurried footsteps splashing against the wet steps as they pushed toward the train above.
After climbing the stairs, he merged with the crowd forming a long line at the ticket booth. The air was thick with the smell of damp clothes and impatience. When his turn finally came, he slid a few coins across the counter, received his ticket, and walked straight to the turnstile. With a quick swipe, the machine beeped, and the gate clicked open, letting him through and then the train arrives, its doors sliding open as the crowd files in.
As he stepped inside, the sudden blast of cold air from the train's vents made him shiver. He found an empty seat and sank down, his eyes drifting to the window, watching the blurred city lights through the rain-streaked glass. Then he noticed an old woman standing nearby, clutching the rail. Without hesitation, he stood and offered her his seat. The woman nodded in thanks as she settled down. When the train lurched forward, Christian grabbed the handrail, steadying himself, his gaze once again fixed on the shifting view outside.
"The next station is United Nations Station. Ang susunod na istasyon ay United Nations."
Minutes later, the train began to slow, its wheels screeching as the tunnel outside grew darker. The fluorescent glow of the platform flickered into view, revealing UN Avenue Station. When the doors slid open, Christian noticed the place was nearly deserted-its long platform echoing with nothing but the hum of the train.
He slipped his ticket into the exit slot, the turnstile unlocking with a click. As he made his way down the stairs, his steps grew slower. On the wall beside the landing, a cluster of papers fluttered in the damp air-missing-person posters, their faded photographs staring blankly at every passerby. One in particular stopped him cold.
It was a familiar face.
Katrina. His classmate.
The poster said she had been missing for weeks, and he knew her friends had been helping her parents search for her ever since she disappeared. Seeing her face among the others sent a chill crawling up his spine.
Katrina wasn't just any classmate. She was one of the smartest students in their year, and the campus crush admired by nearly everyone. Her influence stretched across the school-bright, outspoken, and impossible to ignore. She wrote for the campus paper, just like Christian.
But unlike him, she stood at the center of attention.
Katrina was his rival in the press, the one who challenged his articles, debated his angles, and pushed him to write better. Seeing her face on a missing-person poster didn't just shock him-it unsettled him in ways he couldn't explain.
"It's hard to explain... but I feel it. Everything-the killings, Katrina's disappearance, even the rumors-they're threads of the same story. Something feels like I experienced in the past is waking up. And now... it's happening again.."
He kept walking, umbrella shielding him from the steady downpour. The wet sidewalk splashed under his shoes with every step, the sound mingling with the hiss of rain. After a short walk from the station, he turned left at the corner and soon found himself standing before the school gate.
At the school gate, a crowd of students waited to be let in as the rain intensified. Eventually, the guards opened the gates to let them inside. Christian waited aside until the rush cleared, then entered last.
Inside, the janitor warned him to be careful-the stairs were slippery, and earlier a student had fallen. He slowly climbed to the third floor and entered his classroom in the middle of the building.
Christian sat at the back, feeling dizzy, and rested his head on the desk and then someone tapped him.
"Wake up, sleepyhead."
He opened his eyes to see a fair-skinned, short-haired girl with almond-shaped eyes.
"A sketchpad huh? Can I borrow it?"
She was AkiraSato, 15 years old, his classmate. A Japanese immigrant from Osaka, she had moved to Manila four years before the Japanese Government enforced its travel ban on the Philippines. Her father was a Japanese businessman, while her stepmother, a Filipina Golddigger, had chosen to settle in Malate. It was her stepmother's decision that brought them here.
Since 2nd Year, they had sat beside each other, and over time their friendship had grown close. She understood Tagalog well, but she always preferred to speak in English.
Akira: "You're good at drawing monsters. A woman with half a torso and bat wings-huh? Is this the Manananggal?"
Christian quickly grabbed his sketchpad from her hands.
Christian: "You're not supposed to see that."
Akira: "Can you draw Kaneki from Tokyo Ghoul for me?"
Christian: "No."
As he stuffed the sketchpad back into his bag, his papers spilled onto the floor-including his submissions for the Campus Press.
Akira: "Sorry, I didn't mean that. Wait, let me help you."
Christian: "No, Just shut up.."
Akira: "Why are you so cold to me?"
She picked up one of his papers.
"'The Nationwide Killings and the Aswangs-are these real crimes connected to an Urban Legend?' By Christian Espinoza."
Akira: "You know, you're really good at making headlines about urban legends. You should be an investigative journalist-or maybe a conspiracy theorist in the future."
Christian: "I just want to solve these ongoing killings in the country."
Akira: "Sounds cool! Make me your personal assistant!"
The two laughed together.
Until their teacher, Sir JunBasco—their Science teacher and class adviser entered the room.
"Good afternoon, class!"
They all stood, greeted him, bowed, and sit silently.
Sir Jun: "I have bad news. Kristina is dead. She was the dead body found this morning in the vacant lot near the school."
The classroom froze. Silence and fear swept across the room, all of their smiles erased. Christian's body went cold, his hairs standing on end. A memory flickered in his mind-something from his past, something connected to this moment.
Sir Jun: "I can't tell you what they found at the crime scene-it's too gruesome."
One student raised his hand nervously. It was Jason, one of the boys who admired Kristina from afar. His voice trembled as he asked:
Jason: "Sir... wasn't she gutted, like in those other killings?"
Sir Jun: "Yes. Exactly."
Kristina's friends broke down in tears, while fear gripped the rest of the class.
Sir Jun: "You mustn't stay out late. Go home early-there are many dangerous people now."
Another student hesitated, then asked:
"Sir, is it true that... it's not humans committing these killings?"
Sir Jun: "That's just an urban legend. There's still no proof yet. But..."
Sir Jun's voice lowered.
"The police have confirmed a secret cannibalcommunity exists across the country."
Student: "Really, sir?"
Sir Jun: "Yes. It's all over the Philippines. Be careful."
Break time had passed, and Christian was walking alone down the hallway toward the Campus Press office, carrying his paperwork. He handed it to Mrs. LindaDamaso, the adviser of the press, The Manilista Gazette and his coach on Feature Writing. She adjusted her glasses as she scanned his article, her fingers still tapping away at her laptop as she edited the school paper.
Mrs. Damaso: "Urban legends again? Your readers might get tired of that." (she smirked) "But... I like this one. Maybe what you're writing is really true. Honestly, this is probably the best piece you've done so far."
Christian: "I also have another one, ma'am. It's not about the case of an Ilonggo Overseas Serial Killer, it's the other paper."
She took the page, skimmed through it, then her eyes widened.
Mrs. Damaso: "Historyrepeatingitself, huh?"
(she leaned back in her chair)
"You write well, Christian. But this... this is controversial. Do you realize who you're taking a shot at here?"
Christian: "Yes, ma'am. The Mayor of -."
(he said it firmly, with no hesitation)
She chuckled at his bluntness.
Mrs. Damaso: "And where exactly did you get your information?"
Christian: "From different websites po, ma'am."
Mrs. Damaso: "Hmm. That couldn't have been easy."
Christian: "Not really. As long as you know where to look... and how to dig through the archives."
She studied him, amused.
Mrs. Damaso: "I'm not teaching you to become an activist, Christian. I'm teaching you to be fair. That's why I like your work-you write objectively, and your words cut sharp. If you enhance this skill, you could go far. Tell me... do you read much books?"
Christian: "Yes, ma'am."
Mrs. Damaso: "Any favorite authors?"
Christian: "Uhhh.. maybe George Orwell and Jose Rizal."
She smiled knowingly.
Mrs. Damaso: "Good pick. Especially if you want to tackle politics."
Christian: "Thank you, ma'am."
Mrs. Damaso: (closing his folder, with a grin) "Because of that, I'll give you and your friends free tickets to the Mythology Exhibit later at the activity center."
Christian's face lit up.
Christian: "Thank you so much, ma'am!!"
Mrs. Damaso: "How many are you?"
Christian: "Five."
Mrs. Damaso handed him the tickets.
Mrs. Damaso: "You can go now. Enjoy!!"
Christian left the room, clutching his papers, but at the doorway he nearly bumped into a wall of muscle. Blocking the exit was a tall, broad-shouldered student with the build of an athlete.
It was Gilberto Lopez, Christian's best friend. He's one of the Basketball Athletes in the University.
Gilberto: "Hey, the exhibit's about to start! You coming?"
Christian: "Of course. Where's Akira?"
Gilberto: (grinning) "Wow, you're asking about Sato right away. Did you forget I'm your childhood friend?"
Christian: "Mrs. Damaso gave me five tickets. I'll treat all of you. Call Daniel and Shane!"
Just then, Akira appeared, walking up with curious eyes.
Akira: "What's going on here?"
Gilberto: "Christian's treating us."
Akira: "Seriously? Where'd you get those?"
Christian: "Mrs. Damaso gave them to me."
Akira: "Oh, nice!"
Gilberto: "Message Daniel now."
Christian: "Wait." (pulls out his phone, typing on Messenger)
"He's not replying... maybe he already went inside."
Gilberto: "No, bro. I just saw him at the canteen earlier."
Christian: "Since they haven't seen my messages, maybe we should go ahead and line up."
Gilberto: "Yeah, before the line gets long."
Christian: "Alright, you're right. Here are your tickets."
Christian handed them their tickets. Smiles lit up their faces-especially Akira's. Her smile made Christian's chest feel light. Then, without thinking, she gave him a quick bow.
Akira: "Arigatō gozaimasu!!"
Gilberto: (teasing) "Wow, Chris is blushing again. Thanks for the ticket! Let's go!"
They left the building together, laughing like little kids who had just spotted an ice cream vendor.
Inside the Activity Center, the Mythology Exhibit was already alive with color and sound. Since it was the last day of the BuwanngWika celebration at Metro Manila University and Integrated School, the school had transformed the hall into a showcase of Filipino culture-murals of mythological beings, costumes from different regions, and displays about folklore from all over the Philippines.
Christian: "Perfect timing, no line!"
At the entrance, a Boy Scout in uniform stamped their tickets with a red mark.
Gilberto: "Let's gooo!!"
As soon as they stepped inside, they felt like children entering a playground. All around them were displays of ancient gods and goddesses, creatures of the dark, and the beautiful spirits of nature.
Gilberto: "This place is amazing."
Christian: "I love mythology... but I still prefer urban legends."
Akira: "Same. Still, Philippine mythology looks as cool as Japanese mythology."
Gilberto: "Come on, let's check out the cryptids."
Akira bent down to look at one of the images displayed low on the wall.
Akira: "Mayari, goddess of the moon... Is she like an alternative version of Amaterasu?"
Christian: "Kind of, but she's not the supreme being in our myths."
Akira: "She's cool."
Gilberto: "Guys, look at this! Chris, isn't Capiz your home province?"
Christian: "Yeah. Why?"
Gilberto: "So... you're always having an encounter with a Aswang?"
They moved closer to the display Gilberto was pointing at. It showed an emaciated creature with sharp claws and glowing eyes. A caption read:
"An Aswang is a shape-shifting, evil creature in Filipino folklore that embodies traits of vampires, ghouls, witches, and beast-like monsters.
The Aswang is most popular in the southern parts of Luzon, and in some areas of Mindanao and Visayas-especially the province of Capiz."
Akira: "That sounds scary. Are the Manananggal and the Aswang the same?"
Christian: "Not exactly. The manananggal is just one variant of the aswang."
Gilberto: "Chris, you're obsessed with creatures like this, right?"
Christian: "Yeah... why?"
Gilberto: "Have you ever actually seen one back in the province?"
Christian froze for a second. His smile faded, and his eyes darkened as if he remembered something.
Christian: "...Let's just say, in Capiz... the stories aren't always just stories."
Akira: "Huh? What do you mean?"
Christian: "If you stay long enough at night, you'll hear things. Things you can't explain."
Gilberto forced a laugh, rubbing his arms.
Gilberto: "Bro, you're giving us chills."
Akira leaned in closer, half-smiling but uneasy.
Akira: "You're not kidding... are you?"
Christian didn't answer. He only looked back at the aswang illustration, his reflection faintly visible in the glass-expression unreadable.
Christian's pulse quickened. His eyes stared blankly at the display, vision blurring as beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
"Should I tell them? No... they'll just laugh. They already think I'm strange. If I say yes, I'll ruin myself in front of them. I'll look like some scared little kid-especially with Akira here."
He swallowed hard, gripping the strap of his bag tighter.
"But... why does it feel like something is pressing on me? Like a spirit is forcing me to speak the truth..."
His chest tightened. A shiver crept up his spine as if unseen hands were pushing the words closer to his lips.
Countless voices rang in Christian's head, overlapping, whispering, accusing. The world around him seemed to blur and fade, the chatter of the exhibit dissolving into a distant hum.
And then-one voice rose above the chaos.
A small, trembling voice.
The voice of his younger self.
"Papa... why are you doing this?"
The words echoed like a knife scraping against glass, cutting through every other sound until it was the only thing he could hear.
Akira: "Chris, are you okay?"
Christian: "Yes, I'm fine... and yes, I'm not kidding."
They were all shocked by what he said. His palms turned cold, his chest tightening as if the air itself was pressing down on him.
Christian: "J-Just forget I said that, okay?"
Akira smiled gently, and seeing it only made Christian even more embarrassed.
Akira: "I believe in some ghosts too."
Gilberto: "I believe in the nuno sa punso."
Akira: "We have so many similarities. There's nothing to be embarrassed about."
Gilberto: "It's normal to believe in urban legends. I even had a face-off with the White Lady on Balete Drive once, when I was riding with my uncle."
Akira: "You're joking, right, Gilberto?"
Gilberto: "Nope. I really saw her! I even have a picture!"
They all burst out laughing, and the heavy weight in Christian's chest slowly melted away.
Akira: "Anyway, Chris, we're always here for you."
Gilberto: "It's like I was never your childhood friend if you can't trust me with things like this."
Christian: "Thanks, you two... I feel so relieved. I really thought you'd humiliate me here at the exhibit."
Akira: "Why would we do that?"
Gilberto: "Alright, enough drama, Chris!! What I really want to know is-what does an aswang actually look like in real life?"
Christian froze at Gilberto's words. His voice lowered.
Christian: "You wouldn't want to know, Gil.."
Just then, a couple of familiar voices called out. Daniel and Jhade walked up to them, grinning.
Gilberto: "Hey, it's Daniel!!"
Daniel: "You didn't even wait for us! That's so unfair!"
Christian: "I texted you earlier, but you didn't even open it."
Daniel: "My damn phone ran out of battery, okay?"
Christian: "Where's Shane?"
Daniel: "Sorry, but she's absent."
Gilberto: "That's what you get for playing too much CoD Mobile!"
Jhade: "I heard Mrs. Damaso gave you free tickets, Chris... is that true?"
Christian: "Not just for me-she gave them for all three of us! I was going to give you guys the extra tickets, but you took too long."
Jhade: "Sorry, we just stopped to eat."
Daniel smirked, looking between Christian and Akira.
Daniel: "You're always hanging out with Akira these days."
Christian: "Of course, she's my friend."
Akira: "That's none of your business, Daniel."
Daniel: "Aren't you two dating?"
Christian: "Ano!?"
Akira's face burned red.
Akira: "NANDAYO!?"
Everyone burst out laughing, their voices echoing through the exhibit hall.
[4:20 PM]
The rain grew heavier by the time class dismissal came. Christian packed his things and joined the stream of students spilling into the hallway.
He lingered by the doorway, waiting until most of the crowd had already passed through the school gates. When the path finally cleared, he stepped outside into the downpour.
On the sidewalk, Akira appeared, her umbrella tilted against the rain. She caught up to him and fell into step beside him, with a few other students trailing just ahead. The steady rhythm of the rain on the pavement surrounded them, filling the silence between their footsteps.
Christian: "Oh, Akira."
Akira: "Chris... are you free this upcoming weekend?"
Christian: "I don't know... why?"
Akira: "Maybe we could start dating, if you'd like?"
Christian froze at Akira's words. His heartbeat pounded heavily inside his chest.
Akira: "Your palm is so cold... you look nervous."
Christian: "A-a date?"
Akira was startled by Christian's reaction.
Akira: "Forget it."
Christian: "No. I heard you."
Akira grew tense at Christian's reply.
Christian: "I'm free. I think it's a good idea if we try dating right? Let's see if i can finish these paperworks kster"
Akira: "You're not joking, right?"
Christian smiled at her question.
Christian: "Obviously, I'm serious."
Akira's eyes widened at his words. She wanted to respond, but it felt like the words wouldn't come out.
Christian: "You're blushing."
Akira: "Curfew's coming soon."
She stared at the ground, dropped her umbrella, and her pulse becomes faster. She couldn't tell what's happening inside her so she runs to the staircase going to the train station so fast.
Christian: "Wait!! Your umbrella!! You'll get soaked in the rain!!"
She ran into the crowd in that train station staircase, disappearing from Christian's sight. Christian got shocked, he couldn't understand what had just happened.
"I must've startled her."
Christian picked up the umbrella she had left behind, closed it, and slipped it into his bag.
"I will return this to her next time we meet again."
A smile crept onto his face at Akira's sudden reaction-an unusual kind of confession. His pulse becomes too fast.
'this is so weird..'
He stood there for too long, still replaying Akira's unusual reaction in his head. The thought lingered even as the rain grew heavier. Finally, he pulled his bag tighter against him and walked away.
He headed toward the bus stop, finding shelter under its narrow roof as the downpour intensified. A handful of other students were waiting too, huddled together against the storm. Minutes passed before the bus finally arrived, its brakes screeching as it pulled up. It slowly opened its doors in front of him.
The crowd squeezed their way into the bus, their wet clothes pressing against each other.
The moment Christian stepped inside, the cold air wrapped around him, sending a shiver down his arms. He found a vacant seat near the back and sat down. The bus jolted into motion.
The conductor approached.
"Saanpokayo?(Where will you go?)"
"Pedro Gil po."
Christian handed over his fare and received his ticket.
He leaned against the window, watching the raindrops race each other across the glass.
Sliding his hand into his pocket, he took out his earbuds, plugged them into his phone, and slipped them on.
[TIME: 5:15 PM]
[NOTIFICATIONS:]
• Spotify
- Come As You Are - Nirvana
As the bus rolled through the Taft Avenue, Christian gazed at the blur of city life outside-the rush hour crowds, employees spilling out of office buildings, umbrellas fighting against the rain. Floodwaters pooled in some streets, and traffic slowed to a crawl.
The exhaustion of being a Manila commuter weighed on him. Before long, the monotony and the hum of the bus lulled him to sleep.
A sudden stir of passengers woke him-people were hurrying off.
"Pedro Gil! Pedro Gil!!" the conductor shouted.
Startled, Christian grabbed his bag and quickly stepped down onto the wet pavement.
His phone buzzed. A new message flashed on the screen-it was from his uncle.
[TIME: 5:47 PM]
[NOTIFICATIONS:]
Messenger:
• AndresEspinoza: "Christian, watch over the apartment. I'll be gone for 1 week."
The streets were even more congested now than earlier. A police checkpoint had been set up at the corner-every vehicle, from private cars to delivery trucks, was being inspected. The city was on edge. The killings had made Manila restless.
When Christian stepped off the bus, rain immediately drenched him. The streets of the city glimmered with neon, puddles reflecting a thousand fractured lights that bled across the wet asphalt. The night air was thick with the scent of wet concrete, gasoline, and rotting garbage. His shoes squelched with every step as he crossed the sidewalk toward a brightly lit 7-Eleven.
He rushed inside. The cold blast of air-conditioning hit him like a slap. For a moment, he just stood there, breathing hard, chest tightening with the weight of hunger and unease. His eyes scanned the shelves, desperate for anything cheap and filling.
At the counter, a long, golden fried chicken glistened under the heat lamp. His stomach growled. But when he counted his money, reality hit: he didn't have enough. Defeated, he turned toward the chillers. Inside, rows of packaged meals sat dimly under fluorescent light, condensation fogging the glass. Most had been taken. Only a few cold, dry rice meals remained, barely enough to satisfy anyone. He sighed, frustration pressing against the hollow ache in his stomach, and left empty-handed.
Outside, the rain had intensified. His socks squished as his shoes splashed through puddles. Neon lights refracted across the wet asphalt, streaking the world with red, yellow, and green. Each step felt heavier. Hunger gnawed at him, sharper than the chill in the night.
He knew this area was dangerous. Rumors had long whispered of a carinderia (small local eatery) that had been raided by the police. Locals said the food it served was made not from pork or beef, but from human flesh. People had disappeared nearby, vanishing without a trace. The air itself seemed thick with some unseen threat.
Christian turned onto a quieter street. Flickering lamps buzzed faintly above puddles black with oil. Steam curled from drainage grates. Then, down a narrow alley, he noticed a faint yellow glow-a small sign, flickering.
'Lo n' Mi's Eatery'
A tiny pares carinderia (Filipino beef stew eatery) sat tucked away, steam curling upward from its kitchen.
He froze. The alley was suffocating. Shadows clung to the walls. His umbrella trembled in his hand. Every instinct screamed: Don'tgoin. But hunger clawed at him, relentless and merciless. He stepped forward, shaking, and opened the door.
Inside, the air was thick with heat, the smell of simmering meat, fried garlic, and sweat. The room buzzed with life: construction workers hunched over bowls, students laughed too loudly, tired office employees slurped noodles. Despite the space, the carinderia felt claustrophobic.
Christian froze mid-step, chest tightening. Why am I nervous?
Then he saw a man in a gray hoodie hunched over a bowl of dinuguan (Filipino pork blood stew). The hood shadowed his face, but when it lifted slightly, Christian glimpsed eyes-dark, glinting unnaturally, fixed on him.
A chill crawled up his spine. His heartbeat raced. Leave. Just leave. Yet a deeper, unreasoning instinct whispered: Don't turn away.
"There's something wrong here. I feel... So Alone.."
Trembling, he approached the counter and ordered a bowl of mami (Filipino noodle soup). His hands shook violently as he dug coins from his pocket.
He found a table and placed his bag beside him, forcing himself to glance at the television in the corner.
> "9 dead bodies was found inside a apartment in Binondo. The suspects is allegedly a member of the Black Angels Cannibal Gang."
Click. Another channel.
> "17 dead bodies were found beneath a fishpen in Laguna Lake. Authorities are still investigating whether this is connected to cannibal activity or not-"
Last click:
> "This is Mrs. Jessica Sanchez from GNA News, and I'm here in Malacañang Palace to interview the President of the Philippines, Mr. Rudy Dag-"
Click. Another switch.
> "Typhoon Onkong continues to intensify while moving westward. Coastal communities in Cagayan and Isabela are now-"
One last click.
> "White Van kidnappings reported in North Caloocan City.-"
Christian barely registered the waiter placing his steaming bowl in front of him. The aroma of rich broth overwhelmed him, hunger pressing against his ribs. His grandmother's words flickered in his mind: sprinkling calamansi (Filipino lime) over food could ward off evil spirits, curses, even aswangs.
"Do you have calamansi?" he asked shakily.
The waiter froze. "Sorry, sir... we ran out. Too many customers tonight."
Fear crawled along Christian's spine. Yet hunger won. He lifted the spoon. The broth touched his tongue, rich and addictive. The noodles slid down smoothly. The meat was soft, tender-like nothing he had ever tasted.
"This... this meat... if it's from an animal, it must be rare or expensive..."
Finally, he lifted his spoon and took a sip of the broth. The hot liquid touched his tongue, and instantly the fear seemed to dissolve. A rush of flavor overwhelmed him-rich, savory, unlike anything he had ever tasted.
His trembling eased as he slurped the noodles. Rain tapped rhythmically on the roof, and for a fleeting moment, he felt peace.
But the meat... the meat was different.
"This noodle dish... it's unlike anything else," he thought. "The texture of this meat... I don't even know what kind of animal it comes from. If it is from an animal, then surely it's the rarest, most expensive kind in the market."
He wanted to stop, yet his body moved against his will. He chewed, swallowed, chewed again-each bite filling him with a hunger that only grew stronger. His body seemed possessed by its own desire.
Then suddenly-he froze. His spoon slipped from his hand and clattered into the broth.
His eyes locked on the chunk of meat floating in the soup. His pulse hammered in his ears.
"A tattoo... a tattoo..."
The mark on the meat was unmistakable. His breath caught.
"This... this is Kristina's henna tattoo. The one she got in Boracay. I saw it on her chest... she even posted it on her Instagram story last week."
His chest tightened. His throat locked.
"Sir, are you okay?" the waiter asked, leaning closer.
Christian couldn't move. The waiter smirked and walked away. The room felt alive, watching him. Leave or stay-it was death either way.
Driven by fear, he slowly pulled out his phone from his pocket and opened the camera. His hands trembled as he aimed it at the soup.
"Click...just click it..."
The moment he pressed click, the flash burst out-lighting up the place, loud enough for everyone inside to notice.
"Putangina..."
The other customers turned their heads toward him, eyes wide, as if they had just seen a ghost. His skin prickled, every hair on his body standing on end.
His glass slipped, shattering on the tile. He grabbed his bag and run faster, leaving the calinderia. Rain pelted his face as he spilled onto the street. He vomited violently, bile mixing with puddles, the taste of the meat clinging to his tongue.
When his eyes snapped open, Christian glanced at his reflection in the puddle at his feet-and froze. Behind him, the man in a grey hoodie loomed, his presence chilling, unnatural. Panic surged through Christian's chest, propelling him upright.
He sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him, his heart hammering in his ears-but the man's tongue shot out, grotesquely long, wrapping around Christian's ankles like a living rope. He tumbled to the wet pavement, pain exploding through his other arm from the impact.
The stranger's tongue yanked him mercilessly back toward where he had fallen. Christian struggled, clawing at the slick street, his breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps.
"Help!!" he screamed, his voice cracking.
The man's hand shot up, covering Christian's mouth with brutal force. Eyes wide with terror, Christian stared into the face beneath the hood: black, soulless eyes that seemed to devour the light, and jagged, needle-like teeth glinting in the dim streetlight.
"This... this is what my father looked like the last time I saw him," Christian thought, frozen in horror. "Like something possessed straight out of a nightmare."
The creature licked the scratch on Christian's arm with a long, and slimy tongue. Pain seared through his skin. His instinct kicked in. Christian remembered the keychain he always carried-made from a sharp piece of bamboo. Fumbling with trembling hands, he pulled it from his bag and jabbed it into the side of the creature.
The stranger hissed and recoiled, releasing Christian from its grip. Without thinking, he scrambled to his feet and ran. Wet concrete splashed underfoot, adrenaline fueling his desperate escape.
He reached the corner and dashed into the street, fully aware he was risking his life-but his mind had no room for anything except survival. Cars screeched as he ran, his body moving on pure instinct.
"Hey! Are you trying to kill yourself?" shouted a driver, slamming the brakes as Christian darted across the road.
Christian didn't answer. He only ran, the shadow of the hoodie figure looming closer in his mind, a nightmare stalking his every step.
He scrambled onto the passenger jeepney, shoving through the crowd despite it being packed to the brim. Every inch of space was occupied, bodies pressing against him from all sides, but he didn't care. He needed to get away-anywhere but here.
While inside the jeep, his hands were still trembling from fear. He opened his phone and looked at the photo, still unable to believe what he had captured.
"I'll gonna post this later, but before that, I need to find more evidence."
He tried to tap on the picture, but his fingers shook uncontrollably. He couldn't bring himself to look around, because he felt as if the people inside were watching him.
"Why... why am I still scared?"
A heavy, overwhelming kind of fear gripped him now-pure dread.
As the jeepney lurched forward, Christian's gaze remained fixed on the exit, the street he had just fled. His heart pounded in his chest, every bump of the vehicle making him flinch. Shadows from the dim streetlights danced across the crowded interior, and he half-expected the hooded figure to appear at the open doorway at any second.
Even as the jeepney drove further into the maze of streets, his eyes never left that spot. Every turn, every curve, every street corner-he imagined that grotesque tongue or those black, soulless eyes could appear, waiting to drag him back into the nightmare.
The passengers jostled him, coughing and mumbling in their own worlds, but Christian felt as if he were completely alone. He pressed himself against the cold metal pole, knuckles white, trying to slow his ragged breathing. Every sound outside-the hum of engines, the slap of tires on wet pavement-kept him on edge, as if each could signal the creature's return.
And yet, no matter how far the jeepney carried him, he couldn't tear his eyes away from that exit. His fear had tethered him to it, making him watch, making him wait for the impossible.
Hours later, Christian finally reached his apartment, but the trembling in his body didn't stop. Every step felt heavy, every breath shallow.
"I knew it!! They've come all the way to Manila," he muttered to himself, voice shaking.
The pain in his wound throbbed painfully, intensifying with each passing second. He forced himself into the shower, hoping the cold water would wash away some of his panic, some of the lingering fear. But the sight of that face-the one beneath the hoodie-kept flashing in his mind.
"That face... I can't get it out of my head. My old demons... it's coming back. Why... why are they still tormenting me?"
Even in the safety of his own apartment, the fear clung to him, a physical weight pressing against his chest. He could feel the presence of that being, lingering in the air, waiting.
After the shower, he carefully cleaned his wound, applying alcohol and betadine, hands shaking. Then, trembling, he opened his laptop and searched frantically:
"Dead Body found in Paco, Manila."
A flood of articles appeared. He couldn't count them all, but he clicked on one:
"Dead Body of a High School Student Found in an alleyway in Ermita, Manila"
Clicking through, a warning flashed: "Not suitable for sensitive viewers." He hesitated for a moment, heart hammering-but he clicked anyway.
A sudden, loud thud echoed from the ceiling, making his hair stand on end. A cold shiver ran down his spine. Something else was in the apartment.
He grabbed a knife from the living room, hands shaking violently. His phone vibrated-message notifications from his uncle. He glanced at it:
"Christian, you're in charge of the house. I'll be gone for a week because of a Senate hearing. Our unit has been tasked to guard it. I'll send money tomorrow."
Christian tried replying:
"Uncle. helpme."
But there was no load. No internet. The message didn't sent. The silence pressed in around him. Only one thought remained: stay in the apartment and barricade himself, or run into the unknown.
The fear was suffocating. The room was silent, except for a soft, rhythmic sound from the ceiling:
Tik... tik... Tik...
He tightened his grip on the knife, eyes fixed on the window. Heart hammering, he shut and locked all windows, then scattered salt across the sills.
"I remember Grandma's superstition... she always put salt by the window. When I asked why, she said that there's an Aswang wanted to get to Mama."
He returned to his room, heart pounding. He placed garlic in his pocket, recalling old superstitions that claimed it would ward off the Aswang. The ticking sound faded, leaving the room enveloped in heavy silence. Sweat streamed down his face, his wound throbbing sharply. Every nerve was focused on the sound-or the absence of it.
Then, a movement in the kitchen. His body froze. Something slammed against his back. He spun-but a pair of sharp, inhuman hands plunged into his stomach, flinging him against the wall.
Blood poured from his wound. Stunned, he saw the man again-hood soaked in blood. His eyes were black, teeth jagged, skin leathery and weathered.
Christian tried to rise, but the creature advanced, tasting his blood with its fingers.
"Your blood... it taste..... so different," it hissed.
Pain exploded through his abdomen. Weak and trembling, he fought for strength as the creature lifted him with a strangling grip. His heart raced, adrenaline surging.
Tears streamed down his face as hallucinations took hold. He saw his father-bloody, unnatural-standing in front of him, strangling him.
"Papa... why are you doing this?"
The creature paused, confused by his reaction. Christian seized the moment. He pulled the garlic from his pocket and pressed it into the creature's hand.
"Take this!" he shouted.
The creature screamed, burning pain searing its hand. It recoiled, dropping Christian, writhing in agony. Bleeding and gasping, Christian scrambled to the drawer, grabbed his keys, and fled to the living room.
Hands trembling, he forced the padlock off the door, letting it clatter to the floor. He stepped into the hallway, gripping the railing as darkness crept into the edges of his vision, blood pouring from his wound.
The creature had followed, leaving a trail of blood. Every step it took echoed in Christian's skull. Fear weakened his arms, and he slipped, tumbling down the stairs.
"Your blood tastes good, do you know that?.." the creature growled.
Desperation gave him strength. He staggered toward the exit. Outside, the street was eerily silent. Shops closed, the few passing cars distant, and a light drizzle began to fall. There was no one to help. Only him and the thing.
"Help!!" he screamed, collapsing mid-street, crawling forward despite darkness clouding his vision.
"If I die here... better not be someone's meal," he muttered, trembling.
The creature emerged from the apartment, spotting him. Its steps measured, deliberate, closing in with terrifying calm. Christian's limbs gave out again.
"I... I accept it..." he whispered, as the being's long tongue reached his wound, tasting the blood.
A final hallucination: his father, standing on the sidewalk, covered in blood, a grotesquely long tongue, walking toward him.
"Papa... stop," Christian begged, vision blurring.
Then, a sudden sound of screeching brakes. A truck hurtled toward them. The creature didn't notice-it continued forward, but the truck hit something. Christian couldn't tell if it was him or the monster.
The last thing he heard before unconsciousness overtook him was the echoing rain.
His vision blurred, and voices from all around him-voices he had heard since childhood-flooded his ears. He drifted deeper into the void of unconsciousness, slipping further from reality.
Then, he saw a figure standing before him. He realized he was in a room, but not any ordinary room-this was the room of his nightmares. His dream was taking him straight to the root of his trauma.
Christian found himself dragged once again into his nightmare, a memory that refused to stay buried. The room before him stretched and warped, the shadows thickening, the air suffocating.
His mother lay sprawled on the floor, her body limp, soaked in a dark, glistening pool of blood that reflected the flickering light from the lone overhead bulb. The metallic scent filled his nose, sharp and choking, and he gagged as his stomach twisted.
Above her loomed his father, no longer human, no longer the man who had tucked him in at night but a monstrous figure, towering unnaturally, his features distorted, his skin pale and glistening like wet clay.
Papa: "Anak ( Son)..."
Christian stumbled backward, his chest tightening with terror, and collapsed against the wall. Pain shot through his shoulder as a wooden crucifix loosened from its hook and fell, striking his head with a dull thud before bouncing to the floor. His father's dark eyes tracked the motion, unblinking, hungry.
Christian: "Monster! You're not my father!! you're a monster!"
For a moment, the creature's expression softened, almost human.
Papa: "Anak... forgive me. I never wanted this. I love you...."
Christian's chest heaved. Rage and grief collided violently.
Christian: "Loved? You abandoned us! You left Mama for your damn mistress!!"
Papa: "No... let me explain-"
Christian: "Explain? You also killed her!"
Papa's voice cracked.
Papa: "I cheated to your mother, and now It cursed me back.."
Christian: "Then it only means you never loved us."
Papa: "I promised her I will come back, and now she cursed me back..."
Christian pressed himself against the wall, he raised the crucifix, trembling. Every instinct screamed to run, to hide, to scream, but his feet felt rooted to the floor.
Papa: "And it controls me sometimes.."
His father slowly approached him. With every step echoing on the floor, Christian's pulse quickened. He gripped the crucifix tightly, trying to show courage, even as his insides trembled with fear.
Papa: "That cross won't save you. It's just a piece of wood."
A long, sharp nail traced Christian's cheek, leaving a sting that seared through him.
Papa: "Remember, anak... I cared for you just like your mother did."
Christian's fists clenched until his knuckles whitened.
Christian: "Then why? Why did you killed Mama!?"
Papa grinned, teeth glinting in the dim light.
Papa: "Do you know the sweetest meat i tasted? It was inside this house. Inside your mother's womb. Your unborn sibling."
Christian gagged, bile rising. Horror and revulsion paralyzed him.
Christian: "You demon!"
Rage and despair surged through him. With a primal scream, he lunged, driving the wooden cross straight into his father's left eye.
Christian: "DEMON! YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER!"
Black blood spattered across the floor. The creature staggered back, laughing-a dry, hollow sound that scraped against Christian's ears even as tears streamed freely down his face.
Christian, whispering bitterly to himself: "My father died long time ago... You're nothing but a mimic wearing his skin."
Papa chuckled, gripping the crucifix embedded in his skull. With one swift motion, he yanked it free, snapping the wood. Blood poured freely, one eye socket gaping like an abyss, the other glowing black with malice.
Papa: "You'll gonna understand me next time..."
Before Christian could react, the creature drove the crucifix into its own neck. A spray of black blood splattered across Christian's face, pooling thick and oily on the floor. The body collapsed beside him with a sickening thud. Out of everything he had witnessed, this was the moment that cracked his sanity the most.
Christian sank to the floor, shivering, hands sticky with blood, stomach heaving, heart pounding as if it would burst from his chest.
The house seemed impossibly quiet, save for the distant wail of police sirens and the faint chirping of crickets outside. Christian's breaths came ragged, uneven, each one a small victory over the terror that still clung to him like a second skin.
Christian: "I... I can't... not again..."
He dared not move. He dared not look away from the lifeless body of his mother and the creature. Shadows seemed to twist and curl, mocking him, whispering that this nightmare was far from over.
Even as the first light of dawn threatened the horizon, Christian knew the darkness would never leave him. Not fully.