The plane touched down in Mactan with a rusted
wing and a man who hadn’t set foot in the
Philippines in ten years. Jason Delgado stepped
off the tarmac, his leather suitcase heavy with
memories and unspoken promises. His father’s
funeral had been six months ago, and the
barangay had sent a message: return or be
forgotten.
The village looked the same—same red clay roads,
same thatched roofs sagging under typhoon scars—
but the air felt different. Thicker. The elders
greeted him with stiff nods, their eyes flicking
to the small black box he carried. It held his
late father’s will, and it named him heir to the
Delgado estate—a piece of land that had been
contested for decades.
That night, he was told of the arranged marriage.
His cousin, Liza, daughter of the village mayor,
would be his wife by dawn. The match was meant
to unite the two feuding families and quiet the
whispers about the Delgado bloodline. But when
he met her, she wasn’t the girl he remembered.
She was older, sharpeyed, and carrying a knife
in her sash.
The wedding was to be held at the ancestral
house, a crumbling structure where the walls
still bore the scars of the Marcos years. As the
sun rose, villagers gathered, some murmuring
about the aswang that haunted the forest beyond
the fields. Others spoke of the old rituals that
had been buried with the last warlord.
Jason refused to go through with the marriage.
He demanded answers. Liza, calm and cold, led
him to the attic where the will was kept. Inside,
he found not just documents but relics—old
photographs, letters, and a map marked with
symbols. The land wasn’t just contested; it was
cursed. The previous owners had died under
strange circumstances, and the Delgado name had
been tied to a blood debt no amount of money
could repay.
As the sun climbed higher, the village began to
change. Crops withered overnight. Children woke
screaming of shadows in the trees. And Liza,
once a stranger, now moved like someone
possessed.
By the time Jason realized the truth, it was too
late. The barangay had chosen its bride, and the
curse would not be broken without a sacrifice.
He stood at the edge of the forest, the knife in
his hand, and knew that the only way to end this
was to become part of the story himself.
The wind howled through the trees, and the world
turned eerie once more.
