Movement
The cabin is far more luxurious on the inside than it looks outside. There are widescreen TVs and leather couches, dark mahogany tables, and a working kitchen that gleams from lack of use. I can hear the thrum of the air conditioner, unaffected by the power outage. There is a large living room that leads into two smaller bedrooms at the back; both had originally been for Chase’s use, but after the destruction of his father’s cabin, new arrangements were made.
There’s a stuffed bear propped up against one of the couches. Chris reddens, snatching it away. “Gift from my mom,” he says defensively.
“It’s cute,” I say. Askal sniffs tentatively at it, barks his approval.
We sit on one of the velvet couches. I angle myself to make sure that I am facing the window. Whatever has followed us is now gone. Askal makes himself at home on the small rug before us.
“Hope you don’t mind me asking,” Chase says. “He’s trained not to uh, poop indoors, right?”
Askal makes an offended sound.
“He won’t,” I say.
“Okay. Just wanted to be sure.” And then Chase groans, dropping his head to his chest. “Riley’s dad is a Hollywood bigshot. A VP for one of the biggest studios in the US. Riley’s always been spoiled. We started dating freshman year, over three years ago now. I don’t know why I stayed with her that long. This isn’t the first time I’ve suspected her going out with other guys behind my back. I ignored the rumors and trusted her.” He laughs sarcastically. “Hits different when you’re the one to catch them in the act, you know? I’m not the smartest, but…” He raises his arm, lets it drop. “I’ll let my dad know, make sure she won’t cause trouble for you.”
I try not to let my amusement show. “What can she do to me?”
“I don’t know. Try to get you fired? Your father’s sick. You’re getting paid a lot of money for this. Dad won’t leave you hanging.”
I shrug.
“That doesn’t worry you?”
“We have a saying here. Bahala na. It means that you shouldn’t worry about circumstances you can’t control. I’ll care for my father like I always have, regardless of what your ex chooses to do.”
“I won’t let that happen. Besides, it sounds like Dad and the others need you.” He pauses. “Do you really believe what they’ve been saying? About that puzzle, riddle, whatever—and those eight deaths? About—about the plane crash not being a coincidence?”
“I don’t think the Diwata is responsible for your mother’s death,” I say cautiously, and then add, “I am sorry for your loss.”
“It’s been four years. I’m doing a lot better than Dad. He’s been—odd since. He thinks I wanted to come here to get away from Riley. I mean, I do, but—Mom died here. Or died near here. I want to know what happened as much as he does. Did you take part in the search?”
“No.”
“But your father did? Was he the island’s caretaker before you? Were you paid for it?”
“The local government gives us a stipend.”
“So your dad’s not a local politician or owns the island or something?”
“No one owns it. The local government pays us to make sure no one gets too close. At least, until you all arrived. My father’s a teacher. I learned everything from him.”
“But you’re not in school?”
“No. The opportunities you have in America are not always available everywhere.”
“Ah, right. Sorry. If you don’t mind me asking—cancer?”
I shake my head. “Old age.”
“Is that why you agreed to help? Because you need money to care for him?”
“No.” I look around the cabin, at the luxuries I’ve never had. “I agreed because I don’t have a choice. The show paid off the government, and now you’re all here. The island doesn’t want you here. I have—a very bad feeling.”
Chase’s phone buzzes again. He glances down at it with irritation, but that soon turns into relief. “Oh—it’s Rory. You don’t mind if I take this?”
I don’t, and soon there are two faces beaming at us on video when he answers.
“Hey, how’s Mauritius?” a curly-haired, pale boy with brown eyes asks cheerfully. “Or was it the Bahamas? You didn’t say where you were exactly.”
“This who you’ve been hanging out with?” asks the second boy, dark-skinned with close-cropped hair. He hones in on me before I can move out of view. “How’re y’all doing?”
“Alon’s our tour guide,” Chase tells them. “Alon, this is Rory and Jordan. I’m at this island called Kisapmata. My dad’s in charge of a show they’re filming here, and I wanted to tag along.”
“Never heard of Kisapmata. What are they known for? White sands? Gorgeous girls?”
Chase hesitates. “No. They’ve got white sands here, but it’s an uninhabited island with a ton of ghost stories. Sorry for lying, I just really wanted to avoid any questions.”
The boys don’t seem angry by the admission. “I’d fly to Antarctica if that’s the only option I had to get away from Riley Sedgwick,” Rory says promptly. “I’ve been telling you from the very first date that she was going to cheat on you, man.”
“I know,” Chase says unhappily. “I should have listened.”
“From where I’m sitting, it looks like you’ve got things figured out,” the other boy says, still eyeing me. “Was that post all a lie, man, or did you really hook up with someone while you’re there?”
Askal, always keen on inserting himself at the crucial moment, worms his way between us and the phone, rumbling contentedly at the two instead of barking like he had at Riley.
“And you got a pooch!” Jordan says delightedly. “Awww, look at you. This your friend’s?”
“Yeah. This is Askal.”
“Awesome name,” Rory says.
“It means stray dog,” I say.
“Dope. Look, Jordan and I called ‘cause we’re worried about you, dude. At least you’ve got yourself a vacation on some nice beach—”
“Even if it’s a haunted beach,” Jordan chimes in.
“—where she won’t be able to fly to ruin your vibe. Dunno what the singles population is out there, but you better get a couple of rebounds in before you come back. Do something fun for a change.”
“Seconding getting laid,” Jordan adds mischievously.
“Do you want me to leave?” I ask Chase quietly.
He shakes his head and gestures for me to stay. I oblige, drifting to the kitchen. “Friend of yours looks way too young to be part of any TV crew,” I hear Jordan say. “And way too cute.”
I redden a little. Chase glares at his phone. “Alon’s the only local who’s willing to talk to them about this place; everyone else won’t. You guys wanna come and hang out? I don’t think Dad would mind much, but you gotta sign the usual clauses.”
“Oh, hell, no!” That from Jordan. “Not on your life are you gonna find my Black ass on some ghost beach with a body count. That’s a white people vacation spot right there.”
“Well, you’re not going to believe this, but literally minutes after we arrived here, a sinkhole took out Dad’s cabin, and there was an actual corpse at the bottom of it. Suspended on a tree.”
Both boys stare at him. “And you’re staying?” This from Jordan again.
“Yeah, no. I’m gonna need some pics,” Rory insists.
“I can’t—NDA—but you’ll see it when the show premieres. It’s just—it’s unbelievable.”
“No, it’s not,” Jordan says emphatically. He quiets down. “Hey. This is—I’m looking it up, and—this isn’t where your mom died, is it?”
Chase takes a deep breath. “The plane crashed near here. Why do you think I came?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to joke earlier.”
“No prob. Appreciate you, dude.”
“I’ve found a short article about the island,” Rory says. “There’s some strange curse? A sleeping god? Sacrifices?”
“Five sacrifices. But at least fifteen recorded deaths. The others don’t count toward the curse because they don’t fit the god’s requirements or something.”
“Oh, no,” Jordan says. “Hell, no. Chase, your dumb ass better be careful. And they got tourist guides in this hellhole?”
“Just Alon.”
“I’m here to warn people away,” I say dryly. “So far no one’s acting on my advice.”
“Reuben Hemslock’s on this show, and he lives for this stuff. You can pry the cameras out of his cold dead fingers before he’ll wrap.”
“They only found half of one victim’s body?” Rory bursts out, still reading the article. “The lower half?”
“Alex Key? Yeah, I don’t know much about that, though.”
“Chase,” Rory says, “there is a hottie in your room right now and you’re talking to us? I’d be hitting on that, man. Oh wait, shit, are you still on speaker??”
“Yes, you fucking pigeon brain,” Chase retorts, and then lowers his voice. Rory’s reply, on the other hand, is loud and deliberately so. “You know what they say. What happens in Kisapmata, stays in Kisapmata.”
“Rory!”
“Has Riley been trying to call you, by the way? She’s been blowing up Josh’s phone.”
“Yeah, and I’d appreciate it if Josh tells her to go to hell for me again.”
“You know that the best way to piss her off is to get with someone else, right? You’ve never tried to be with anyone when y’all were on and off, so she assumes you’re waiting around to forgive her. Show her she’s wrong this time. Anyway, I gotta go. Josh’s waiting outside for me, but I’m gonna call you once I’m back. And by the way—even Josh thinks this is for the best.”
“We’ll leave y’all alone,” Jordan says mischievously. “Call you tomorrow. Tell us when you’re gonna disappear next time. I know you’re going through some things, but don’t get us worried either. Know what I’m saying?”
The call ends. Chase grimaces. “Sorry you had to hear all that.”
“I’m not offended.”
“You sure? Those two are the worst flirts, and they like to meddle. I’m not—you don’t have a girlfriend or a boyfriend, right? Or any, uh, significant other? Rory always tells me to ask before I assume—you know, for gender—but I always mess up.”
I smile slightly. “I don’t really look at myself as either male or female.”
Chase nods sagely. “Nonbinary. I’ve got a bunch of friends who are nonbinary. That’s cool. No significant other?”
“No. Never had time.”
“Because your dad’s sick?”
“It’s one of the reasons.”
Chase looks down at his phone again and groans. “Ah, shit. Now she’s back on social media yelling about how I’m lying. I mean, I did, but…”
“That bad?”
“I just want her to shut up. But her friends are amplifying her, making it worse. You don’t have social media?”
“It’s not really for me.” I pause. “Will it help if we take another pic?”
He frowns. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“Why not?”
“Do you know how many followers I have?”
I do not. He clicks on his profile to show me, and my mouth drops. “Five million? You have five million people following you?” For tap dancing while wearing a horse’s head?
“I’m like, an influencer? Sometimes companies will send me awesome stuff like clothes and sunglasses, and I talk about it. Like an advertisement. But mostly I post pictures of myself in fun places. The videos made me famous. My mom tap danced, and she got me into it when I was a kid. It’s not common for people to do nowadays, I guess. So people follow me for that, and then for other stuff.”
I think about my father, a teacher who had much to impart to the world yet fell into obscurity. “But why?”
He shrugs. “I really don’t know. Maybe because I make people laugh? Maybe because of my dad, too. He’s a Hollywood big shot, so I’ve got an advantage. But that’s why you shouldn’t get involved. People may not know who you are, but they’ll find out if they want to.”
He’s very serious. Very earnest. I try not to laugh.
“I’m hoping you don’t mind if I borrow Askal, though,” he goes on. “Everyone likes pictures of dogs, and he’s extra cute.”
The flattery works on Askal. He wags his tail and poses for the picture he takes of them. I watch as Chase uploads it onto his social media, this time with a longer caption. On an undisclosed location in the Philippines with my dad today, watching them film a new show. You’re gonna have to wait to find out what that is. In the meantime, I’m already in love. Look at this perfect mug. Sometimes we travel to far-off places so we can remember to find pleasure in the familiar things.
It’s not exactly deep philosophy. But when you make a career out of aesthetics, I suppose it makes people feel better to think they can impart some deeper meaning.
It doesn’t take long for Chase to get what he’d been hoping for, either. The comments come quickly, and most ooh and aah over Askal. A few make mention of how they never believed Riley, anyway. It seems that Chase’s ex is an influencer like him, which explains his worry about the situation blowing out of proportion.
“Who’s that behind you?” One eagle-eyed commenter asks. Chase’s picture hadn’t left me completely out of the picture. There’s a shot of my legs in the background, barely out of focus.
“That was deliberate,” Chase says sheepishly. “I don’t have to comment about who I’m with on this island, but I can imply that Riley’s making things up about me. They’ll hash it out among themselves, and I won’t ever have to respond. That’s the beauty about having a truckload of followers.” He looks back at the picture and frowns. “Well, that’s odd. What’s that?”
I look again.
My legs are evident in the picture.
But there is another set of legs farther behind me.
They’re distorted enough that they could be dismissed as an odd wooden sculpture or some kind of abstract statue. But there is nothing resembling that decorating the room. It looks like gnarled roots shaped to mimic calves and feet…
I spin.
There is no one else there.
Chase doesn’t realize the enormity of what we’re looking at. He’s glancing around too, puzzled but relaxed. “I didn’t put on any filters; I don’t know where that could have come from—”
A sudden cry from outside catches our attention. Chase rises to his feet, alarmed, and my instincts kick in.
“Stay here,” I bark at him, opening the door and racing out before he can respond, Askal tearing at my heels.
The cry sounds again, but this time it’s coming from the direction of the sinkhole.
There is no one else around when I arrive at the glowing lanterns and ropes set up around the hole.
But I see Armani. The man must’ve slid down into the sinkhole and found nothing but the corpse tree to cling to. The balete tree stopped what could have been a fatal plunge.
The man is all but gibbering in terror, though relief flashes across his face when he spots me.
“Kid,” he shouts. “Thank god you’re here. Get help, tell them to bring some ropes and get me the hell out of here!”
“Don’t move!” I shout back, but he ignores me, struggling to free some of the smaller branches that are stuck to the sleeves of his shirt.
“Hey!” I shout again, this time in the direction of the other cabins. “Someone’s fallen into the pit!”
There’s a long piece of rope still strapped to a nearby tree, securely tied from the crew’s previous excursions into the sinkhole. I grab it and throw the line down for him to catch. Askal is going nuts, running back and forth along the rim of the pit and barking like mad at the tree.
Armani wrestles to gain a better foothold against the sides of the hole, his hand reaching out to grasp the lifeline I threw his way. “I am going to fire and destroy whoever pushed—”
The corpse tilts toward him. Soundlessly the tree shudders; its thin branches rise, becoming wizened bone-thin fingers on either side of the dead body. It grasps at Armani’s face and forcibly turns his head so that he is gaping, terror stricken, into the yawning mass of its mouth, the hollow void of its eyes.
Screaming, the man lets go of the rope. More tree branches wrap around his face, and Armani disappears under the tangle of brambles as the corpse presses its face against his, and both are lost from view.
I take the rope myself, and grimly lower myself into the sinkhole. The branches are still winding their way around the man like a grotesque cocoon, swiftly wrapping his waist, his legs still kicking uselessly in the air from adrenaline. One hand is still outstretched, grasping wildly for something to hold onto, and I grab at it, my hand latching onto his wrist.
I pull, prepared for a fight.
The branches give way almost instantly, the roots snaking away from Armani as it loosens its hold. I grunt as the sudden dead weight strains my shoulders, and the only reason we both don’t fall into the sinkhole is because new hands grab at me from above, yelling at me not to let go even as they haul me, and then Armani, up over onto safer ground.
It’s Chase. His muscles ripple as he hoists the both of us out. “What the hell?” He rambles, horrified, looking down at the pit. “It moved. I saw it grab him. What the—what the hell—holy—”
“The balete.” I lay on the ground a little longer, trying to catch my breath, waiting for the burning in my upper arms to go away. “The curse.”
“Get a hold of yourself, Steve!” Hemslock is now beside Armani, slapping at his face, getting him to focus on him. The other man responds by rolling his eyes up until only the whites show. He falls unconscious. Someone from the medical team is already with Hemslock, checking Armani’s vitals.
“No injuries that I can find,” she says tersely. “Bring him in and get him warm, he’s as cold as ice.”
A stretcher is brought out, and Armani is laid atop it. While the others carry him away, Hemslock remains, staring at the sinkhole below, at the balete tree that has fallen unnervingly, unfalteringly still.
The corpse does not move. Its eye sockets stare serenely back at us, at nothing and at everything all at once.