I was one of those non-believers. The type who rolled my eyes when someone told me stories about the “aswang” - evil monsters that preyed on unborn children. But I did like to listen to these tales as they were entertaining, like watching a horror film unfold before my eyes, except that I was listening to it. My imagination did run wild at times.
Growing up, many of my grandmother’s bedtime stories were about the aswang. Once, she said that she actually encountered one when she was a child. The creature came to her as a small bird, a maya. The maya is a local bird which is perhaps a cousin of the sparrow. In my imagination, it was truly a tiny bird. But, Lola said, “It landed on a beam nearest the window, and our entire house felt it like a small vibration.”
Indeed, I, and probably most kids my age who lived in the provinces, were weaned on stories like these growing up. Now, I believe our elders used these stories to make us afraid of staying out too late. The scary tales were like a curfew that were subliminally implanted in our minds.
Today, however, something happened that made me rethink my beliefs.
Twilight slowly and quietly crept all around me while I worked alone in my garden. I was too absorbed that I did not hear the metal gate squeak open. Suddenly, I felt the hair at the back of my neck stand. Potchi, my dog, who had been sleeping nearby, was now alert. He was looking beyond me, towards my right side where the gate was, with raised shackles and alert eyes. A low growl vibrated through his throat.
Before I could turn around, I heard a raspy, frail voice saying, “Could you give me a glass of water?” Each word was prolonged, as though the speaker was too exhausted to make the request quickly.
Potchi became more alert - his stance rigid, his growls now low and menacing. My heart quickened, like a drummer was playing a fast but difficult riff inside my rib cage.
I slowly turned my head and beheld the old woman who had entered the closed gate.
She looked like any woman that I could’ve met on the street. Her simple white shirt was tucked in a black printed skirt, and on her feet were black ballet flats that looked almost gray with dust. If I had met her on the street, I would have probably given her a small smile.
The lady looked normal. Yet I knew who she was. Deep in my gut, I knew she was the lady that everyone in the village was talking about.
“Water?” I asked. But I did not wait for a reply as I called my husband’s name, “Greg!”
Greg wasn’t home yet. I just felt it was important for her to know that I was not alone.
“Maybe we should go to the sari-sari store next door. I’m sure they have some water. I’ll buy you one. Our ref isn’t working, so we don’t have any cold water,” I said, hoping that she wouldn’t see through my lies.
The old woman emitted a low chuckle in her attempt to be friendly only to end up sounding menacing to my ears. Then, her eyes focused on my rounded belly. My hands immediately hugged my abdomen, shielding my unborn child from her eyes. She tried to look away, but it was as if my stomach was a magnet and she couldn’t help but stare.
I swallowed the lump of fear in my throat. Potchi was growling even more, saliva dripping from the sides of his wide mouth. He was ready to pounce at the tiniest provocation. As strange as it might seem, I felt safer that he was there as my protector because this woman, no matter how friendly she wanted to appear, possessed a sinister energy that came off of her, like a dark cloud that moved around her, with her.
“Seven months?” she rasped, licking her lips as though something tasty was already near her mouth.
I knew she meant how far along I was, and she was right. But I did not want to acknowledge that, so I feigned ignorance and hoped to turn her attention somewhere else.
“Seven months?” I asked while striving doubly hard to have an innocent expression on my face. “You know what, let’s go to the store. It’s just the house next to this one,” I explained as I pointed towards my left side.
The old woman smiled smugly, her yellowed teeth peeking through her pale lips.
“Tap water will be just fine,” she said. Her words came more quickly as though she couldn’t contain her excitement.
She made a slight move towards me, arms outstretched like she wanted to usher me into my own home. Potchi growled and leaped in front of me. He bared his teeth and advanced at the woman.
I wanted to yell, ‘No!’ But the word remained trapped in my throat. All I could see was the menace etched on her face as she released a low guttural sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep and far, like an echo from the bowels of the earth.
Then, I sensed some movement just outside the gate. Lights flashed, and I breathed in relief. It was Greg at last!
Greg’s arrival loosened me from the grip of fear. I felt safer as I called off Potchi's nearing attack; and so, I uttered in an assertive tone, “No, Potchi!”
I glanced at Potchi as I gave him my command. When I looked up, it was Greg that I saw coming out of the Jeep and opening the gate wide so that he could park the vehicle inside.
My head swiveled to my left and right. I looked behind me, but there was nothing but Potchi and I.
“Did you see her?” I asked Greg as he approached me, his face tired but smiling.
He gathered me in his arms and planted a kiss on my forehead before asking in a distracted manner, “Who?”
“The old lady that was just here,” I said while my mind was still trying to figure out how she… disappeared.
I told Greg the entire story during dinner. He nodded his head but I knew he didn’t believe in these types of tall tales. We were both non-believers. But what happened was not normal, and it coincided with many stories that were being told by the pregnant women in our area.
It was always twilight and it was always an old woman asking for a glass of water. Of course, since most believed the story of the aswang who lived in the mountain nearby, these people chased her away with bolos and threats. I did neither, and I wondered if I should have done what they did too.
That night, Potchi seemed restless. He paced near the window that was to the side of the bed. Because what happened frightened me, I asked my husband to sleep on my side instead, which was beside the window. He agreed, and he was snoring as soon as his head touched the pillow.
After a while, I fell into an uneasy sleep.
It was still dark when I was awakened by Potchi’s growling. I quickly turned on the light on the bedside table and was about to tell him to keep quiet when I noticed something wet and cold underneath the sheets. I flipped my blanket, my heart racing as I expected the worst while I hoped for the best.
But then, I saw something staining the sheets. With shaking hands, I touched the wetness. It was sticky and had the faint odor of rust. It was blood! Blood was all over my pajamas and on the sheets!
Bile rose towards my throat. I retched, but nothing came out. I felt Greg bolt up and he then had his arms around me. It was his warmth that I felt before everything around me turned black.
💮This is a work of fiction based on tales told in my neighborhood. 💮
