The Severing
It was well past noon when Ricky and Johann reached the camping spot after a five-hour trek upwards a relatively untouched mountain trail. Just as they laid their bags onto the wet, grassy scalp, their local guide heaved a deep sigh and snapped his back like a glow-stick.
“Remember what I told you, this is sacred ground.” He said ever so sternly as he surveyed the treetops that canopied the ground in scattered patches of gloomy sunlight.
“Yeah, yeah, spirits and shit.” Ricky scoffed as a water flask emptied into his mouth.
“Thanks, Kuya,” Johann said, ignoring his snickering boyfriend. “We’ll be careful.”
“Alright, I’ll be back tomorrow morning to pick you guys up.
As soon as the guide melded into the thick of trees, Ricky raised a stiff arm and twirled it like he was in a grade school beauty pageant.
“S’alright, we don’t need him,” he said, while one side of his lip curved like a fishhook. Johann sighed and rolled his eyes, pivoted towards their camping gear, and gathered the tent pegs before Ricky interrupted him.
“Wait, babe.”
“What?” Johann growled. A growing bitterness coated his voice.
“Not here. Let’s move a little further.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just — trust me, okay?”
“Okay? But how do you suppose Marlon’s gonna find us tomorrow?”
“He won’t.” Ricky giggled.
“What?” Johann snapped his neck around.
“We’re staying for two nights! Until the new moon!”
“The fuck are you talking about? I didn’t agree to this!”
“Look, don’t worry about it, okay?” Snips of grass latched onto the butt of Ricky’s seventy-liter bag as he flung it over his shoulders.
…I knew you were stupidly overpacked for a reason, Johann mumbled to himself.
“Besides,” Ricky added. “I don’t think he’s coming back tomorrow.”
Ricky clicked his teeth and swiveled his head towards his astounded boyfriend before flashing an annoyingly charming smile. “Come on, it’ll be fine.”
The soft drizzle had finally stopped when they finished setting their tent up on a much wider clearing just a few miles north of their first spot. Wildflowers crowned its edges; some clung to vines that crawled along rigid barks, and various birds sprinkled the petrichored air with hymns of discordant tweets.
The climb had been much steeper than what they were used to, too, partly because the couple had only really been climbing for two years, but mostly because the nonexistent trail had been riddled with slippery rocks because of the storm that had drenched the hills all night. So when they first tried to light a campfire, Ricky had to empty a full canister of lighter fluid just to conjure a small kindle from a clump of damp wood shavings.
“Et voilà!” Ricky shouted as a bright orange flicker throbbed around the kindling on his foot. “And here I thought we’d be having tree bark for dinner.”
“Wow, good job…” Johann said, his forced smile almost convincing.
“What’s up?” Ricky asked, visibly confused.
Johann scowled as he snatched a small cooler from the stack of camping gear piled up beside the tent.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Aren’t you happy we’ve finally made it here?” Ricky added.
Johann sighed. “It’s nothing, mister mountain expert.”
“What’s with you all of a sudden? Just when we’ve finally found a good spot — ”
“ — Can you stop?!” Johann snapped, and Ricky stood frozen. “Why didn’t you tell me this entire mountain was a heavily restricted nature reserve, ha? If Marlon hadn’t told me — ”
“Oh… that…” Ricky scratched his cheek. “ — Look, we’re the only ones here. Nobody’s gonna find out.”
“Oh, really, now?”
“ — It was supposed to be a surprise! For our anniversary!”
“Well, tickle me surprised, Ricky. Absolutely fucking astonished.”
“Alright, alright. I’m sorry, okay? Jeez.” Ricky ruffled the back of his head in frustration and glanced at the trees surrounding them.
“Can we just — take in all this nature? We’re already here anyway.”
With a poker face, Johann dug his hands into the small cooler, pulled a pack of hotdogs, and tossed it to Ricky, who then easily caught it with one hand.
“If we go to prison, I ain’t bailing your ass out,” Johann said.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to take a long nap and hope I don’t wake up in a jail cell!” Johann yanked the zippers with enough force, it almost raised the whole tent off its pegs.
“Such a drama queen.” Said Ricky, chuckling as he stoked the fire on his foot.
Smoke arose from the camping ground as Ricky fried hotdogs on top of a makeshift stove he had carved with his small camping axe: A thick log sliced in the middle, in two, deep intersecting cuts, and burning kindling sat deep in its crevices, scorching its insides like the mouth of a volcano.
He had ‘learned’ all of this by obsessively watching Bushcraft videos during the majority of his thesis year — that is, if he weren’t spending his weekends mountaineering with his orgmates. And admittedly, because of this, his grades had suffered tremendously, and cobwebs lathered the untouched thesis tucked inside the depths of his hippocampus.
“I’m taking a gap year.” Ricky had said when Johann asked him about it. “We don’t have gap years in the Philippines — You haven’t even graduated yet.” — And yet, this trip had been special to Ricky for one reason, and one reason alone: he had been so fixated on trying this Bushcrafting thing out in the wild — like a growing boil that he had to itch until flesh ripped under his nails. And had Johann not accidentally slipped his tongue during their long drive to the mountains, he would have completely forgotten that it was their fourth anniversary — the actual and only reason for this camping trip.
Ricky chugged a can of cold beer while the hotdogs sizzled in a small pan, but before he could finish it, his exhaustion caught up, and in an instant, his body draped over the folding chair under him. All of a sudden, as if on command, the forest stood perfectly still.
It was dead in the night when Johann woke to his boyfriend shaking his shoulders in short, violent bursts
“What’s going on?” asked Johann, bewildered and barely awake. His voice creaked like rotten floorboards.
“Shh.” A finger pressed hard against Johann’s lips. “Stay quiet.”
“Listen,” Ricky said after a short pause.
The frogs and the birds were now deathly silent, as though a sudden lull had pierced the forest. The campfire had already gone out, too. Not even a hint of moonlight grazed the thin fabric that curtained them from nature’s effects. Ricky’s eyes darted around the tent when a loud crack of branches rang through the forest floor. It was so close that he jolted from the side of the tent that touched his elbow.
“Someone’s outside.” He whispered.
Johann sat up and listened in with Ricky. Another batch of branches crunched from the opposite direction of the first one. And then another south of it.
Whatever it was, it appeared to have been circling the tent.
“No one else should be here, right?” Johann whispered back.
With all his nerves gathered in a fist, Ricky snatched a flashlight from a pocket inside their tent, then, in one motion, jolted up, slid his hand across the flap’s zippers, and screamed into the darkness.
“Who’s there?!” Ricky’s bellow echoed through the trees.
“Don’t fuck around, we know you’re there!” He beamed his flashlight at the blinding darkness beyond, scanning the forest like a lone lighthouse on an open sea.
Ten minutes came by, and the footsteps had not returned, so Johann decided he was going back to sleep. “…probably just some wild animal,” he said as he pulled Ricky back into the tent. And then, just as Ricky’s gritted teeth were about to loosen, they heard it clear as day:
“Help.”
The voice was thin. Soft. Shy.
“Did you hear that?” Ricky asked, wide-eyed and bent down like an animal on the prowl.
“Help.” It called out again, this time a little louder.
“There!”
“That…that sounded like a child,” Ricky said. Johann squeezed his arm so hard that it made a sharp bruise.
“What the fuck would a child be doing in the middle of a forest?!” Johann hissed.
“I’m going.”
“Wait — ”
Without hesitation, Ricky slid out of the tent and catapulted himself towards the trees where the tiny voice came from.
“Ricky!” Johann screeched. “Ricky, wait!”
Cold silence slithered under Johann’s breath before the sweet relief of his boyfriend’s voice ricocheted between the trees.
“Johann! Quick! Come here!”
When Johann caught up, he found Ricky crouching in the dark. And right there, squeezed between oversize roots, was a small boy, around seven to eight years old, barefoot, and curled up on the ground, cradling a blue backpack printed ‘A project of Mayor Elias Agoncillo’ on its front pocket.
His white sando had already turned dark gray from a mix of dirt and what seemed like spills of old, dried blood. There was a repugnant smell of rot — a stench that even humbled the musty stink of decomposing fruit on the ground.
As Johann dropped to his knees to take a closer look at the boy, his nose flared up like cave openings. The backpack was round and thick, as if it had been stuffed to the seams with a full-sized coconut. Its original blue color had already been tainted brown — Mud? Sweat? Blood? Johann couldn’t tell in the dark, but something was definitely rotting inside that rancid thing.
“Hey, are you alright? What are you doing here?” Ricky asked. The boy didn’t answer, only tightening his embrace on his backpack.
“Are you hungry? We have food.” The boy’s face lit up. “Food, yes? Hotdogs?” The boy bobbed his head in delightful response.
And with that, Johann held the boy’s tiny hand as the three of them together went back to the tent. Ricky found the frying pan still placed on top of the makeshift burner, and thankfully, the hotdogs hadn’t burned — It wouldn’t have anyway, since strangely enough, all the fire he had made earlier in the afternoon had been snuffed out.
“Here.” Ricky lifted the frying pan full of fried hotdogs from the burnt log as they sat down beside their tent. The boy eyed the long red sausages and gulped the spit stuck on his throat.
“Go on, it’s not hot.”
Ever so cautiously, the boy obliged and picked up a piece with his bare hand. And after the first bite, he tore through the sausages like a wild dog. He had already finished off three pieces when Ricky offered him a bottle of water.
“Okay, slow down, buddy. We have more if you want.” He said, as the boy drained the bottle so fast, half of it spilled down his chin.
“Jesus. When’s the last time he’s had anything to eat?” Johann asked himself.
“What’s your name?” Ricky asked the boy, who was still gobbling on hotdogs.
“Are you lost? Where are your parents?”
The boy looked up at them, and with his mouth still full, uttered a soft “Miko.”
“Miko? Okay, Miko,” Johann said, “Can you tell us what you’re doing in this forest?”
The boy, Miko, sat silent.
“Did someone hurt you?”
He shook his head again.
“Is someone after you?” asked Ricky.
Miko fell silent.
“Is… Are they after your bag?” Johann asked after a short pause, fixated on the backpack the boy was still clinging to.
Miko suddenly dropped the half-eaten hotdog, scooted away, and locked the bag between his arms. If it hadn’t been for the one flashlight Ricky had lying on the ground, they wouldn’t have been able to realize that the bag Miko was cradling housed something too big and too heavy for this little boy’s tiny body.
“Look, Miko, nobody’s going to hurt you, okay?” said Ricky, waving his hands in front of him. “You can stay inside the tent until morning — until you’re safe.”
“We have soft blankets,” said Johann, pointing at the cozy tent beside them.
“ — and an axe!” Ricky bolstered himself and raised his camping axe into the air like a Saxon warrior ready for battle.
As Johann chuckled at his boyfriend’s antics, he caught a faint smile light up the boy’s face.
Miko nodded and dragged his feet towards the open tent, then he curled up in one corner, wrapping himself over his backpack as though it were his own child. It didn’t take long for him to fall into a deep sleep.
“Shouldn’t we call for help?” Johann asked.
“Now?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s no signal up here. Maybe we can make it down by morning?” said Ricky. “Plus, it’s pitch dark.”
“Yeah. You’re right.”
Johann sat beside the dead campfire as Ricky took a new batch of lighter fluid from his bag. The embers caught quickly. In an instant, the rough clearing was enveloped by a warm, yellow glow that stood against the harrowing darkness of the forest.
“Hey…” Johann whispered. Ricky gazed at him as he stoked the fire with a stick.
“I’m sorry about earlier, I was being an asshole.”
“Yeah, you were!” Ricky snickered. “But so was I. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the reserve — You’re still bailing me out of jail, right?”
“Not a goddamn chance.”
The couple giggled amongst themselves as firewood crackled and tiny sparks floated in the air, until —
— CRACK!
A familiar noise pierced the void between their voices.
“No! No fires! Put it out!” Miko sprang out of the tent and flurried his feet against the burning campfire.
“What are you doing?!” asked Ricky, rattled by the child’s sudden frenzy.
“He’ll come back! He smells fire!” the boy screamed. The soles of his feet rejected the heat of the fresh embers as he stomped on them.
“Who’s coming back?!” Ricky squeaked as he scrambled to restrain the boy. Miko slipped away from Ricky, dropped his backpack, took his sando shirt off, and repeatedly whacked the campfire with it.
And somehow, as if it had a life of its own, the soiled backpack rolled towards Johann. And as though compelled by a deep, ethereal whisper from deep within the forest, Johann lifted the bag from the ground. It was heavy — too heavy. What the hell was in this bag? Johann stiffened and finally yanked the zippers open.
As soon as the bag’s insides were exposed to open air, an extremely pungent stench intruded Johann’s nostrils. It was as though a cocktail of used baby diapers and rotting fish had been gestating inside. Johann’s throat itched and tightened. Bile from his stomach raced towards the back of his tongue, earning him an involuntary gag. While pinching his nose, Johann’s gaze landed on a bloody mass covered in layers of pink-and-white-striped plastic bags — the kind you see in the wet market. And as he pulled the heavy object out of the bag, the image became clearer:
There were eyes — dead eyes that stared at him. Johann shrieked and flung the heavy mass across the grass. A dead face glanced over at him in cycles as it rolled down into the thicket beyond.
“Ricky! It’s a head!” Johann shrieked.
“What?”
“It’s a fucking head! Inside the bag!”
Miko bolted towards the head into the darkness as the two stood frozen.
“Why do you have a head in your backpack?!” Johann screamed at the boy as his face turned white.
“He knows! He’s coming for it!” Miko squealed as he snatched the severed head from the ground, squeezing it between his thin arms.
And like a jolt of lightning, Ricky sprinted, snatched the flashlight, and aimed it laser-straight at the boy. And that’s when the horror revealed itself.
A grown man’s severed head rested against Miko’s chest, upright and stiff. Mid-length hair clung to the sides of its face, matted stiff with dried blood. The ragged wound on its neck had begun to fester — maggots wriggled from the festered flesh beneath. Its eyes — those glassy, unseeing, dead eyes, one half-closed, the other wide open — gazed straight through the couple’s horrifying bewilderment.
“Miko… why the hell do you have that — thing?” Johann asked again, his voice trembled just as much as his hands did. The boy didn’t answer.
“Miko, sweetheart, please throw it away,” Ricky pleaded. His voice cracked.
“No!” The boy hugged the head tighter, pressing his small palms over its eyes.
A branch suddenly snapped behind them.
“He’s here,” the boy whispered. “Papa’s here.”
And then the fire died — snuffed out as though someone had flipped a switch that killed all the light in the forest. Even Ricky’s flashlight sputtered and blinked, casting frantic, stuttering glimpses of the trees around them.
A low, guttural groan rolled through the ground, making the soil and roots tremble. The footsteps came closer — so near that Johann and Ricky could feel — something — brush the hairs on the nape of their necks.
When Ricky turned around, the creature stood before them: A tall, pale, and fully naked male body lightly leaned against a thin gmelina tree. What remained of his head was but a short stump cut by the neck so poorly, as though a rusty, dull slab had been used to decapitate it. A peculiar wound stretched from the base of his neck towards the edges of his shoulders, forming a wide, grotesque grin. And maggots adorned said wound, as did the various patches of rot scattered around his body.
When the headless man twitched, a visceral scream escaped Ricky’s lungs as he tumbled back into the wet grass.
Run.
Ricky’s voice hoarsened with terror’s strangle, and Johann gawked at the unreal sight in front of them.
His legs were hard cement. His lips sundried prunes. Every labored breath Johann took was shards of broken glass dragged across his throat. This isn’t real, right? Right? As soon as Johann released the constricted air from his lungs, the headless man took a slow step towards them in an awkward and inhuman gait.
“RUN!!”
With the boy in Johann’s arms and the camping axe tightly snug into Ricky’s grip, the pair bolted down into the dense, wet forest, leaving their camp behind. A barrage of webbed twigs and sharp branches clawed on their skin as they raced through the darkness. And at the bottom of a fork, a towering boulder with a narrow gap beneath stood auspiciously against an array of trees. Ricky took the chance and grabbed Johann into the gap — a gap so narrow that if it were a few feet lower, it would’ve already kissed the ground.
Ricky, Johann, and the boy laid flat on their bellies against the dirt and covered their mouths as they waited for the headless man to walk past them — And they didn’t wait long.
Just as they were able to catch their breath, a pair of pale, bare feet dropped into the opening of the crevice. Its toes had already turned dark-purple with rot. The devilish stench nearly made Ricky gag, and if the headless man had swiveled even an inch towards the boulder, the edge of its blackened toenail would have touched the tip of Ricky’s nose.
Through the chaos, Johann didn’t notice the unwelcomed guest the boy had brought with them: Squeezed between him and the boy lay the severed head, facing him directly — Its eyes were full, aware, and alive. A sly grin ran across its face like it was waiting for a reaction after telling a bad joke.
Johann squeaked and shuffled in the dirt, and in that quiet forest, the tiniest shift of sand beneath him sounded like fingernails being dragged across a chalkboard. And Johann wished he had just died right then and there, because in that exact moment, the pair of pale feet stopped in its tracks and quickly swiveled to face them. Johann squeezed his mouth so hard, a drop of blood left his lip.
Wide-eyed and laser-focused on the pair of chalk-colored feet standing still just inches away from them—until Johann could hold his breath no longer and a loud gasp left his mouth.
And as fast as a lightning strike, a rotten hand reached below the boulder and dragged the boy out, sending him into a wailing frenzy.
Ricky, by some stroke of parental instinct, clawed his way out of the crevice and bodied the headless man into the ground.
“Let him go, you ugly motherfucker!” he screamed, yanking the boy away from the monstrosity.
With the camping axe still locked in his fist, Ricky swung into the creature’s rib. The blade successfully wedged itself in, but no blood poured from the flesh. And before he could pull the axe back, a hand clamped on his neck like the jaws of a crocodile and raised him several feet into the air.
While Ricky suffocated against the headless man’s grip, the long wound on its neck and shoulders twitched and spasmed. And then it opened. Like the window of an abandoned house that hasn’t seen daylight in ages, it broke itself apart, leaving threads of flesh and spit hanging from each side. Rows of decayed human teeth decorated the edges of the wound, and an endless abyss with a faint glow of blue and purple burrowed deep inside its throat.
As Ricky’s eyes met with the strange purple glow, his body limped, his eyes rolled backwards, and his mouth stretched wide open. A sharp, piercing note hummed like a loud TV static, causing Johann to snap out of his paralyzing fear and snatch the severed head by the hair.
“Get your goddamn hands off of him!” Johann yelled with his whole chest as he held a hefty rock above his head — the severed head lay on the ground, pinned beneath his shoe.
“Let him go, or I swear to god I’ll turn your fucking head into mush!”
The headless man turned to Johann and returned a violent shriek.
“Come on, motherfucker.” Johann whispered under his breath as the creature straightened and gently closed the opening on its neck. “Come on, come on.”
In an instant, the headless man tossed Ricky into the trees and dashed towards Johann. And with a single scream that emptied all the air in his lungs, Johann hurled the rock down, crashing against the severed head and scattering decayed brain matter across the dirt. The creature swung its lanky arm against Johann, and he fell headfirst into the rocks.
The creature paused and stood inaudibly against the mauled head on the ground, and as though it were a mother who had just lost her child, the headless man lifted its chest and let out an uncanny howl — like the harmony of three brass instruments in dissonance, severed by each note in a rapid staccato. Before the creature could finish the unconscious Johann off, a sudden barrage of gunshots rang from the distance. The creature shrieked as it fell on its back with a heavy thud.
Three men marched behind an old woman well into her seventies, all carrying what looked like World War II-issued hunting rifles.
“Again.” She said. And the men fired another round, severing one of its arms and blowing out its left kneecap. Even then, it stood unwavering — even with its severe injuries, it stiffened like a tree, belting its strange, harrowing howl in retaliation.
“Again.” She repeated, and they all fired their rifles for the third time. The creature cried and scurried off into the dark forest on all fours.
“Should we follow it?” one of the men asked, panting, with profound fear in his eyes.
“No,” the old woman replied. “A wild animal is most dangerous when cornered. Let it come to us.”
“Lola! Apu!” a tiny voice yelled out from behind a tree. The boy popped his head out and ran towards his grandmother.
“Miko?! Good heavens, you’re alive!” said the old woman, embracing Miko as soon as he leaped into her arms.
“Is Papa coming back?”
“Not for a while, dear. Goodness, it’s been a week, how are you still alive?”
“I ran. Papa chased me. Then I got lost. They helped me, gave me hotdogs.”
The old woman ran her eyes through Johann and Ricky, both sprawled out on the dirt.
“Where’s the head, Miko?” she asked.
The boy pointed at the mass of flesh and bone on the ground, an eyeball peeking through the mound.
“Let’s move on before it recovers,” the old woman said.
“What about them?” one of the men asked, cocking the rifle in his arms.
“Bring them,” she said, as she cradled Miko in her arms.
Johann sprang up from a bed of old, wet clothes and decaying plywood. His swiveling head, wrapped in damp rags as makeshift bandages, pulsed and stung. However, the scent of a kerosene lamp that shimmered from the next room reminded him of his childhood in the province — and that calmed him down just a bit to be able to scan his surroundings.
He looked around and found himself alone — there were no signs of Ricky anywhere in that dark room.
“Ricky!” Johann shouted. “Ricky! Where are you!”
“Shh! Be quiet!” A man carrying a rifle walked through the door.
“Who are you?” He screamed, “Where’s Ricky! What did you do to him?!”
“I said be quiet before I put a bullet in your head!” The man aimed his rifle at Johann’s head.
“Jomari, calm down,” said the old woman. She pulled the rifle’s nozzle down to the ground and sat on a chair by the bedside.
“I apologize for his behavior — We don’t usually take kindly to outsiders.”
“ — Your friend is safe.” The old woman had a natural calming voice, like warm tea on a cold, rainy night, which juxtaposed the rugged, battle-worn rifle on her arm.
“He’s resting in the next room.”
“He’s alive?” Johann gasped, briefly jolting from the bed, and immediately sitting back down as his vision blurred.
“Can I see him?” He asked again, lightly massaging the wound on his forehead.
The old woman sighed, looked at the men by the door, and brushed dirt from her knees. “Can you walk?”
“ — but Apu!” one of the men protested.
“It’s fine. Better now than later.”
Johann nodded and limped behind the old woman into the next room while the men followed close, rifles stiffened in their arms, as if they were prepared to shoot him if he made the slightest wrong move.
The old woman gently opened the shabby door made of bamboo poles.
“Apu!” A squeaky voice shouted from behind the door.
“Has he changed yet, Miko?”
“Not yet.” The boy answered.
“Miko? You’re ali — ”
Johann’s gaze drifted towards the end of the room. There, on another makeshift bed, was Ricky, in what seemed like a deep comatose state.
The heavy chains that criss-crossed his body were nailed at the ends to the ground by steel pegs as thick as guava branches.
“What the hell is this?” Johann asked.
“He’s seen the purple light,” Miko said.
“Purple? — ” Johann rushed towards Ricky and yanked at the chains, but failed to even nudge the contraption.
“Get him out of this shit right now!
A shot rang against Johann’s ears. The bullet missed, but just barely, drilling a hole through the nipa wall just a few inches shy of his head.
“Let go of the chains or the next one won’t miss,” said one of the men as he reloaded his rifle.
“What’s your name, child?” asked the old woman.
“What’s it to you people?” Johann replied.
“Tell me your name so we can talk. Or do you want to have a nice conversation with them instead?” The old woman pointed at the men with their rifles aimed at his head. Johann released the chains from his grip and slid to the floor.
“Johann.” He said in a resigned tone.
“Johann. Your friend — ”
“Ricky. His name’s Ricky.”
“Ricky,” she repeated. “He doesn’t have long.”
“What — what do you mean?”
“Would you like to listen to a little family story?”
“I don’t know what the fuck this is all about, but do I have a choice?” he answered while pinning his gaze on his boyfriend.
“…You would want to listen.” She said after a short pause.
“Fine,” Johann said, hugging his knees.
“Listen close and listen well.”
The old woman straightened her back, while the men around her lowered their rifles to the ground. She clicked her tongue and cleared her throat. And then, she spoke.
“There are small villages scattered around this sacred mountain. For centuries, the mountain has protected these villages — sheltered them from both the Dark and the corruption of the outside world. They feed themselves with food they grow, which the mountain provides. They don’t have material things; they have enough to live by. The mountain gives aplenty, so there is no need to go forth into your crowded cities; so they keep to themselves. This is their way of life — our way of life.
In return, every forty years, for one full year, the Great Spirit of the mountain leaves. That’s when the dark comes out. The Dark is the very embodiment of evil and malice: It thirsts for destruction, rape, murder, carnage — Its only purpose is to butcher the very light of creation itself. But it lives because the spirit lives. One cannot exist without the other. And so, from the goodness of the spirit’s heart, it offered us a way to repel this evil — to slow it down — contain it.
To save our families, to save our people, to save our mountain, and in turn, to save the rest of the world, we let the Dark choose a willing vessel; And when the Dark enters the vessel, the person who once was is now dead, and their souls will forever be. Because the Dark will then feed on their soul until it’s empty. But just as it begins to feed, the villagers will cut the vessel’s head off and take it to the furthest corner of the mountain, where the evil won’t be able to sense it. And then they restrain the body — bind them in chains forged in salt and stone carved from the bowels of the mountain. There, the Dark lies chained to the spirit’s land, blind and deaf, bound to the very earth it so hates.
Twelve new moons it is kept there. Until the Great Spirit returns and whisks the Dark away for another forty years of deep slumber, and only until then are we free to live peacefully without worry or anxiety. Because during those times, The Dark will just be lying there, chained, seething through its teeth, using everything within its power to seduce one of ours to let it go. It usually never does, because we are faithful to our pact with the Great Spirit.
However, now and then, something happens that is beyond our control. A mishap, an error: The chains come off, one peg was loose, the ritual wasn’t followed right to the bone — something so ludicrous, only we humans are to blame. Our imperfections bedamn us.
And throughout generations, the Dark had always chosen a willing vessel. It always has and always will have been.
This time around, however, it chose someone else — someone unaware and unprepared. Nobody knows why or how — who made a mistake during the ritual — who angered the mountain spirit; none of these little stupid mistakes mattered, because while they were arguing amongst themselves, the Dark had already taken hold of someone’s poor, innocent soul.
That someone was Miko’s father. My only son.
In the beginning, the villagers did not have the slightest clue as to who the Dark had chosen. They had rallied every single person in the mountain, looking for the usual signs: red, bloody eyes, excessive salivation, and a fear of moonlight. They found nothing, and nothing had transpired — not until the first moon disappeared.
First, it was the chickens. Then the pigs, then the goats. All butchered — bloody entrails strewn for the soil to soak. Each night, more of their livestock fell victim to the Dark’s insatiable hunger. And they were running out of time.
Until one unfortunate night, they found Miko’s father chewing on a newborn baby. He — It — had already mauled the poor child’s parents to death with a broken table leg. When they caught him, he was grinning ear to ear — bloodshot eyes and snot and spit smeared across his face as he gnawed his way through the infant’s skull like it was a piece of soft-boiled egg.
That very night, every person with a working limb gathered their machetes, their spears, their rifles — they had to kill him before he’d do anything worse. But by midnight, the entire village had been ravaged to the ground in blood and flames. Every man, woman, and child had been so violently butchered that even the Devil would have looked away in disgust.
All had died, except for Miko and his mother, who had been spared somehow — maybe it was Miko’s father, still clinging onto what control he had left over his own body — who knows really, but that single moment gave Miko’s mother enough time to grab her rusty machete and slice his husband’s head off clean, as is the only way to weaken it — just weaken it — barely, even. Because when she got careless and had thought it was over, her husband’s headless body stood upright and tore a hole through the poor woman’s chest with its bare hand.”
“Poor Lisa. She was a good woman.” She said after a short pause.
“When my men and I arrived, the village had already been run down into ashes. No man or animal survived the ordeal. I had thought Miko also shared a similar fate, but thank the Great Spirit, he was able to grab his father’s head and run away. And run he did, as fast and as far as his little feet could take him. Because if the evil had caught him and rejoined with its head, it would have laid waste on this mountain and the lands beyond, and no amount of prayer could stop it.”
“I put Papa’s head inside my bag.” The boy added.
“Yes, dear, that was very smart of you,” said the old woman, pinching the boy’s cheek.
“Because if he hadn’t, the Dark would have known exactly where he was — and it always followed, looking for its head. Snuff the light out, and it can’t see. Stay far enough and it can’t hear.”
“It may be my fault.” Johann stuttered.
“And why would it be your fault?” asked the old woman.
Johann looked at his feet and looked at the boy. “I’m sorry.”
“I see.” The old woman said after a short pause. “No one is to blame but the Dark. One way or another, he would have caught up to Miko — it was inevitable. However, you gave us time by destroying its head, just enough.”
“Why didn’t they just destroy the head in the first place? Then we wouldn’t be in this mess.” Johann exclaimed.
“It’s not that simple, dear. Without its head, it’s blind, slow, and weak. But destroy its head and it could level a village to the ground until it finds its next host.” She said. “An animal with nothing to lose is its most dangerous.”
“I still don’t know what this has to do with Ricky. Why did you have him chained? He’s not the Dark; the Dark is still out there!” Johann exclaimed.
“Well…” The old woman sighed.
“I had said earlier that the evil can’t be killed, yes? It can’t. You can chop it into pieces, burn it, feed it to wild dogs, yet it is still just a human body. When it is injured enough that it cannot hunt, the Dark jumps into a new vessel. Just one look at the light inside the mouth on its neck does the job.”
“Light?” Johann asked.
“Purple light!” the boy exclaimed.
“Yes, the purple light. It won’t be long until the old vessel succumbs to its injuries, and when it does, the Dark will find its way into your friend’s body. It has already planted a seed.”
“That shit can’t be real,” Johann argued.
“I wish it weren’t, child. I wish all of this were just a silly midwife’s tale.”
Johann’s brows furrowed in disbelief.
“If you’re still unconvinced — ” The old woman waved her finger, and one of the men dug his hands into Ricky’s mouth and stretched it open, revealing a faint yet imposing purple glow that glistened from deep within his throat.
“The Ricky you know is now dead. It’s only a matter of time before the Dark takes over.”
The erratic flicker of the kerosene lamp froze the air as Johann’s unmoving stare anchored on his unconscious boyfriend. And just as suddenly, his head felt as though it was imploding on itself.
“H — How do we stop it?” he croaked.
“There’s no stopping it. Once it fully enters your friend, we’ll cut his head off and have his body chained in this barn, far from anyone and anything, and most especially far from his head. And after a year, when the evil has left, we will bury him in a sacred graveyard — where all the previous vessels lie, as is customary. That’s the least we could do.”
Johann stood in absolute silence. The pitter-patter of the rain felt like bullets against the rusty roof. None of this is real. I’m absolutely dreaming. Am I dead? Is this purgatory? He thought.
“Apu, it’s here!” One of the men barged into the room, cradling his rifle next to his chest.
The old woman stiffened her knees and propped herself up as though she were fifty years younger. “Stay here. Watch Miko.” Then she halted at the door, casting a glance over her shoulder at Johann.
“And no matter what happens, don’t let the Dark near your friend. If it does…” she paused. “Well, you know what to do.”
A barrage of screams rang throughout the empty field outside the shed following a rapid succession of gunshots. Screams. Gunshots. Wailing. Gunshots. Shrieks. And then, a black silence.
Johann and Miko cowered beside the chained Ricky as the smell of gunpowder settled. What happened outside? Is everyone alright? Johann wondered. And then the door creaked.
“Apu!” the boy cried.
The old woman walked in with stiff legs and a blank gaze. Blood poured from her nostrils and the edges of her eyes. Her mouth lay open in a gawk so wide you could see the base of her tongue — or the absence of it.
“Apu?” the boy sniffled.
Behind the old woman, a bloodied, headless corpse walked into view. It’s one hand wedged inside the back of the old woman’s skull and pushed her forward as though she were a sock puppet.
Its other arm had been blasted through — flesh and bone torn off by hot, metal pellets, as was the side of its torso, revealing a gnarly cavity. Corpses don’t bleed, yet this one was bathed in blood and chunks of flesh and brain, as if it had swum through a river of fresh ground meat.
The headless man turned towards Johann and Miko and dropped the old woman’s dead body to the ground before it took a lazy but calculated step towards the two.
As it approached Johann and Miko, it cried like an animal in pain — its otherworldly screams escaped from the wide opening on its neck that now had almost completely sawn itself shut.
As if on instinct, Johann jumped to his feet, his eyes darted around for a blade — an axe — a bolo — something — anything. Then a cold steel touched his fingers.
“Here,” Miko said, pushing a large rusty machete into his hand. “You have to cut it off now!”
Johann’s head repeatedly swiveled between Ricky and the headless man.
“Cut the head off now!”
“I can’t!”
“Please!” the boy screamed. “Please! We’re gonna die!”
“This is bullshit!” yelled Johann as he raised the machete into the air and swung it downwards.
A vibrating clang rang through the air. With several repeated swings, the rusty end of the chain broke off. Johann pulled at the chains as he shuffled to figure out how to unfurl his boyfriend from the steel binding.
“What are you doing?!” the boy cried.
The headless man took another step, and by then, Johann was already but a few breadths away from its reach.
“Miko, you have to run!” Johann said as he wrapped Ricky’s arm around his neck. “Go down the mountain, there is a big blue tent with some nice policemen, they’ll help you, okay? I’ll meet you there.”
“No!”
As the headless man moved within reach, Ricky’s eyes slowly opened — his pupils sat at the back of his eyelids. His mouth dropped with a corroded trembling. The purple glow that shone from his throat had burned even brighter. And with a quick, spasmodic motion, Ricky flung Johann across the room, splintering the rows of bamboo slats that walled the barn together. Johann blacked out.
Johann’s head was spinning when he came to. He winced as he ran his hands over the sharp pain on his side and found a piece of bamboo sticking out. A wet, rhythmic crunching crawled into his ears. When he looked up towards the side of the bed, just beside the lifeless body of the headless man, he found Ricky crouched down, munching on a small body.
Miko’s limp hand dangled to the ground. The boy’s blank face twitched as Ricky buried his teeth into his tiny, plump cheeks. His tiny chiclet teeth peeked from the fleshy shards of his mangled face.
“No…” Johann cried to himself, only to immediately cover his ugly sobs with bloody hands that smeared red across his face, lest the creature that was once his boyfriend hear him.
Johann eyed the long machete lying next to Ricky and cautiously picked it up. As he raised the blade over his head, Ricky looked back at him:
The bloodshot eyes Johann lovingly gazed at while they had coffee in their veranda during lazy Sunday mornings.
The blackened, bloody teeth with Miko’s flesh stuck between the thin gaps that Ricky had obsessively used to brush not less than twice a day, because in his words: if you teeth ugly, you ugly.
The pale, dried, flaky lips Ricky used to kiss him with when Johann told him he still loved him, even when they both knew for a long time that love had long been gone.
“I’m sorry, baby…I’m really, really sorry…” Johann bawled as he tightened his grip on the machete.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you in time.” He paused, and a forced smile ran across his drenched face. “And for being such a royal asshole. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. For everything.”
“I love you…”
The blade cleaved through the back of Ricky’s neck, almost decapitating him. And with a loud wail, Johann swung a second time. Ricky’s head fell to the ground, rolling towards him, his body limping over the dead boy.
Johann lifted Ricky’s lifeless body into the bed and pulled the chains back, threading them through, under, and over, until he was sure it was tightly secured. He then took a thick iron peg that he found lying on the ground and tied the end of the chain around it, then he hammered the peg down with the dull end of the machete — hammered as hard as he could, as if it were the last thing he’d done —even as his palms bled — until the head of the peg was already far deep into the crust.
The sky wept hard as Johann dragged his feet across the red, wet field where freshly torn body parts were scattered. The rain muffled Johann’s cries as he cradled Ricky’s head against his chest.
It was early in the morning when Johann found his way back to their tent. He grabbed some food, took several clothes to wrap Ricky’s head with, and shoved the bloody mass deep into his backpack. It took him six more hours to descend the mountain before a lone truck driver found him unconscious on the side of the road, both arms firmly crossed around his hefty bag.