One Shot: Manananggal

As the sun was setting over a humid day in Guimaras, Estella Cornes prepared for her final performance at the 1992 Mango Festival. She wore a bright dress of oranges and greens in celebration of her homeland's national fruit and showed a wide smile to all of the vendors around her little stage. Everyone from the smallest child to the eldest adults around Western Visayas loved the yearly mango festival for their sweet fruit, entertaining atmosphere, and local performances. Most of the rest of the year, Estella was another callous-handed harvester of the fruit, only permitted to sing in what little time she found to herself. But at the yearly festival, she was celebrated. There were bigger acts that would come after her when the sun set and the children were whisked away. But for just under two hours on those special nights, her voice was beloved to one and all.

So at the center of the stage, cheap microphone close to her lips, she sang in Tagalog, "Sana'y di magmaliw ang dati kong araw." Those good old days, I pray won't fade.

It took little more than that first phrase for half of the crowd to pause from their steps in line, turn to her, and sing along with a gentle sway. The song was a dedication from a child to their parent about the closeness they had shared as the child grew up, and the desire to know that closeness again. Estella's singing was revered not simply for its pitch and tempo, but also its emotional depth. Sa Ugoy ug Duyan was a song children learned to perform, but it took a truly soulful performer to draw out both its love and its melancholy. But the life of Estella Cornes molded her well for that performance.

When the performance was finished, she returned to her worn, old, countryside house with her husband Jarrett. Many homes across the Philippines housed three or even four generations, but the Cornes' did not. The home had belonged to Jarrett's family, and both his parents and Estella's died young. They were alone in the large, aged house, and in spite of their desires, they remained childless.

That was not for lack of trying. For five years they tried and prayed for a tiny miracle in the cradle, but none ever came. It wasn't a matter of initial ability, she and Jarrett had conceived again and again. But there was always some complication. Sickness and tiny wounds overtook her belly every time. On their fourth attempt, they saved up enough money to seek transport into the city and consult a specialist. But by then, he was so sorry to report, their latest little miracle was already gone. So that night, after her celebrated, heartfelt performance, and with Jarrett already asleep, Estella sat in bed and sobbed, and sobbed.

A knock on the door jolted her momentarily from her misery. Estella looked to Jarrett, who remained fast asleep with exhaustion, and made her way to the front door. She pushed down her depression as best she could, it was always important to be accommodating to the strange and the lost in her culture. Garbed in a concealing nightdress, Estella answered the door and showed her best smile. "Good evening."

The tall stranger at the door smiled back. He was a foreigner, of that much Estella was sure, though she struggled to guess at from where. American tourists sometimes wandered into her corner of the islands, but they were usually the pale-skinned twenty-somethings. This man, with his tinged complexion, deep black hair, and beard, he wasn't quite like them. And while he looked no older than maybe forty, something far older seemed to radiate from his eyes.

"Good evening," he said back, his voice oddly high for his size. Estella struggled to place his accent, but it did perhaps sound like something she'd heard on television. British, maybe?
"My name is Estella, can... can I help you? Are you hungry? Lost?"

He continued to smile and shook her head. "No, friend, but I believe you might be." One hand came out from a pocket and he rubbed slowly at his stomach with it. "Or at least, I know what has been lost to you."

Estella's heart skipped a beat and she was unsure if rage or sorrow would bubble up to the surface first. Did this stranger know of her miscarriages? How could he? Was she being spied upon? Who would dare delve into a matter so personal and agonizing?

With her hospitable mask faltering, Estella said, "I don't know what you could mean. But, again, friend, are you lost? Can I help you in some way?"

"Are you a believer, Mrs. Cornes?"

Estella flinched. "If there's nothing I can help you with—"

"I did not come to be served, but to serve." From his other pocket he drew a worn, wooden rosary. "A scavenger steals on you, Estella Cornes. It used your belly to feed its own, and surely will do so again." He gripped the rosary tighter and raised the crucifix to her eye level. "It does not seek you because you deserve it, but because you are vulnerable."

Estella was ready to shut the door then and there, yet something held her back. Perhaps it was simply that old Filipino hospitality. Or maybe, just maybe, she really did believe this man had something to offer her. "… Vulnerable?"

"Evil fears the power of God," he said. "Have you ever said the rosary before, Estella?"

She nodded slowly. "But not since I was a girl. I believe, I do—but keeping up this house, work in the fields, it was so much time, I haven't had it in me to go back to mass since—"

The stranger raised his hand and said, "Shhh." When she paused, he said, "The lost sheep should not concern herself with explanations. She should just be happy to rejoin the flock. I've come with what you seek."

Perhaps a few years before Estella would have protested. There was a time and a place for religion, of course there was. Just as there was a time and a place for songs and for mango festivals. But how could celebrating God carry a child to term? Though, as she reflected on it, what had that doctor in the city been able to offer her?

The stranger extended the rosary out toward Estella, but pulled it back when she reached for it. "If you but speak a rosary each night, the creature will be kept at bay," he said. "But if you already bear a child now, the curse is already upon him. If you release your hold on this one, you can conceive and raise the next without that fear."

Tears in her eyes, Estella felt at her scarred stomach. Could she be carrying a child even then? Could it just be too early to know? She shook her head and continued to reach. "Curse or no curse, if I carry a child it is mine. Mine and Jarrett's," she said with some struggle. "What will that evil be to a mother's love? I will keep and I will care, all the days of my baby's life, no matter what that means."

And once again, the stranger showed her that kind, warm smile. "How blessed you are then, Estella Cornes. Do as I have told you and the child shall live. It will not always be an easy life, but I see clearly it will be one full of care."

Once Estella took the rosary, the stranger turned to go. She called after him, "Wait!" And though he did not look back, she called, "Who are you?"

"Born of a fallen son of God and a daughter of man," he said. "My name is Kedar, and I am the eldest of the Nephilim." He didn't stop moving, but did seem to take a moment to consider his next words. "Like your child I was born with a heavy yoke on my back. It is through what I do for others I hope, one day, to break my own curse."
That night Estella did just as the stranger had told her before bed, at least as much of the rosary as she could remember. She knew the Lord's Prayer and to say ten Hail Marys and one Glory Be, though she was sure there was another prayer she was forgetting, maybe even two. Or, she dreaded to think, perhaps three. Estella's parents raised her to believe, but they were not adherents to orthodoxy. They brought her up going to Catholic mass, they prayed at dinner to the Catholic god, that was all they needed to be proper Catholics. And Estella prayed her best was all that was required from her in that trying time.

When the next evening Jarrett saw her at her knees at the foot of their bed, he asked her, "Is all well, mahal?"

Estella finished her latest Hail Mary, clutched the bead to mark her place, and said, "I hope so. We will know soon."

She kept the vigil just as Kedar asked her, no matter how sore the mango fields left her and no matter what performance practice she attended later on. And it seemed her faith was rewarded one month later, when the familiar, reassuring pains of morning sickness again took hold of her. Jarrett felt bittersweet on the day she told him of her belief in what was to come.

"I am glad, Estella, of course I am glad," he said. "I just think it is best to wait and see what comes of this before we celebrate too much. We have come this far before, remember. It is the next months that determine the rest."

Estella was not upset with him, it was a stance she'd tried to harden herself to in the past. But her husband had not met the man of God. She could believe enough for the both of them.

The pregnancy proved strenuous like none that she had experienced before. The mother-to-be's experience was deeply colored by the miscarriages of the past. Her children had always grown to a certain point within her womb, and then their masses slowly began to dwindle and fade away before her body realized they were no longer viable. The child conceived just before the eldest Nephil visit not only grew physically, but seemed to drain her day and night. Though her love for mangos had survived the work on the farm, the baby within rejected them. Flavors of fish and rice were tolerated, but on the evenings Estella and Jarrett went into town other, meatier smells tantalized her. Dinuguan, made from pig stewed in its own blood, soon proved a favorite of both her and the baby.

Despite Estella's constant exhaustion and eventual reprieve from the fields, she continued to grow. At six months, the blessed child had outlasted all of its siblings, and at seven, it seemed even Jarrett dared to truly hope. Estella moved on from the simple rosary recitals each night and began to read from a long forgotten Bible that belonged to Jarrett's father. When she came to Genesis chapter six and references to the sons of God and man, she thought nothing of them, since English had rendered the word as, "giants," while Tagalog had translated it to, "bardagol." On the night she came to the story of Joseph's second reunion with the other sons of Jacob, the baby kicked especially hard.

With Jarrett fast asleep, Estella whispered aloud, "'Then he threw his arms around his brother Benjamin and wept on his shoulder.'" She gave her womb a tender rub. "You will be the youngest of many brothers too, little one. Do you like that name? Benjamin? Benjie for short?"

The child seemed contented by those words. And so was Estella.

Two weeks later, after sixteen hours of labor and just when the sun had set, Estella and Jarrett looked upon little Benjamin Ramos Cornes for the first time. Estella held him close, of course. Jarrett smiled at the two at their bedside, but couldn't keep back the observation, "What a pale little thing he is."

"He's beautiful," Estella said. "Our boy is beautiful."

"Of course he is," Jarrett said. "But look at him. He's white like a little cockatoo."

She hugged the infant even closer. "Jarrett, don't talk like that. We hoped and prayed for this baby, he is our gift from God. Don't call him anything else."

Jarrett rose his hands in defense. "But I like cockatoos, I didn't mean—" he stopped when Estella held her scowl. With a sigh, he said, "You're right. He is our son. A gift from God. And he is so beautiful."

For the next year, no matter what they beheld, those were Estella and Jarrett's positions. When Estella first brought little Benjie outside the next morning and he screamed and screamed, she maintained he just wasn't ready for the sun yet. Jarrett agreed with reluctant silence. The toothless infant somehow cut into Estella's breast every time she nursed him, but she insisted she was fine. Jarrett agreed with reluctant silence. And even when the precious words out of Estella's Bible readings seemed to make him rage, she believed he would come around when he grew older. Jarrett agreed with reluctant silence.

It was not that these things didn't disturb Estella, but that she clung to the words of the stranger from that night. With prayers and faith she'd brought little Benjie to term, so surely she could see him through anything else life could bring unto him. Unbroken belief had brought them so far, surely she would continue to be rewarded for that.

One evening just before the boy's first birthday, a knock came at the door just as it had after the Mango Festival. Estella called to Jarrett to answer the door, she was busy with Benjie in one hand and a struggle to bandage her breast with the other. Weary from both the oddities of a normal child together with those of his son, Jarrett didn't have Estella's hospitality prepared for the two at the door. Exhausted, he only asked, "Can I help you?"

"Ah, you must be the husband. So nice to finally meet you."

Jarrett opened his mouth to question the high-pitched stranger further, but when Estella heard the voice, she ran right past him and threw her free arm around the man at the door. "You've returned!"

He smiled and hugged her back. "You seem well, Estella."

"He came just as you promised he would." She extended her other arm where he could see. "This is little Benjie."

"Hello there, little Benjie." Kedar maintained his smile but pulled away from the hug far enough to look Estella in the eyes. "Was it as I warned? Was he born with the burden on his back?"

The mother bit her lip and hesitated, but then nodded.

"But you have loved him all the same?"

"Of course I have."

"Then you have done what is most important."

Jarrett cleared his throat and stepped between the two. "Excuse me, but it is like she said? You came to this house and told my wife to pray for our son?"

"I did."

The humble mango picker didn't know what to make of this stranger. He'd never thought much of Estella's prayers and something about this man still bothered him. It was right to say thank you and to be a good host, Jarrett knew. But he wanted those traditions met and this man to go away.

"Thank you for that," Jarrett said. "Is there anything we can do for you?" He peered past toward the other man that remained just outside the door. "Or your friend?"

The stranger motioned to his companion. "Come, Brendan." The second man wore priest's vestments, and his red hair looked as if it had just begun to fade to white. "This is Father Gallagher," he said. "He is a chaplain. I asked him to come with me because I believed if your child was well, he was due for a baptism."

It seemed at the mere mention of the word, little Benjie awoke and uttered a few pitiful whimpers. Jarrett scowled. "We appreciate your concern," he said. "But our son has not taken well to blessings."

"Of course he hasn't," Kedar said. "Your son was born with a curse. It isn't your fault, but it is your responsibility to save him from it."

"Now listen here—" Jarrett shook a finger at the stranger. "This is my son you're talking about. If he's to be baptized, then we will care for the matter ourselves. We don't need—"

"Jarrett!" Estella gave him the fiercest glare he'd seen in their decade of marriage. "This man is the reason we have a son at all. If he says he will see Benjie baptized, then we will let him do so."

"Peace, peace." Kedar raised his hands in gentle supplication. "He was not with us that night. I cannot blame him for being skeptical." He looked toward Jarrett, an honest gentleness seemed to radiate from his aged gaze. "I swear to you we came only for your son's spiritual well-being. When we have finished, we will depart again, and your child will be all the healthier for it."

The aging chaplain, Brendan Gallagher stepped up toward Jarrett, his hands, empty save for a worn, leather Bible, in similar placating position. "I swear to God almighty we have come to baptize your son, nothing more. If Benjie ever has anything to do with us again, it will be his own choice." His words was peppered with some brogue, Irish or Scottish, maybe.

Jarrett wanted to argue further, where did these strangers get off telling him how much they knew and cared about his son? But as relentless as he felt, he was sure Estella would outlast him. With a sigh he crossed the living room and sat down in one of his chairs in the den's corner. The sooner they began, the sooner they would be finished. "Go on with it then."

Kedar and his associate each smiled at him before they repositioned themselves. The chaplain stood before Estella while the other stranger seemed to place himself directly between Jarrett and his wife.

The eldest of the Nephilim spoke in a hush to Estella. "Before we begin, I need you to understand. Your son has done nothing to deserve this. In the same way a swimmer does not deserve a leech. But this thing— his curse— it will cling like leeches do. It will harden its bite and squirm and claw with all of its force. It will hurt the boy, he will cry and scream, but once the rite has begun, it must be finished." He set his big, calloused hands on Estella's shoulders. "You are a good mother. Please, let that be the reason you refrain from interrupting, rather than why you do."

Her faith was absolute. With a nod she said, "I will."

"Good. Have you chosen his Godparents yet? I regret they will not be here, but our time is short."

Estella hesitated and looked away for a moment, before she said, "Forgive me for not asking before, but—well—we came this far by your council. We each have friends, but no brothers or sisters who practice faithfully. Would you like to be his Godfather?"

A smile, satisfied but not surprised, crossed Kedar's lips. "It would be my honor." He motioned toward Father Gallagher at the kitchen table as he unloaded small bottles and plates from a knapsack. "Now, give the child to the priest, and we will begin."

Father Gallagher accepted the baby, cleared his throat, and spoke in his brogue. "We begin today our celebration of the Sacraments of Baptism. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." Gallagher blessed himself and looked toward Estella. "What name have you given your child?"

Estella smiled. "Benjamin."

"What do you ask of God's Church for Benjamin?"

Kedar instructed, "Baptism."

"Baptism."

"Estella and Jarrett, you have asked to have your child baptized." Father Gallagher looked toward the father. He sat by one of the open windows and nodded in tired, annoyed defeat. "In doing so, you accept the responsibility of training Benjamin in the practice of the faith. It will be your duty to bring Benjamin up to keep God's commandments as Christ taught us by loving God and our neighbor. Do you clearly understand what you are undertaking?

Estella and, a second later, the ever reluctant Jarrett stated, "We do."

"And you, Kedar, are you ready to help the parents of this child in their duty?

"I am." There was a practiced rhythm to the statement.

"Benjamin, the Christian community welcomes you with great joy. In its name, I claim you for Christ our Savior by the sign of his cross." Father Gallagher laid his thumb on the baby's forehead and traced first the vertical, then the horizontal lines of the cross.

The little one did not simply cry at the motion, he let out a harsh, shrill screech.

Out of parental instinct Jarrett flinched and demanded, "What the hell was that?"

"I've traced the holy cross upon his forehead," Gallagher said. "And I welcome any of you who wish it do the same." He looked toward the mother. "Estella?"

She turned nervously toward Kedar, but accepted her son when he nodded to her. Gallagher went to prepare his oils and for a few seconds the baby seemed to settle in his mother's arms. But as soon as she traced the sign of the cross on his head, he wailed anew, and screeched again when Kedar did likewise. After the Eldest of the Nephilim had done so, he looked toward Jarrett, as if asking if he would like to do so as well. The disturbed look on his face seemed to answer the question.

Oil of Catechumens in hand, Father Gallagher resumed. "Almighty God, you sent your only son to rescue us from the slavery of sin, and to give us the freedom only your sons and daughters enjoy. We now pray for this child who will have to face the world with its temptations, and fight the devil in all his cunning. Your Son died and rose again to save us. By his victory over sin and death, bring this child out of the power of darkness. Strengthen him with the grace of Christ, and watch over him at every step in life's journey. Through Christ our Lord."

First Kedar answered, "Amen." Estella followed just afterwards.

The priest went on, and when Kedar led her to do so, Estella repeated his blessings. Little Benje had not squirmed since the cross was traced on his forehead, but his look darted about at the three. As if, in his only tiny child's way, he didn't trust them. Estella felt that trepidation whenever he looked toward her, and her heart ached for her small one. But her renewed faith had already brought her so far, she had to hold on, in that moment tighter than ever.

Father Gallagher asked, "Dear parents and Godfather: You have come here to present this child for baptism. By water and the Holy Spirit, he is to receive the gift of new life from God, who is love. On your part, you must make it your constant care to bring him up in the practice of the faith. See that the divine life, which God gives him, is kept safe from the poison of sin, to grow always stronger in his heart. If your faith makes you ready to accept this responsibility, renew now the vows of your own baptism. Reject sin; profess your faith in Christ Jesus. This is the faith of the Church. This is the faith in which this child is about to be baptized. Do you renounce Satan?"

By this point, Jarret seemed committed to his silence. But Estella's enthusiasm was enough for both of them. "I do."

"And all his works?"

"I do."

"And all his empty show?"

"I do."

"Do you believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth?"

"I do!" Whether it was just the noise of her reply or something more, she could not tell. But Estella's words made Benje squirm and whimper again.

"Do you believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was born of the Virgin Mary, suffered death and was buried, rose again from the dead, and is now seated at the right hand of the Father?"

"I do!" As she said it, the baby cried once more.

"Do you believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting?"

"I do!" And as Estella said it her little boy seemed to struggle and thrash. Still, Gallagher did not release him.

"Ano ba 'yan!" Jarrett said from his seat. "Be done with it or let him go, you're upsetting him."

The priest paid him no mind. "This is our faith. This is the faith of the Church. We are proud to profess it, in Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen. Is it your will that Benjamin. should be baptized in the faith of the Church, which we have all professed with you?

"It is!" As Estella said it, Kedar took a decisive step between her and the priest.

"I baptize you in the name of the Father." Gallagher poured the first cupful atop Benjie's head. There came first a cry, then a sizzle. Estella's eyes bulged and she had to swallow a scream as the consecrated water scalded the child's flesh.

"What?" Jarrett rose from his seat. "What the hell are you doing?! How hot is that?"

"It is cold to the touch," Kedar said.

"Like hell it is, I've seen enough from you people." Jarrett stared down Kedar, his heart ran at a gallop, but he seemed unsure he could take the bigger man. "Get out of my house!"

"He's been exposed now," Kedar said. "There is pain, but it will pass."

"But like this?" Estella wept. "Must we really put him through this?"

"Get out!" Jarrett said. "Drop my son, both of you get out!"

Kedar laid his hands on Estella and spoke softly. "All the old gods called for sacrifices. But only our god told Abraham it was merely a test."

Gallagher stopped when Estella and Jarrett began to yell, but picked up again as if they hadn't when there came a pause. "And of the Son." He poured a second cup of water atop Benjie's head. Once again the baby screamed in both terror and agony, a stomach full of his mother's blood and milk burst from his mouth as the priest, nonplused, reached for the last cup.

"God damnit!" Jarrett ran toward the priest who held his son. Kedar stepped into his path, grabbed ahold of the father, and thrust him hard against the wall of the little house. Jarrett shouted in pain and struggled to no avail against the powerful stranger.

"Would you sooner lose your son's soul than see him in a little pain?" Kedar said. "You were redeemed through the suffering of your lord. Pain is a teacher, agony is a purifier."

"Estella!" Jarrett's voice was shrill and his struggle great, but he pressed on. "That's your baby, protect him!"

"And of the Holy Spirit." As Father Gallagher raised the last cup, the baby made a last push against him.

The scalded skin of Benjie's stomach stretched until the flesh burst. A lance-like stinger lashed out of his mouth and stabbed the priest in the hand. The chaplain screeched and lost his grip, the flesh at Benjie's waist tore free, a pair of wings ripped outward from his back. Like a dazed moth the confused child flew around the room as gore spilled out from his belly.

His voice hoarse from the shouts and mind overtaken with shock, Jarrett's pupils dilated. He screamed, "Monster! Demon! Halimaw! M—M—Manananggal!" before unconsciousness took him like a defense mechanism from the madness.

Estella's stomach churched as well and she fought the overtaking darkness as her precious babe flew about the house, agony still in his shrill screams, and hit his head against the thatch roof in a desperate gambit to escape. She only returned to herself when Kedar stepped before her again.

"The ritual must be finished," Kedar said. "We will lose him if it isn't."

Tears spilled down Estella's eyes as flames burst in her veins. "Then why did you even begin? What have you done—"

"Settle him now," Kedar said. "Before it is too late."

She could have screamed at the strangers for an hours on end. Had they truly given her so much and then put it all in such horrific danger? If she lost her son, she would lose her faith, she was sure of it. She would hate this man and his words about God for the rest of her days, damn them all if they took her little one away. But as much as the curses danced on her tongue, a far greater resolve retook her. She could hate these men for taking her son, but they'd have to actually succeed at taking him first.

With a scratchy, pained voice, Estella sang. "Sana'y di magmaliw ang dati kong araw." Those good old days, I pray won't fade. The song was, after all, a lullaby. "Nang munti pang bata sa piling ni nanay." When I was young and in Mother's care. And although Benjie still fumbled through the air, his pace did, indeed, seem to slow. "Nais kong maulit ang awit ni inang mahal." Oh, to hear dear Mother's lullaby again. As pained and distressed as he was, it seemed Benjie found some small sense of calm in his mother's voice. "Awit ng pag-ibig habang ako'y nasa duyan." The song of love as she rocked my cradle.

Father Gallagher found foot enough to catch Benjie and, with his still-bloody hand, grabbed the last cup of water. "And the holy spirit. Amen."

Estella wanted to shout that enough was enough, but no shrieks of pain came with the last pour. And, in fact, the sizzling sound and the agonizing wounds across the child's body vanished as quick as they had come. She still wished to yell in both anger and confusion, but her son's silence made way for her own. It was only with much struggle she asked, "Is… is he well now?"

"It isn't in our power to take all of the curse away," Kedar said. "Sunshine and garlic will still pain him, he will still hunger for blood. But the Lord's works—" he stepped over to the child, slipped a rosary from his pocket, and dangled it before him. The weary Benjie still recoiled at the sight, but didn't make a sound as Kedar gently pressed the crucifix against his skin. "He needn't fear."

"The God of power and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ has freed you from sin and brought you to new life through water and the Holy Spirit," Gallagher said. "He now anoints you with the chrism of salvation, so that, united with his people, you may remain forever a member of Christ who is Priest, Prophet and King. Amen." And, at long last, he handed the babe back to an exhausted, infuriated, grateful Estella.

"I'm sure you're both tired now," Kedar said. "It would be best to rest."

Estella opened her mouth to object. For all the good Kedar had brought her, she had every right to be furious. And even if the baptism had granted him immunity to holy objects, that would hardly have made a difference if faith hadn't suddenly been thrust back into her life. Somehow she had to condemn and thank them in the same breath.

But she didn't get the chance. Father Gallagher let out a low hum that formed into thick words she didn't understand. And, in moments, she and Benjie were both asleep.

When the two awoke, hours later, they were alone. Kedar and Father Gallagher had slipped away as quick as they had come, and Jarrett was nowhere to be seen. But most significant to Estella, little Benjie laid against her, free from the blisters of his consecration, Kedar's latest rosary laid in his tiny hands. Whatever else Estella felt, at she knew he was safe.

-000-

It was twelve years before the eldest Nephil returned to Guimaras. As with his past journeys, he arrived under cover of darkness, hands tucked into pockets, and a rosary clutched in his fingers. He was tired, the previous night had been difficult, even for one as experienced as him. But there was still work to be done, and an obligation to finally fulfill to one of his many Godchildren.

He journeyed far off the paths into a patch of forest along the coast of Jordan. The only correspondence Estella had ever sent him was word she was moving into the city, and he should forward his future payments there. Kedar had wealth enough, there was no need for those he cared about to live in squalor. Or in homes that clung to painful memories.

A mile outside the city, he heard scampering in the nearby bushes and trees. There was still plenty of wild fauna throughout the Philippines, that sound could be any number of things. Then came the desperate screech of some doomed creature that was cut off all in an instant. Kedar pushed through the foliage for a closer look.

A tiny, dark-haired hunter held a warty pig against the forest floor. The assailant was a child, his lower features obscured by darkness, but his lips red with the boar's blood. As Kedar stepped toward him, the boy jerked his head upward, the pupils of his red eyes dilated, and a snarl slipped out of his mouth.

"Easy, Benjie," Kedar said. "Peace be upon you."

The child stared, blinked, and slowly licked the blood from his lips. "How do you know my name?"

"I knew you when you were just a boy, and I helped your mother bring you into this world," he said. "My name is Kedar, I am your Godfather."

Benjie looked him up and down, trepidation still obvious in him. "Nanay says I should beware of you," he said. "She thinks you love me, but you hurt me very, very badly when I was small."

"I'm the reason you aren't hurt when you're near one of these." Kedar lifted the rosary out of his pocket and held it before the child.

The boy squinted his eyes at the talisman, wiped the last of the gore from his lips, and stood up straight. "Why have you come back now?"

"I have many godchildren and much work to do," Kedar said. "But it seemed like you were old enough to make a choice."

"What choice?"

"If you want vengeance on the one who cursed you."

Goosebumps up and down Benjie's body raised. "Vengeance?"

"Come with me," Kedar said. "Tell me of your life."

With his guard still up, Benjie took a few hesitant steps toward his Godfather before the man turned away and forced him to keep pace. As they walked through the forest, Kedar asked much of him and his life at home. The boy had never known his father, though his mother said they should forgive his absence after what he'd seen. Benjie's condition left him unable to attend school or city life during the day, but there was still plenty of fun to have in the night, even beyond his hunts. And, above all else, he loved his mother so very, very much. Kedar mostly just smiled at all of that. Perhaps the boy wouldn't truly need his offering after all.

As they closed in on their destination, Kedar slipped a flashlight from his coat and shined it into an old, rusty toolshed. Whatever was inside let out a pained hiss.

Benjie flinched. "What is that?"

"It is the one who laid the curse on you. A manananggal. One of the countless fallen," Kedar said. "Whether she is the one who came for your mother and your siblings, I do not know. There are so few in this country now the chance seems good, but it's hard to hunt a specific feral beast."

"And you want… what? That I should fight this thing?"

"That is your decision," Kedar said. "I'm only here to allow you the chance to make it." He pushed open the door and slid in the light.

Benjie's blood ran cold and he took a step back when he saw what sat within. From what little he could see from the flashlight, he witnessed a covered in reddened, leathery skin with organs spilled across the floor. The creature's face may have once been that of a woman's, but then was little more than scars and clots. When Kedar shined the light upon the creature, it let out a fierce hiss and flapped its mutilated wings, but the heavy iron collar and chain that held her to the wall wouldn't give any slack. She was trapped within.

"Had to force her here," Kedar said. "Put up a fight, but I've been at it much longer."

Benjie shuddered. "How much longer?"

"That doesn't matter," Kedar said. "All that's important now is your choice."

The boy took in a deep breath and looked toward the pitiable thing within the shack. His was a life of hunting, he couldn't afford to be sympathetic toward his prey or he'd have starved to death long ago. But this thing, however monstrous, wasn't prey. He wasn't going to drink the blood, he didn't need to kill her to survive, what was this besides violence unto another? Hadn't his mother taught him against that?

The more he looked upon the creature, the less he lingered on himself. And yet all the more did he think on his mother and long-lost brothers and sisters. Benjie didn't truly know a life of sunny days or friends at school, so he didn't lament not having them. But he knew all too well how close Estella kept him. And even as she tried to hide it, he knew of how she cried some nights. For her elder little ones, for his disappeared father, and for the burden on Benjie's back.

He took a step into the blackened shack. "I'll do it." Benjie clenched his fists. "I'll kill her for it."

Kedar folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. "She is yours then. Go."

Somewhere in the midst of the beast's struggle, she turned and locked eyes with the boy. Benjie let loose a scream, she met him with a screech of her own, and he lunged, his lower half discarded, his stinger at the ready.

From the first tackle the fight descended into a bloody wrestling match. The manananggal's nails better served her as claws and her stinger cut hard, sharp, and fast. But she remained chained to the wall and lost her grip when Benjie rolled too far. The boy, for his part, proved the fiercer hunter. The vampire took her meals from sleeping targets, Benjie knew to rip and tear at the neck.

"How many — how many did you kill?" The manananggal scraped across his face, Benjie took a big chomp on her hand. Over her screams and around his fanged grip, he asked, "Brothers and sisters? Fathers? How many?" With a wrench of his head he tore off three of her fingers.

The manananggal wailed, pushed him over, and pinned him on his back. With a throaty hiss she thrust for Benjie's neck with her stinger.

"Use what she gave you!" Kedar stomped one foot. "Make her rue the day."

Benjie pushed back and the stinger stabbed him just bellow his throat. His body rigid with pain, he uttered a snarl and dug a bite into the beast's lance. The manananggal screeched and twisted to free itself, but the boy didn't release his grip. When at last the demon tore free, it was only at the cost of a severed half of her greatest weapon. Screams of agony gave way to a revelation of despair. Though the manananggal was more animal than human, it was self-aware enough to know one of its strongest assets was lost. And cornered beast though she was, the fight fast left her.

"For all of them!" Benjie said through a snarl. "All of the mothers you stole from— die, devil, die!"

Benjie thrust through her throat with his stinger, closed the distance, and ripped out her trachea with his teeth. The manananggal gave a last twitch, then froze.

Bloodied and exhausted, Benjie slowly lifted himself into the air with the flap of his wings, returned to Kedar's side, and reattached himself to his legs.

"Thank you," he said with a shaken voice. "You were right, she—she needed to pay."

Kedar looked down at him for a moment before, wordlessly, he point back toward the creature. Benjie's heart raced again as he turned and, indeed, the creature had struggled back up on its hands.

"This is your most important lesson." Kedar reached down and pressed his rosary into Benjie's hand. "You are not strong enough to change this world alone. But in Him, all is possible."

Benjie closed his little hands around the beads, stepped back into the shack, and raised the crucifix toward his opponent.

"Devil, be gone!"

The manananggal opened its maw as if to screech and backed away, right into the wall.

"Devil, be gone."

Benjie spoke a little louder and the monster cringed all the fiercer.

"Devil, be gone!"

With nothing left to try, the manananggal attempted a last, desperate lunge at the boy. He didn't even flinch, and the moment she made contact with the crucified Christ, Benjie's faith ran her through like a spear. The devil breathed her last cursed breath and collapsed into death.

When the boy could again rise to his feet, Kedar laid a hand on his shoulder. "Well done, little soldier," he said. "You've slain your first."

Benjie swallowed back the last traces of his fear. "My first?"

"Your first. And I can lead you to so, so many more."

-000-

"Sadie? Sadie!"

Forehead soaked in sweat, body racked with shivers, Sadie was pulled from sleep with words and pushes from Cassandra.

"Huh?" Sadie shook her head hard and fast. "What… what happened?"

"You were shaking. Bad," Cassandra said. "Nightmare?"

"I—I don't know." Sadie shut her eyes tight, sat up in bed, and held a hand to her forehead. The blackened interior of the space confused her for a moment before she recalled the small hotel Constantine helped Cassandra check them into upon their arrival in Vichy. "My dreams don't usually make nearly as much sense. There were these people—they were somewhere tropical—this little boy with a curse or something… Benjie." She stopped and reflected on that revelation. "I—I think some of those memories from the armor are coming back to me while I'm asleep. That monster who attacked us earlier he… God… he was just a kid, he didn't ask for any of that—"

"Don't know what you mean," Cassandra said. "Tell me more?"

Sadie breathed a long sigh. "It's too much to explain right now. Maybe in the morning I'll try explaining it to everyone all at once and maybe it'll sound right then."

It took Cassandra a few seconds before she gave a reluctant nod of acceptance, repositioned herself, and snuggled close to Sadie's body. "Still a long day tomorrow. Can you sleep?"

"I'm gonna try." Sadie slipped one arm underneath Cassandra's body and ran a hand through her black hair. "Thank you, as always."

"Always."

The two slipped back toward uneasy sleep within a few minutes. But as they did, one last name still stuck out in the forefront of Sadie's mind.

Kedar. Are you the one behind all of this?