Screams
Armani doesn’t awaken the next day. He suffered a severe shock to his system, the doctor tells us. But his heart is steady, and he has no difficulty breathing. He’ll be up when he’s ready, they tell Hemslock, and not a moment before.
The generators are working again, and the crew’s managed to reestablish communication with the nearest city on the mainland, where other crew members are awaiting word. The executive producers have returned to their respective screens and urge Hemslock and Gries to bring the unconscious man to the nearest hospital.
“We’ve already sent for a helicopter,” Leo tells them. He has yet to change out of his clothes from the night before. There are dark circles under his eyes. He doesn’t look my way. “The locals are still adamant about not coming here to help us, but they’ve at least agreed to that.”
“Did you see what spooked him?” Hemslock asks me.
I am quick with my answer. “The corpse.”
“This isn’t a joke, kid,” Producer Two says angrily. “You could get hit with a lawsuit if you don’t tell us exactly what happened.”
“You know what?” Hemslock says unexpectedly. “I believe Alon.”
“If you think that bullshit is going to fly with us, Hemslock—”
“There were cameras rolling on site. I got the tapes. None of them caught what happened, but they did record what came before. Steve was stumbling around, drunk. He fell in. Then Alon ran out and climbed down to save his ass. Steve might not be alive if not for this kid, and you’re threatening to sue?”
The producers glower at Hemslock from three different monitors. “We can’t have word getting out that he’s been injured,” Producer Three finally says. “The studio’s going to pull back funding if they think we’re being reckless. The unions are going to have a field day with this.”
“Then it’s going to be up to you three to stem any gossip. There aren’t any injuries on set. Steve’ll wake up, and he’ll be fine. I’ll send a few of the crew back with him when the helicopter arrives.” He points at me. “Has anything similar happened on the island before?”
“There were visitors who used to ignore warnings not to stay on the island. After the first two or three deaths, local authorities stepped up, banned tourist boats from landing here. But this was before my time. Their bodies were found along the beach, but without any wounds to show what killed them.”
“What about the fishermen?”
“The curse leaves them alone.”
“Ah yes, your god hates outsiders.”
“He hates trespassers. There’s a difference.”
“We didn’t need a tour guide to get our crew onto the island,” Producer One says to me. “Only ten thousand dollars in bribes. So why are we spending money to keep you on?”
“Because, like I’ve said before, the island knows Alon,” Hemslock says. “I know that’s hard to wrap your brain around, Conroy, but some things can’t be bought with money.”
Producer One sighs loudly. “We’ll humor you, Reuben. But you better have something to show beyond a dead tree and an injured producer.”
“Good job,” Hemslock tells me, as we all log off. “Ignore those old fools. They haven’t held anything sacred for a long while now. I know we’ve kept you away from your family. If you want to take this opportunity to go and visit your father, since you weren’t able to last night—”
“Thank you. I will.”
“Do you have anyone who can look after him the rest of the time we’re here?”
“I’m making arrangements.”
“You’re bringing him to Leyte? We’ll pay for the transportation if you like.”
I shake my head. “I have family in Leyte. I’ve reached out to them.”
“Good. We’d like you back after lunch. We’re going to figure out what’s wrong with Steve, and then we’re going to start exploring both the sinkhole and the cave, which we’ll need you for.”
I wait until he’s out of view before I move.
First, the distraction. Askal wanders toward the production crew, flops on his back to expose his tummy, and barks loftily. Pet me, is what he means. Love me. And while they’re distracted, I sneak away.
Hemslock’s cabin is easy to break into. The bungalow is locked, but I keep a few tools in my boat. The lock is a standard one with no special reinforcements. I carefully press at the small indentation underneath the doorknob and twist the plate behind it so that it loosens in my hand. Jiggling the mechanism within opens the door in seconds. It was a trick I had learned from a reformed burglar-now-fisherman.
The man keeps things neat; it’s easy to find what I’m looking for. His notes and documents are spread out on a table. One catches my eye—the handwriting is different from the others on the desk, a translation scribbled underneath what appears to be a Spanish manuscript—the Cortes journal.
Still I persisted, and finally he relented. Eight sacrifices, Humabon had told him. To receive the god’s blessing, sacrifice to the god. Take their hearts and sacrifice them to the Tree, and you will find eternity within the dream. Humabon swears that the god will have no choice but to be beholden to you, grant you control of the islands.
However, Magellan cautions me against such attempts, believing it to be the devil’s work, another pagan custom to be eradicated. He intends to wage war on Humabon’s behalf against the chieftain of Matan, as they believe the latter knows the secret to such power. It is the only reason they can think of, why the accursed native and his lands could not yet be conquered.
But I am determined to unlock this secret for, myself. Not for the first time I curse Magellan. The mutinies against him have done us no favors, nor his arrogance. We could have overwhelmed these people quickly, if not for our own losses.
It is not so large a cave. I will warn the Matan chieftain, Cilapulapu, of Magellan’s impending invasion. I will gain his trust, and that of his god’s. And then I will kill him, sacrifice him myself.
More annotations across the page. A note that states Matan = old name for the Mactan island that Cilapulapu ruled. The number thirty-seven, carefully circled on the right corner. More scribbled writings in the margins, the handwriting different from Cortes’s, with lines crossed through every word on the list save the one at the very end.
• local woman
• criminal
• cheater
• prostitute
• pregnant
I turn the page to the next entry. The handwriting is more agitated, all but stabbing the page in places, causing tears from their force.
Sometimes I dream. Of trees and their eyes watching, their flowers opening and closing. They speak in the quiet. I do not need eyes to see. I do not need ears to hear. Sometimes I obey, set the knife against my eyes. I wake up screaming.
This cave. I cannot leave.
I am sorry for the woman I killed. I am so sorry, I am so sorry, forgive me, I am sorry, please
They scream for me. They are
The words end there.
I hear noises from outside. I don’t stay. I arrange the pages back to how they were before and steal away before anyone notices.
***
’Tay’s still asleep when I return, which I suppose is for the better. Our home isn’t much compared to the fineries of the Hollywood bungalows, but it’s good enough for us.
I’ve already visited my family in Leyte, and they promised to help while I’m away. For now I make sure ’Tay’s comfy, combing the wisps of hair from his face. ’Tay didn’t have me until he was much older, and it shows. His skin feels leathery, but he’s cool to the touch and not feverish.
I settle myself in a nearby seat and keep vigil, Askal curled against my legs. I absently trace at the wall, my fingers lingering on the old, familiar grooves.
I watch him sleep and think about the money Hemslock is paying me. How worthless it would be in the long run.
’Tay stirs, as if sensing my unease.
“Tulog lang, ’Tay,” I whisper to him, and hold my breath until his evens out.
***
The first thing Leo Gries asks of me when I return is to check on Chase, who has yet to leave his cabin that day. The man somehow looks worse than before. “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
He starts. “I—how did you know?”
“Everyone who’s seen the ghosts has that same look on their faces.”
He hesitates. “My wife, Elena,” he finally says, in a whisper. “I—I think I saw her last night. It was before Steve fell into the sinkhole. She was—staring at me from outside the window. Her face was—” He lifts his hands to his eyes. “Her eyes were—”
His breath stutters, and he inhales loudly. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says roughly. “Can you tell Chase lunch is ready?”
Something moves amid the balete trees outside as I walk the path leading to the Grieses’ cabin. I see something solidifying in the air by the window, and my heart rate increases.
There are tiny roots growing along the pane. As I watch, it moves steadily on, wrapping its ends around the steel bars.
A few of the vines lengthen; one trails against my hand and another touches me, friendly, on the cheek. I shake my head. “’Wag mo silang takutin,” I warn it.
They don’t listen. The vines grow, wrap around my wrist.
I always keep my hunting knife close, and it’s as good to gut fish as it is to cut down strangler figs. I attack without hesitation, cutting through the buds before they can find permanent traction. The plants slide free, dropping back to the ground, and rapidly retreat until they are gone from view.
Breathing hard, I stare at the nearby balete. “’Wag,” I say softly, though I’m not sure they’ll listen.
I enter the cabin to find Chase awake in the living room. His back is turned to me, and he’s hopping about, trying to put on his shoes. His phone is on the counter, the screen lit up with Rory’s face.
“I’m feeling secondhand embarrassment for you, man,” he says. “You got Riley to agree to date you after twenty minutes of knowing you. And that’s all you could manage? An offer for a tapdancing lesson?”
“It’s not like I’ve had much dating practice in the last three years,” Chase grumbles as I freeze by the door, trying to inch out of the room without him knowing. “And it’s different now. It’s not some cheerleader looking to snag a football jock.”
“So you’re trying the sensitive approach? Now I gotta see that. How sure are you about starting a relationship, though? And with someone across the world, to boot? You’ve never been one for the short term. And what if the guide’s a plant? Like I know your dad’s done some illegal stuff for other shows, but do you really think they’re gonna manufacture a haunting of this scale like—”
“Well, of course, they’re not going to get one of the old rich guys into an accident to boost ratings for the show. They’d hire a stunt double for that. It really was Steve Galant we pulled out of that pit. The tree went wild on him, and I know it can’t be real! Someone must have tried to prank someone else, and it backfired when Galant fell in. Dad’s gonna kill me if I post pictures, so I can’t show you anything yet. Look, the guide’s hot, but it almost feels like it’s some tourist scam arranged by the locals. Like they’re working with the crew so they can rake in money for—”
He turns and breaks off, spotting me. “I have to go,” he says hurriedly, and ends the call. “Hey, Alon—I wasn’t expecting you here this early—”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” I say—coolly. “Your father wants you to know that lunch is ready.”
“H-hey! Wait!”
I ignore him and return to the sinkhole.
Chase catches up a few minutes later. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. The guys have been coming up with the weirdest shit, trying to explain what happened last night. They wondered if it was some kind of scam to get Hemslock and those studio execs to cough up more money, but I didn’t mean that you had anything to do with—”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” I say calmly—I suppose too calmly, because Chase looks even more horrified.
“What’s this?” Leo asks curiously.
“Nothing,” Chase says hurriedly, wisely clamping his mouth shut.
The daylight does nothing to detract from the corpse tree’s sinister appearance. I scan the twisted trunk, trying to remember if its position has shifted, if it has moved from what I remembered of the night before. Another team of experts has ventured into the sinkhole to resume their investigation of the balete.
Chase looks down at it with a shudder. “It moved,” he asserts. “I know that I saw it move. You saw it grab him. I take it back. It can’t be a scam. How the hell would you scam your way into creating a tree inside some frigging sinkhole?”
“You should leave when the helicopter arrives,” I say. “With your father. I doubt Hemslock can be convinced to go too, but at least the two of you will be safe.”
“Wait, you’re staying?”
“I have to.”
“What if something happens to you?”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me are popular last words. I’m not going to leave Dad here by himself. He won’t leave until he learns what really happened to Mom.”
“There’s nothing you can do for him by staying here.”
He scowls. “If there are real ghosts like you say, then there’s nothing you can do, either.”
“They won’t harm me.”
“Really? Have you talked to them? Had them sign a contract, too? Look—I’ll go if you’ll go with me.”
“Why are you so concerned about me?”
He glares some more. “Because I am, all right? The call you overheard—I didn’t mean to—ah shit, just forget it.” He marches off like I am the one at fault.
The accident has not delayed the production schedule, and plans to explore the cave are set to continue that day. Hemslock has thrown himself back into his work with relish.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asks me. “You did see the tree move and attack Steve. This isn’t something Leo’s son cooked up on the spot and got you in on.”
“He’s not a liar.”
“Hey, don’t be touchy. I’m not accusing anyone of anything.” He smiles. “I’d like you to join the expedition later. The experts we’ve hired have already marked off the places they’ve deemed safe. I don’t know how far into the cave you’ve been, but I think it’ll be good to have you around, confirm some of the things we might see.”
I nod again.
“Your old man won’t be worried? Got someone to watch him?”
“I can stay for as long as you need me. He gives his blessings.”
Hemslock snorts. “Of course, he does. We’re paying you a lifetime’s salary for this. No aversion to being on camera?”
“No sir.”
“Good. I think you’re going to be the glue that ties this mystery together. Who knows? We might even work on something new with you if this takes off.”
Leo Gries is not as confident as the star of his show. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to bring in an 18-year-old where accidents have already happened,” he tells Hemslock angrily.
“Seems to me that Alon can decide that.”
Leo Gries looks at me. “Are you sure about this?”
“I am, sir.”
“See?” Hemslock says. “We’re getting along great.”
Melissa offers me a meal and I politely accept. The crew treats me like a hero and I, embarrassed, try to brush it off. Nobody likes Armani, I soon learn, but they appreciate my efforts, regardless.
We eat on one of the tables, and I absorb the conversations happening around me. Askal lays down and chomps happily on a large bowl of boiled chicken that the chef made for him.
It sounds like half of the crew are ready to leave the island, while the other half are optimistic enough to finish the season so they can get paid in full. Melissa finds that hilarious. “At least they’re getting paid,” she notes ironically. “But with my luck, I’m gonna get punted into some Real Housewives spinoff when we get back and still not get a paycheck.”
Hawaiian Shirt is buzzing with excitement, the sandwich on his plate untouched. “It’s too soon to tell, but we might have something,” he says. “Remember when I said that Christie had mapped out a huge chunk of the Godseye’s cave system? And that it’s way different than the map that the plane crash investigators gave us? Christie’s adamant that her work’s accurate, but I’ve reached out again to the supervisor in charge of that crash investigation, and he’s adamant that he hadn’t made any mistakes. Hemslock’s on a roll. His theory is that they’re both right, and that there’s something underneath the soil creating new tunnels and collapsing others, which would explain the differences between the reports. Wild as shit, but it’ll make for compelling TV.”
“You can’t tell me this place isn’t haunted,” Straw Hat says mournfully, poking at his salad.
Goatee, who is sitting nearby and high on his fifth shot of whiskey, snorts. “We came to this island knowing it’s haunted.”
“We came here to make it look haunted for a show.”
“At this point, I don’t care if this whole island is standing on a bedrock of bones. I’m gonna have to remind you fellas that choosing to leave at this point means you’re fired. Show gets pulled, nobody gets money.”
“Mr. Galant’s in a coma,” one of the crew members says nervously. “What if that happens to us, too?”
“Steve isn’t in a coma; he’s just too soft for fieldwork. Hemslock never should’ve talked him into coming along. Anyway, they’ll fly him to the nearest hospital soon.” A staff member places another shot of whiskey by his elbow; Hawaiian Shirt downs it in a gulp. “You know what, Andy, leave the bottle. Don’t you understand? We’re getting all the footage we could hope for. I don’t care about the curse. I care that we’re getting enough shit to make the curse believable. And when we blow up on social media, on streaming sites—you’re going to have the résumés you all need to work on whatever other shows you’d like.”
He freezes, his eyes staring at something beyond Melissa’s shoulder. Puzzled, the girl turns and sees nothing. But by that time Goatee has already left, taking the bottle with him.
I spot a familiar face marching up to me—Chase. He dumps his plate on the table across from me, slides into the seat without asking. “I’m staying,” he says.
“It would be safer for you to—”
“Dad’s not leaving. He wants me to. I won’t. It’s not about Riley anymore.” He looks down at her food. “It’s about Mom,” he says defiantly. “We were really close. Dad thinks there’s something here that can explain the plane accident. They fought before she left on her trip, and I—I don’t want to leave him alone when he’s in this frame of mind, you know? He’s never gotten over her death. Frankly I’m not sure I have, either. And if you can’t tell us anything about the crash, then at least give us time to figure it out ourselves.”
“Hold up,” Melissa interrupts, no longer pretending not to eavesdrop. “Can the Dreamer of this island cause plane crashes?”
I pick at my food. “The Diwata would never harm innocents.”
“But if they can magically recreate a new world when they awaken, then they would be able to affect airplanes, right? Plus, one dude who’d been on the plane was found buried here.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
Chase’s shoulders slump. “You’re really planning on going into the cave with them?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been inside before?”
“A few times.”
“Willingly?” This from Melissa.
“It’s not so bad.”
“You’re weird, you know that? But in a good way.”
That makes me smile. “I know.”
Someone shouts Melissa’s name. She groans and pushes her chair back. “Work beckons. Be back later.”
“I wanna apologize for this morning,” Chase says quietly. He pauses, then says all in one breath: “You probably think I’m some weirdo, but the truth is I’ve always felt a bit—pessimistic, you know? Hollywood tends to do that to you. I’m used to people with ulterior motives, and I was wrong to think you’d be the same.”
He hangs his head. “And I’m scared, you know? Being here is starting to feel personal. I looked at that picture I took last night again. That wasn’t some trick of the light. There was some weird—thing—in the room with us. I’m sorry I said it might be a scam. I’m not the smartest. That’s why I like being an influencer. I try my best to have fun and vibe. But I put my foot in my mouth a lot, and people get hurt. Probably did that a lot to Riley—not like that gives her a pass for cheating. But I won’t do that again. I like you, Alon, and I know you’ve got a right to be mad at me, but I was hoping…are we cool?”
Chase’s phone rings again. He shoots an irritated glance at it but relaxes. “Jordan and Rory again.”
“Feeling better today?” came the familiar cheerful voices over the receiver. “Find any more killer trees?”
“I’m serious, dude. Alon saw it, too.”
“Did it seriously attack one of the producers?” Rory asks. “Cool.”
“Hey dude, this is serious. People could have died.”
“Didn’t I tell y’all to get off that haunted beach,” Jordan grumbles.
“Has Alon seen these corpse trees before?” Rory asks.
“There’s never been a sinkhole on this island,” I say.
“But this tree attacked the old man?” Rory persists.
“Yes.”
“You must be one of those sensitive people who can see and feel things,” Rory says wisely. “Those new age hippies with third eyes and lactose intolerance.”
“Did you know that there’s pirate treasure buried on the island?” Jordan asks. “Is that why they’re making a show about it?”
“It’s not pirate treasure. Some Spanish explorer with Magellan’s crew stole gold from the locals and allegedly it’s still inside the cave where he hid it.”
“And he was also allegedly killed by the ghost, right?” Rory says eagerly. “Have you seen him?”
“I’d rather not, thanks. Some of the scientists here think the corpse tree might actually be his body.”
“Alon!” Hawaiian Shirt shouts. “We need you!”
I push back my chair. “If you’ll excuse me,” I say politely. I nudge Askal with my toe, but he’s finished his food and is intent on eating the scraps people are still handing him under the table.
“So what’s the deal with you two?” I hear Rory ask impishly as I leave, “If I didn’t already have Josh, like damn it’s great to be bi!”
Chase’s embarrassed. “Rory, shut up!”
I walk faster, so that Chase doesn’t see me turn red.
What Hawaiian Shirt and Goatee want from me, as it turns out, is as many details as I can provide regarding the strange female ghost and the screams.
“We’ll set up more cameras to catch any supernatural activity that we don’t spot ourselves,” Hawaiian Shirt explains. “Orbs of light, things moving on their own when they couldn’t have, disembodied voices—all that stuff. We’re hoping for actual apparitions, of course—most shows don’t get much beyond shadows, but one time in Cambodia, Hemslock caught an actual humanoid figure running down a hallway. Any chance you saw that episode?”
I did not. Goatee frowns at me like that insults him somehow. “We want something a lot more concrete than that. We’re starting off strong, what with the sinkhole and that godawful tree, so we’ll need something to follow up with that same punch.” He sets the now-empty bottle on the ground. “Where do people usually hear the screams?”
“Near shore,” I say, painfully aware of the camera trained on me once more, recording everything I say.
“During the day, or mostly at night?”
“The day. Many don’t travel here at night.”
“But you have? Seen it at night, I mean?”
“I take care of my father most nights.”
“All right, then. Can you, you know, repeat everything you’ve told me, but in Filipino?”
“Tagalog. We have many other dialects that fall under Filipino.”
“Well, whatever you call it. Galant wanted you to lean hard on your accent, but this is better, no?”
I fume quietly but do as he asks.
Goatee gestures at the cameraman to move closer. “Show us which part of the beach they’ve heard the screaming, and maybe we can—”
The shriek that fills the air sounds like it’s coming from the empty space between us. It arrives with the force of an explosion. I tense, and Goatee jumps back with a shriek of his own, as does Hawaiian Shirt, the cameramen, and the boom operator.
Just as quickly, the shrieking stops.
“Shit,” Goatee says; he’s breathing heavily, visibly shaking from more than the drinks he’s consumed. “The fuck was that? Tell me you got it on tape, Harry.”
“Yeah,” the man responds, looking about ready to drop the camera and run. “Holy shit, did I get it.”
I scan the area. From behind the ring of balete, I see a pale face looking back at us. Unlike the figure from last night, this one has a face.
It opens its mouth. Something blooms out of it, like makahiya. Then it retreats into the trees and disappears.
“It is believed that when people hear the screaming,” I say, “someone is about to die.”
Goatee looks down at his pants, where a dark stain is spreading. “Pissed,” he says. “Fuck. I went and pissed my damn pants.”