Filipino Vampire

by Raymund Hensley

When night came, Mum ordered the guys to build a quick hut. It began to drizzle; nothing too major. The aswangs were kept outside, shaking and weeping, all hugging each other to keep warm. (Damn if I felt a little sorry for them.) Mum's army slept like little lambs. She stayed awake, on the dirt, hands behind her head, looking up, not blinking. She farted once and smiled a little, but that was it, I swear. Her little army snored – snored LOUD, and that was good, because I didn't want to go to sleep. I was planning my escape. I wasn't going to wait for Mum to doze off. The time for action had come.

  I sat up.

  “I'm going outside to give a piss,” I said.

  Mum said nothing.

  Was she even awake? Was she sleeping with her eyes open? I went outside, past a campfire, and walked between the trees, finding one wide enough to hide me while I did my business. I kicked dirt over my mess and walked back to the hut and found the shades-wearing girl walking out from behind her own toilet-tree. She sat by the campfire and shoved a stick through three rats, dangling them over the fire. I sat next to her. She looked nice enough. With some people you just get that calming sense. I reached out to her.

  “Can I have some?”

  “Sure,” she said, running a stick through a rat and handing it to me.

  I hovered the rat over the licking flames, and the rat, which I thought was dead, opened its eyes and cried and wiggled around. It sounded like an old bicycle screeching to a stop. Then its fur exploded in flames, letting loose little sparks, and then it was still. I was so shocked, I almost dropped the thing. I just wanted it to cook fast so I could get that meat in my sore belly. It felt like Granny's punch never left my gut.

  Shades girl gave me a bottle of water and reminded me to just take little sips, imagining that each sip fulfilled me. That was key, she kept saying, to imagine it working.

  “Pain, hunger,” she went, “it's all in the mind.”

  And it worked! Well, I mean it seemed to work. I handed the bottle back, thanking her, and I studied her face as she sipped. She must've been around 19 or so. Something about her told me she'd been through a lot of crap. She took her shades off, and I saw thick, black lines under her eyes. She hadn't slept in days. I sneezed. The girl didn't move. Her eyes were locked on her cooked rats.

  “I hope your soul doesn't escape your body,” she said.

  I shot her a strange look.

  “What?”

  “That's what bless you really means. That's why people came up with it all those years ago.”

  She pulled a rat off the stick and blew on it, sniffing it. She poked her tongue at it.

  “My name's Janice,” she said.

  I shook her hand.

  “My name's Sasha. Are you friends with my mum?”

  “Not really. I'm just here for money.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “Church, up in Kaimuki. I went to pray, all by my lonesome, so imagine my surprise when I walked through those huge doors and found the place packed with all these people, all hollering in Filipino and broken English and clapping and cheering.

  Your mum was standing in front all of them, her arms waving in the air. She was screaming about how the aswangs – these witches, these vampires, these monsters – had to die. 'For our children!' she kept hollering. She said it would cost a lot of money to go out and catch the monsters, but the families didn't care. They would pay through the teeth, but they wanted the aswangs alive. There was a disturbing discussion about torture. Your mum was nodding her head. She then asked for even MORE money. 'Whatever you want!' the people screamed back. I heard a couple behind me a'jibbering and a'jabbering about just moving away. Your mum said more things, and these churchgoers all ran off at the mouth; some looked mad, some were crying; some were biting their nails. Your mum asked if anyone was fearless enough to help her hunt the beasts. Most of the people there raised their hands and agreed to hunt with her. Most, I should add, that ended up wussing out, running off later on. Others in the church just looked down, ashamed, too scared – all talk but no guts.”

  “Did you raise your hand?”

  “No,” Janice said. “At the end of your mum's great speech, she walked the aisle and stopped by me. To my shock, she pointed at me, saying how she felt all this strength in me, how I MUST join her posse. And I agreed. I felt needed for once in my life. I had a purpose; and here was someone I felt safe around – someone I could trust. Before that day, I had no dreams...maybe just a vague sense of direction, that maybe I'd get into accounting.” Janice looked at me. “Your mum's a great lady. She was pissed off. She thought you were dead. She's doing all of this because of you.”

  I just sat there and tore into my cooked rat. Mum cares about me? Haha, it is to laugh. Actions speak louder than words, and it sure didn't SEEM like she missed me or anything. I felt that old rage burning up in my brain. I had to chill.

  Breathe. And besides, I didn't want to start an argument with Janice. She was one of the good ones. The last thing I wanted to do was leave a negative impression.

  “Thanks for the rat,” I said.

  Janice smiled and ate.

  “How is it?”

  “Tastes like...chicken,” I said. “BAD chicken. And dirt.”

  “Finish up and get some sleep.”

  “And you?”

  “Naw,” she said. “I have to stay up and watch for trouble.”

  “I read that if you don't sleep for 10 days, your body gives up and dies.”

  “Jesus Christ. Damn scientists. Well then,” she said, “maybe a little nap wouldn't hurt.”

  I looked around.

  “You wouldn't have a pillow, would you?”

  She smiled.

  “I do. It's called my leg,” she said. “Knock yourself out.”

  I swallowed the rest of my meal and put my head on her lap. She played the harmonica as I dozed off.