Babaylan

Chapter 2. Tiktik

Tik. Tik... Tik. Tik...Tik. Tik...

Lub. Dub... LubDubLubDubLubDub.....Lub...Dub...

Tik. Tik... TikTikTikTikTikTik.....Tik...Tik...

"It's time," the aswang whispered, gazing thoughtfully at the full moon. The dark bird summoned him, but it was really the pull of the moon and the building pressure within him that brought him to this place and moment. Countless past lunar cycles and this legacy that both cursed and blessed him with unimaginable power and raw need had also touched endless generations before him.

The aswang quickened his pace as he deftly ran deeper into the denser part of the forest, where he was certain he would remain undisturbed. His senses sharpened as he felt blood rush through his veins faster and hotter than ever. The moment of release was always the most excruciatingly ecstatic feeling, and each one felt like the first time he had ever experienced it. The blood coursing through his body pulsated into a frenzy, like powerful winds feeding wildfires that devoured all in its path, now shooting arrows of blinding pain and pleasure from his core, across his back, and the top of his head, followed by angry sparks and incandescent flames. His mouth opened wide, silently screaming in awe and agony, his breath muted by the bolts of energy that emerged from all avenues of escape, carrying with it all vestiges of his humanity. As twisted horns emerged from his beastly head and a canopy of leathery, webbed wings emerged from his shoulder blades, his upper torso broke away from his hips in a torpedo of such force that he plumed into the midnight sky at full speed, homing to the beckoning tiktik and the waning, irregular heartbeat of his prey.

Lub. Dub... LubDubLubDubLubDub.....Lub...Dub...

Tik. Tik... TikTikTikTikTikTik.....Tik...Tik...

The aswang closed in on the flimsy corrugated roof of a small, isolated house a few kilometers from the edge of the woods. The moon was smothered by clouds and though the neighborhood was still and silent, the aswang and his tiktik would have been invisible to the unwary passersby, who would have only noticed a slight pickup in the night breeze, welcome in the sticky humidity of the summer monsoon. The bird had pecked a hole through the roof, enough for the aswang to survey the slumbering form of ripely pregnant Mrs. Corpus, fresh for the picking. Mr. Corpus obliviously snored beside her, drunk and practically dead to the danger his unborn son was facing.

Lub. Dub... LubDubLubDubLubDub.....LubDubLubDub...Lub......Dub.......

Tik. Tik... TikTikTikTikTikTik.....TikTikTikTik...Tik... ...Tik... ...

Hssssssss......

The aswang's narrow, coiled, proboscis-like tongue slithered into the tiny hole the tiktik created, descending into the center of Mrs. Corpus' protruding belly, burning a path through the thin sheet and nightgown covering her navel. It burrowed through her umbilical tunnel as she stirred and moaned softly, exhilarated, dreaming that she was flying through fluffy wisps of white clouds against a clear blue sky.

Lub......Dub..............

Baby Corpus' heart stopped beating as all his breath, blood and energy surged through the aswang.

The night was still quiet as the dark wind lulled the barangay to sleep. Two shapes briefly dotted the setting moon. Everything was left seemingly as they should be.

The break of dawn saw Barangay Arroceros rising to horrified wails, as Mrs. Corpus was startled awake by shooting abdominal cramps and blood-soaked sheets.