onika and Francis were once lovers, yet never married. Francis was a Spanish soldier assigned to a small town in Visayas where he and Monica first met. He was gentle and full of promises. He swore that when his duties ended, he would marry her However, when Monica found herself one week pregnant, his confidence plummeted. He left the next day before dawn. Monika wept until she was empty and tired. Her heart hardened as weeks passed by, and decided that she didn't need anyone but herself and the child growing inside of her.
A month later, on a humid morning, Monika went to the market. The smell of sweat, fish, and guava leaves fills the air. As she walked home, her bayong slipped from her hand, and the vegetables rolled into the dusty road. She bent down to pick it up, frustrated, then suddenly a pair of hands appeared in front of her. It was pale and slim “Let me help you, darling,” said a soft voice Monika looked up to see a woman kneeling before her. She picked up Monika’s groceries and placed them all inside the bayong. She had smooth skin, almost like the sun had never touched it. And she had beautiful red eyes. “Thank you,” Monika said, flustered. “I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new ?” The woman slightly smiled, “No… I lived here for a long time, I just don’t go out much My name is Dalya It is a pleasure to meet you ” Monika was surprised with the introduction, “Oh! M-my name is Monika, thank you again!”. She smiled. From that small act of kindness, something new began. Weeks passed, and Monika and Dalya grew close. They painted under candlelight in Monika’s house and shared fruits in the window until the sun went down. When the villagers gossiped, Monika ignored them. Dalya made her happy again; it made her forget about Francis. The more time they spent together, the harder it became for Monika to hide her feelings She’d catch herself watching Dalya when she smiled, tracing the line of her throat, feeling her heart beat faster when their hands bumped slightly. Dalya seemed to notice, but kept it for a bit. Sometimes, under the moon, Dalya’s eyes looked almost sad when Monika touched her cheek. “Why do you look at me that way?” Monika once asked. “Because you remind me of something,” Dalya whispered. “Something I wanted to keep ” Dalya leaned in to Monika and kissed her. Monika kissed back. Monika felt warmth again.
Monika’s third semester, whispers had been spreading all over the town about bodies ng found torn and missing organs. The Spanish soldiers called it ‘work of the demons’ and the locals called it ‘manananggal’. A few days later, the Spanish soldiers arrived at the small town, along with Francis. He remembered Monika and decided to visit her if she was okay. He arrived at her house The door was partly open Inside, he saw her painting with a woman He just stood in the doorway.
“Monika?” Monika froze as she recognized the voice. She turned, wide-eyed, and the brush she was holding was trembling in her hand. Her shock transitioned into anger. She stood up and stormed towards him “What are you doing here?!” she barked “You left me!”
Francis stammered, lowering his head. “I had to return. There’s… something out there. People are dying. I came to see if you were safe...”. Dalya broke the tension and stood in front of Monika. “Please don’t shout, the child will hear ” she said in a soft and calming voice. Monika sighed and calmed down. She felt pity, and for her own safety, she allowed him to stay in her house until his expedition ended. But at that moment, Dalya maintained her gaze on him with something sharp and distant.
Throughout the week, Francis was praying every night. He noticed that Dalya doesn’t like to eat meat, and her favourite food is Balut. She doesn’t stay over until night, she doesn't pray with them, and she barely talks to him. So he just thought that she was that kind of person, but was still suspicious of her On the other hand, Monika grew restless. Dalya avoided her touch, claiming she was unwell. Sometimes, Monika wakes in the middle of the night hearing a sound of fluttering wings outside. Dalya just told her that it’s just her imagination, but there’s a slight smell of iron in the air.
the seventh night, Francis’ expedition was over. There had been no new deaths, the general ordered his men to come back in the morning to leave. The house quiet. The wind was cold. Monika, tired and conflicted, offered Francis to sleep on the other side of the bed for the night. She closed her eyes, thinking of Dalya, of how her touch felt, how her voice was calming, how she said her name.
In the middle of the night, Francis stirred. Something wet touched his skin. He frowned, still halfasleep, trying to wipe it away. It was sticky, smelled like iron, thick, and warm. A faint sound is heard in the distance, fluttering at the window. He blinked and opened his eyes, adjusting his vision through the darkness. And then he saw it. A figure near the window – no, not a figure, it was a torso. No lower half. Blood dripping. Wings fluttering. The moonlight was reflecting behind the thing. Francis’ throat tightened He couldn’t scream even though he wanted to The creature turned its head It was Dalya “Dalya…” Francis rasped, voice trembling.
Monika stirred behind him, then sat up, confused and still half-asleep. “What’s wrong?” she asked as she was rubbing her eyes. Francis didn't answer. Monika followed his gaze and froze. Dalya hovered at the window, looking at her, not at him “Monika, my love ” she whispered, voice breaking, “ I’m sorry ” Her expression was in pain. Love, hunger, and guilt all at once. The wind hissed through the open window. The candle flickered violently. Francis reached for his sword. Monika reached for Dalya’s name. Everything went dark.
