by J. F. Holmes
Ron held out his hand. “Ronaldo Ocampo, actually.” His voice was soft and cultured, with only a trace of his native accent. He indicated the man with him. “This is Robert Hammeler, whom everyone calls ‘Ham’ for some reason.”
Ham nodded in greeting, but didn’t offer his hand to shake. Giving Ron’s hand a brief shake, John asked, “Want a drink before we get started?”
Ron shook his head. “I don’t partake. But it doesn’t bother me that others do.”
Ham said in a west coast accent, “Maybe later. After business is concluded.”
Waving his hand at Ron, Sam said, “Anyway, Ron’s the foremost expert here on…local customs.”
John put his beer down and looked at Ham, then at Ron. “I assume your friend knows something of why we’re here, even if he isn’t…with us.”
“He does. He has some personal reasons for getting involved, as well. I will vouch for him.” Ham frowned at the last, but didn’t say anything.
“What does he bring to the table, besides being a warm body who’s seen something?”
Ron smiled slightly. “Ham is well-connected around Manila and the islands. If we need something, or to talk to someone, Ham can make it happen.” He paused, then added quietly, “Also, he saved my life once. From something that is best left undiscussed.”
Leaning back in his chair, he examined Ham. There was something about him that said ‘military’ besides the haircut, but John wasn’t about to push on that. It would come out later. He saw the man’s hard eyes also taking his measure. The Marine let his eyes drop, willing to let Ham take him in without turning it into a contest of wills.
Leaning toward Ham, John tapped the table gently. “Ron’s one of us, so I’m going to take him at his word. You’ve obviously seen the other side of the coin once. Why see it again?”
Ham shifted in chair, his head twitching as he controlled his impulse to look around. “I’ve seen some strange shit, but nothing as strange as what went after Ron. Stuff like that I thought was only in the comics and dime store novels. It ain’t supposed to be really real, ya know? Then after he told me what you guys do…well, I thought, somebody needs to do it. I mean, I ain’t figgering myself as no hero, but shit…” His voice trailed off, and he looked down, embarrassed.
John looked at Sam, who smiled and shrugged. “I can’t say that’s any better reason than I have.”
Taking in all three men, John said, “Then you’re in. Ron, any reason we can’t talk here? Should we go up to our rooms?”
He shook his head, but he was grinning. “People are talking a lot about the increased supernatural activity. You can’t pass by a teahouse or bar without hearing twenty different thoughts on why it’s happening and what to do to protect yourself. It’s fascinating, sometimes. I’ve heard more ‘Lola always says…’ tales than I knew existed. If the threat wasn’t so real, this would be a great opportunity to write another book.”
John motioned for him to continue. “You can write as many books as you want after we get this thing taken care of. And run you-know-who out of town, or preferably into a shallow, unmarked grave.”
Sam’s eyes slid sideways briefly at John, but returned to Ron as the other man begin to speak.
“There are many different creatures that comprise Filipino lore. Many are parts of cautionary tales to unwise travelers, and often tied to specific geographic features or specific sites, like a grave. These wait for a traveler or wandering local to pass close enough that they can employ their magic. The ones that are really dangerous to people, though, often seek out villages and towns to get their victims.
“These are called aswang, which can mean witch or demon. The arrival of Catholicism somewhat muddied the waters about their origins, and the cautionary wisdom of the lolas has become so intertwined with biblical references that finding their true roots is extremely complicated.”
John’s expression had grown thoughtful. “Can these…aswang be killed?”
Ron shrugged. “I suppose so. There is nothing to indicate they are immune to damage from a machete or bullet, although they can be very tough. And some, even though they are in human form, do not keep their heart or brain in the same place as a human would. Trial and error will be a better guide to these matters than lore, I’m afraid.”
Sam snorted. “Too much error and there won’t be a trial. Just a casket.”
“So no special immunities or vulnerabilities, like silver or holy water?”
Ron shook his head. “Those are tied to Christian values. These creatures grew out of the pagan fears of the early islanders. Strength and wisdom were heavily favored by the tribes that birthed these creatures, and so it stands to reason that a warrior would need both to defeat them. Tricking the aswang into giving up its prey was a favorite tactic, but that takes time. The speed at which the incidents are growing suggests we don’t have much time.”
John emptied his beer bottle. “Sounds like prime recruiting ground for our opposition, then. Any suggestions on where to start?”
Ron looked at Ham, who spoke in a low voice, “I have people in and around town who keep me in the know for…special business opportunities. They’ve told me about a group of two or three Japanese businessmen renting an apartment here in town, ostensibly to buy sugar cane. They’ve been there not quite a month and don’t seem to have travelled to any of the local farms.”
The two Westerners looked at each other. Sam spoke first, his voice low, “It could be a trap. If our friend is as good as you say, this would be a setup for any busybodies.”
John rubbed his chin. “I really don’t want to go in through the front door if I can help it.”
Ham grinned. “I have some friends in the Manila PD. I also know some coppers who aren’t my friends. For some easy dough they’ll take the first knock, and whatever comes after that.”
John nodded. “We have an operating budget. Let’s get this set up for tomorrow night, if we can. Sam and I will be nearby, and either the police will bag Takeshi or, more likely, they’ll flush him out into the open. Then we can either take him ourselves or pay them off again to give him to us.”
~~~~~
As the trio separated in the hotel lobby, none of them noticed they were being watched. Of course, it would have been extremely hard to for them to see the semi-translucent form half-in, half-out of the ceiling near a dark corner. It watched until all three were gone from sight; Sam and John upstairs, and Ronald out the front door. It slid horizontally through the ceiling toward the stairs they had used. The white kimono it wore was undisturbed by the passage through wood and plaster.
It cautiously followed Sam and John as they went to their rooms. As their doors closed, it continued down the hall toward an outside wall. Its task was complete, and it longed to be laid to rest. Once it reached the wall, it continued its progress much more slowly, carefully passing through the wall. Though this was only a hotel with very little threshold, it had been owned by the same family for over fifty years, and they lived here. A creature such as the yūrei would suffer if it tried to force even such a threshold as this too quickly. Once it was clear of the hotel, it would return to the one who had summoned it with the locations within the hotel of the two rooms.
2
Manila, Philippine Islands, 6 December 1941, 1800 local time
John and Sam watched from across the street as the Manila police officers entered the apartment. Ham waited further down the alley with the car. As the last of the four officers went through the foyer, they left the concealment of the alleyway across the street. With Sam holding a sawed-off shotgun tight against his leg, they crossed the street to the alley next to Takeshi’s building. Once covered by the dim shadows, Sam brought the shotgun to his shoulder and flicked off the safety, while John drew his M1911 and held it low. He whispered, “Don’t use that thing unless you really need to. We want this guy alive if we can.”
The pilot snorted. “Yes, mother.”
Before they’d made it to the back of t
he building, they heard shouts from inside. There was the sound of wood shattering, and then a gunshot.
Picking up their pace, Sam glanced worriedly over his shoulder at the building. “Shit. The party started early.”
“That’s fine. They can hold Takeshi and his goon’s attention while we sneak in the back way and bag him.” John’s voice had that grim tone again, and Sam gave him a worried glance as they carefully made their way down the alley.
They reached the back corner of the building, and John peeked around the corner. The rear entrance of the apartment building was less than ten feet away, and it was dark and quiet, with a three-step concrete stair leading up to a single door. Several metal garbage cans lined the back fence, and an old Ford Model T was up on blocks off to the far side. He felt his heart speed up as he anticipated the possibility that Takeshi could come right through that door.
Looking back, he began to motion the pilot forward, when the door burst open. Light spilled out into the alley as a screaming body in a police uniform went flying into the garbage cans near the back fence. It hit with a dull crunch and slid to the ground, unmoving. A human-sized figure followed under its own power, shrieking at the night. Its nightmarish face sported a dog-like muzzle, except the teeth revealed in the light were sharp fangs. The light also revealed claws on the hands, and the shredded remains of a woman’s dress covered its body.
Without hesitating, Sam continued around the corner, brought the shotgun to his shoulder, and fired in a single motion. The muzzle blast illuminated the creature’s face, a garish, blood-red countenance. The double-ought buckshot slammed into its body, knocking it off the steps and briefly out of their view.
The Marine swung wide around Sam as he chambered another round, trying to get a bead on the creature. It was writhing on the ground, snarling and yowling like some massive cat. He fired twice as soon as he had a good shot center mass, and the body went limp.
Sam altered his aim point to the open doorway. The door was half-broken, attached only by the lower hinge. Nothing moved in the short hall beyond, but they could hear more screaming and furniture breaking inside the building.
“What the fuck is that?” Sam said hoarsely without taking his eye off the doorway.
“Beats the hell out of me. All I know is it can be ki—” John’s words broke off as the creature rolled to its feet with the lithe agility of a cat and swung at him.
His jacket acquired four slashes in it as he dodged back, but not quickly enough. The claws left a cold sting behind as they grazed his chest. As the creature came in for a second swipe, he went limp and dropped to his back on the ground. Its swing sliced through open air instead, and he fired up, putting two shots through the bottom of the creature’s chin. One fang shattered as the heavy bullet hit it, pieces flying into the night air. Brains and blood splattered against the wall behind the creature, and it collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. He fired three more rounds into the body from where he was lying on the ground, and the slide locked back on an empty magazine.
Sam hadn’t changed his coverage of the doorway, knowing that the shotgun would be more hindrance than help in the close-quarters fight. He had, however, altered his position to move out of the direct line-of-sight of the door. As his colleague picked himself up off the ground and began to change magazines, he said, “You were saying?”
John finished the magazine change and motioned at the lifeless body. The remainder of the face was shifting from its frightening visage into that of a middle-aged pinay. “Ron was right; they can be killed. Looks like it might take a head shot, though.”
“You’d better hope those claws weren’t poisoned. Looks like you took a good hit.”
Wincing as the adrenaline rush subsided, John peered under the jacket. The wounds pulled with every motion, and he could see that his shirt was sliced through under the jacket and slowly soaking with his blood. Gently he probed the wounds. “Christ, that hurts.”
“I am NOT kissing your boo-boo. Hurry it up.”
“I’m good. Just scratched me. It’s not serious.” He pushed the pain to the back of his mind, just like in training, and focused on the mission. “Let’s get this sonofabitch and find out what other weird hoodoo he brought with him. This is about more than some stolen classified documents now.”
Carefully they went up the stairs to the interior hall. With the shotgun tucked in close, Sam took the lead. The noisy activity within had stopped, and they heard a faint moaning from the front of the building.
The hallway stopped at an interior doorway after about ten feet. The door itself had been thin, cheap wood, and had been shattered by the creature. Pieces of wood lay scattered across the floor, while the frame of the door itself was still mounted to the hinges. Beyond the door was another short hallway leading to the front door, with two doors on either side leading to apartments. Two police officers lay lifeless in the hall, one with his head at an odd angle, while the other lay with his throat sliced open in a pool of blood. The coppery smell of blood filled the small space, as well as the shit-stink of recent death.
They took up position on either side of the doorway as a new sound came to them. The faint moans had become words, unintelligible but with a pleading edge to them. Whoever it was, he was pleading for his life in the left-hand apartment. John motioned with his head, and Sam went through the hallway door and flattened himself against the left-hand wall next to the apartment door. He peered at the open doorway on the right side and shook his head.
His 1911 held in two hands in front of him, John rushed the left-hand apartment door. It opened into a studio apartment, with a simple kitchen on his left, and a living room/bedroom on his right. He caught a brief motion out of the corner of his eye, but his attention was on the scene in the middle of the room. The fourth policeman was impaled on an overturned wooden chair, with two of the legs piercing his chest and abdomen. One of the doglike women was bent over him, one hand gripping him by his hair, while using her claws to carve bloody lines in his chest. As her head whipped around at his entrance, John fired twice into her chest.
She flinched and shrieked, the sound like a locomotive’s steam whistle, but it cut off as Sam came through the door and put a blast into her chest. Staggering and off balance, she was unable to react as John lined up a shot and put a single round through her temple. Her face ballooned with hydrostatic shock as the blood painted the bed behind her a wet scarlet. She sank to her knees next to the bed, and then collapsed in a heap.
As Sam covered the creature’s body with his weapon, John checked on the policeman. His breath came in quick gasps, and his eyes were glazed with pain. Checking the position of the body on the chair legs, he snapped, “Sam, help me get him off these things!”
Laying the shotgun on the floor well away from the creature, Sam helped him rotate the chair ninety degrees, allowing them to get the policeman into a sitting position. The man’s breathing was slowing, the gasps becoming less forceful. John supported his shoulders against the pull of the chair legs impaling him. Blindly, the man grabbed at John’s chest, taking a huge handful of his bloody shirt. Pulling with surprising strength, he gasped into John’s face as his eyes tracked upwards. “Aswang! Aswang!”
John followed his gaze up to see another aswang crawling across the ceiling with cat-like grace. This one had a face like a pig, he noticed, as she dropped to the floor, knees bent to absorb the shock.
Both men reached for their weapons, but she thrust both hands at them. A cloud of dusty particles shot forth as if propelled by something. It enveloped them, and John felt his skin tingle briefly and then go numb. His arms felt like lead, and it was an effort to even breathe. He saw Sam collapse backward, gasping for breath.
She stalked forward, a piggish squeal of glee coming from her fanged mouth. Flexing her claws, she muttered something in a language John didn’t understand. He could tell, though, that she was looking forward to whatever she had planned.
His balance finally failed, and he als
o slid backward to the ground. His head contacted the floor with a heavy thump, although it didn’t hurt like it should have. She shuffled forward to stand over him, and an evil-looking tongue, shaped more like a mosquito’s proboscis, unrolled from her mouth.
A dull thumping sound reached him through his numbed ears, and blood spattered his face and body. Wounds blossomed from her body, and she stumbled backward with each one. Ham came into John’s field of vision, a long, heavy rifle at his shoulder as he continued to hammer rounds into the creature. Finally one split her head like a melon, and she collapsed in a puddle of blood.
As soon as she died, John felt life coming back to his body. He heard Sam give a great gasp, as if he was surfacing after being underwater for a long time. His arms and legs began to tingle like they did when they recovered from falling asleep. Ham walked over to the witch and nudged her body with one foot, rifle carefully pointed at her. When she didn’t move, he checked the other one. Only then did he come over and kneel down by John and Sam. By this time they were struggling to rise on their own, and he gave each one an arm to grab on to.
“Know you told me to stay with the car, but what with all the gunfire, I thought you might need some backup.”
Sam croaked, “Fine by me.”
John only nodded, saving his breath. He looked instead at the policeman, whose breathing had slowed. They were shallow breaths, and his eyes were fixed somewhere in the distance. John pulled himself over to the man and croaked out a question, “Who else was here? Did you see anyone else?”
The man didn’t answer. He took one final, shallow breath, and then he stopped breathing. His eyes stilled, fixed on some point in the distance. John looked over to the other men. “That sonofabitch Takeshi. He really did set us up.”
“Knew we were here and after him. He laid a trap designed to take us out. Guess he didn’t count on the cops taking lead.”
Ham looked around the room and shook his head. “These guys were mean sonsabitches, dirty as hell, but even they didn’t deserve this.”