Picture it— Malicboy, Philippines, the late 70’s.
You are in a rickety wooden house, propped up on stilts to keep the floodwaters at bay whenever it rains. The wooden slats on the floor are spaced a couple of centimeters apart, making it supremely easy to look down into the swirling darkness below. The fall is not far and the ground is soft, but just the thought of one of the slats breaking under you is enough to make you watch where you step.
In this house, there is no electricity. No landline to call for help or company, no AC to battle the suffocating summer breeze, and no screens on the window to protect you from the mosquitos relentlessly buzzing in and out. It is a battle of wills and what you yourself are willing to put up with— leave the windows open and have mosquito bites littering every inch of bare skin or close the windows and have the house turned into a wooden pressure cooker. Eventually, the pressure cooker becomes too much and your brain feels like it is about to melt out of your skull, so you move to slide the windows open, hoping for some form of relief.
The summer air is sticky against your skin and your shirt sticks to your body as you stare out into the black night. The sun has long set, disappearing beneath the tops of the trees, so densely packed together that only the thinnest strips of moonlight manage to shine through. They slice through the dark trunks of the coconut trees, stretching across the ground like claws, twisted and gnarled, ready to grab and slice you open.
Beneath you, the house moves accompanied by one long, drawn-out creaaak… that gives you the impression of your Lolo standing up from a hardback wooden chair. It seems like the house itself is telling you: ‘ang tanda ko na!’ and, following another, more indignant creeaaak!: ‘masakit ang likod ko!’
Still, the sounds send your heart racing and cause the back of your neck to prickle. The strings of garlic on the windowsill help ease your nerves slightly.
Then you realize that the jungle has gone silent.
TIK. TIK. TIK.
You scan the jungle, trying to pinpoint the sound, daring to stick your head out the window to see further down the dirt path.
Tik. Tik. Tik.
It comes again, softer now, but no less noticeable. Maybe it is walking away? Your hand clutches at the crucifix on your chest, just to be safe. The metal is warm and slippery in your hand, the edges biting into your palm.
tik. tik. tik
The noise again— softly, almost imperceptible against the roaring of your ears and you relax. It is just your imagination getting the better of you.
A hot breeze hits the back of your neck and you realize, as ice-cold dread slithers up your spine, that it had not been walking away at all.
—-
Translations:
Lolo – Grandfather
Ang tanda ko na! – I am old!
Masakit ang likod ko! – My back hurts!
Hopefully, you guys enjoyed that little snippet! My presentation will be on the creature that haunts the poor main character.
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See you in class!
