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Alona’s Quest for the Golden Tree
Chapter 6: The Aswang Attack
THE WHOLE barrio was in an uproar the next day.
The source of which I learned when Kuya Maliksi dragged me towards the place where everyone was converging while we were on our way to school.
As further punishment, he was my baby-sitter for the day. Not that I needed nor wanted one. I didn’t know who was more annoyed, me or him.
On our way to school, several kid’s Kuya Maliksi’s age came up to us. They bowled Kuya Maliksi over, grinning.
“Nice victory yesterday!”
“Yeah, totally knocked him out!”
“You little bastard! Small but terrible!”
There were awe and adoration in their voices.
Kuya Maliksi tried to conceal his grin, but didn’t quite make it. It was obvious he was enjoying the attention.
I can’t help but roll my eyes. Apparently, the amateur boxer fighting in a makeshift arena of ground and sounds and sweats was Kuya Maliksi.
I tugged Kuya Maliksi’s arm.
He ignored me.
“What happened to your face?” said Gardo, coming closer to examine Kuya Maliksi’s face. “I thought you win clean yesterday?”
Kuya Maliksi snorted.
“That good-for-nothing-scumbag couldn’t be decent enough! Tried to take me on, with a bunch of hooligans, as I was going home. Dirty git!”
If I listen enough, I think I’ll get yesterday’s full story.
“You fought with him?”
“Them,” Kuya Maliksi corrected.
“And?”
“You think I’ll let them walk all over me?” he said mysteriously, puffing himself up.
“Asshole!” the boys cheered, clapping him even harder.
I mimed vomiting behind my hands. I never get that, treating beating someone up as if it was a cause for celebration. Boys, really.
I tugged Kuya Maliksi’s hands more urgently.
“Okay!” hissed Kuya Maliksi, consenting. To his friends, he said, “Gotta go!”
We set off after that.
Scarcely had we took a few steps when we got distracted again. A group of people were congregating at a place bounded by yellow police line. It said “Do not Cross”, looking very grim and serious.
I gasped when we move closer. There were two bodies sprawled on the ground.
“Did you think they were salvaged?” said Kagawad Marites in a carrying whisper, her voice loud among the throngs. “Their bodies were riddled with bullets wounds. Only the police can have guns, right?”
Here, to be salvaged meant to be released from prison. And to be shot incessantly while prisoners run to safety immediately thereafter.
Kagawad Marites wasn’t the only one keen on having her opinions heard either.
“No way!” said another, throwing furtive looks towards the police officers nearby who, upon hearing what Kagawad Marites said, bristled. “Have you seen the marks? It’s all claws and marks. No human hands could ever do that!”
“What are you saying?” asked Kagawad Marites, her voice deepening suspiciously. “How could it be possible? There are no aswangs in this barrio. We drove them away years and years ago! Don’t spat nonsense, Lala!”
Her voice was almost angry.
The two bodies were inert, horrifically silent.
I looked away immediately, convulsing silently.
“Look at the state of them!” said one town folk, dubious.
“Look at the state of them!” mimicked Mang Goryo. “Heart and liver taken out. That’s the work of the devil!” The old man was insistent, toothless mouth set in a grim line, as if that explains everything.
“There’s no way it was an aswang attack, is it?” asked another.
Aswang was a mythical creature that attacked under cover of darkness. It lived off human flesh, eating the heart and liver of its victims. No possible creature could be worse than the aswang.
The victim’s bodies were positioned in awkward angles, ears turned away from annoying gossips. One was facing the sun, the other the earth. The face we can see looked indistinguishable. All we could see was the expression of extreme terror. Blood stained the floor.
It, indeed, might be the work of a filthy aswang.
Kuya Maliksi’s hand closed on my eyes. For a while, all I saw was the blankness of his hand.
“Let’s go,” he said grimly, towing me onwards.
I followed him obediently.
(c) 2016, Herbel Santiago