Before tonight, if you had asked me whether I believed in the occult or the paranormal, my answer would have been a resounding no. I was skeptical about such things, dismissing them as fabricated nonsense. That's why I always found it amusing to hear people recount their supernatural experiences. I just couldn't understand how they still believed in such things in this age, when science can explain almost everything.

But now, as the terrifying spectacle unfolds before my eyes, I can't help but feel the crushing weight of regret for not taking them seriously. If I had listened to their stories with genuine interest, I might have learned something that could save us from the horrific situation my brother and I are about to face. Because slowly creeping toward us were strange creatures that defied logic, dressed in ordinary clothes but grotesque and horrifying in every other way.

Their grayish-white skin made them look like they had never stepped into sunlight—and I doubt they ever planned to. Their piercing eyes, devoid of humanity, were completely black, making it impossible to distinguish the pupils. They had teeth as sharp as a predator's and fangs that seemed ripped from the pages of a horror novel. Their fingers, where ordinary nails should have been, bristled with elongated, blade-like claws sharp enough to cut human flesh with ease.

I don't know what I've gotten myself into, but it's too late to run. I can't fathom how my brother managed to handle these monsters earlier, but I'm about to find out.

"Don't fear them," my brother said, his voice steady and encouraging, as though he had faced this many times before. I could feel him standing behind me, his gaze fixed on the same ominous scene. "Just focus on hitting their heads. That'll knock them unconscious."

"What even are these creatures?" I asked, clutching the bat tightly and keeping my eyes on the obscure figures inching closer.

"There are forces in this world, unknown to most, that possess inconceivable power. These powers defy the laws of nature, break human limitations, and enable unthinkable acts. The Scarlet Clan—the group I told you about earlier that's after me—has been exploiting these forces to achieve their dark and twisted goals."

Unknown forces? Superpowers? Scarlet Clan? None of this made sense. The words spun in my head, each more bewildering than the last. But as much as I wanted answers, I knew survival came first.

"These creatures approaching us are part of the Scarlet Clan. They're called Amalanhig, or walking corpses. But they're just the foot soldiers—the low-ranking grunts doing their masters' dirty work. Someone far more powerful is controlling them."

"So, you're saying these are just low-level monsters?" I exclaimed, my voice tinged with disbelief. "And there are even stronger ones out there, waiting to attack?"

"Yes," he admitted, "but don't worry about them. I'll handle it when the time comes. For now, let's focus on taking these creatures down."

"You really owe me an explanation after this, Kuya," I muttered.

"I'll explain everything you need to know when this is over," he assured me. "But first, let's survive."

I nodded, letting out a deep sigh. Survival seemed like a long shot, but I'd always trusted my brother to pull us through difficult situations. I knew that as long as he was by my side, we had a chance.

I surveyed the area, watching as more of them emerged from the shadows. These creatures—Amalanhig, as my brother had called them—moved in a slow, zigzagging shuffle, their hunched shoulders reminiscent of zombies in suspense movies. If I remembered my father's bedtime stories correctly, Amalanhigs were cursed souls, doomed to wander the night for eternity as punishment for their wicked acts back when they were still among the living.

Despite their terrifying attributes, they retained a disturbingly human-like presence, unlike the corpse-like caricatures often portrayed in folklore. Yet this semblance of humanity only deepened the unease clawing at my chest.

As the Amalanhigs closed in, they suddenly froze, as if commanded to halt. Their piercing gazes fixed on us with an intensity that felt like a warning of impending violence. After a few seconds of eerie silence, they sprinted toward us, no longer resembling mindless zombies. They moved with the ferocity of a ravenous wolf pack, their collective intent clear: to hunt and kill their prey—and the prey in question being my brother and me.

Before I realized it, I was swinging my baseball bat at anything that came too close. The will to survive overwhelmed my earlier fears, adrenaline surging as fragments of my childhood Kali lessons resurfaced. To my surprise, I held my ground, dodging attacks and knocking a few of them down.

Then, out of nowhere, an Amalanhig in a tailored suit lunged at me, claws swiping through the air. I stumbled backward to avoid the attack and lost my balance, landing hard in a sitting position. The creature shrieked and dove toward me, but I managed to block its claws with my bat.

Face-to-face with this monstrosity, panic and exhaustion took hold. Its grotesque features triggered a primal terror I had never experienced before.

I lay flat on the ground, clutching the bat like a lifeline. The other Amalanhigs seized the opportunity, racing toward me with murderous intent etched on their twisted faces. My blood ran cold as I saw them close in, clawing and slashing at me from all angles.

A scream tore from my throat as something sharp punctured my lower abdomen. My life flashed before my eyes, just as people always said it would in the face of death. I couldn't believe this was how my life would end—devoured by creatures wrapped in inscrutable mystery.

Just as I was about to give in, a blinding light engulfed the monsters atop me. In an instant, the Amalanhigs were hurled away, their bodies hitting the ground like falling stars.

I gasped for air, my vision blurry. My brother's voice called my name, and I turned to see his worried face as he rushed toward me, twin sundangs in hand, their faint glow illuminating the darkness.

Author's Note:

Amalanhig — creatures from Filipino mythology believed to be undead beings or reanimated corpses, similar to the concept of zombies or revenants in Western folklore. They are typically depicted as the spirits of the deceased who failed to pass into the afterlife, often because they were not given proper burial rites or because they harbored strong unresolved issues during their lifetime.