part0013

We were supposed to spend our vacation in the Poconos, starting today, at the house Maddie’s aunt and uncle own, probably sitting by the river, watching egrets and herons swoop to pinch their meals out of the water. We likely would’ve taken a hike at least once a day, too, but who knows what else we would’ve done. We were just trying to get away somewhere and couldn’t afford anything too extravagant.

But then Maddie calls me at work yesterday and tells me about the crazy flight deal she’s just found online, and the next thing we know, she’s booking it and we’re packing for a different trip, and suddenly, now, sixteen hours later, we’re traveling halfway around the world for less than it would’ve cost us to stay in the States all week.

I can’t even wrap my head around how fast it all came together. Luckily I already had the vacation time scheduled at work. I don’t know how Maddie even found a place for us to stay, but she did.

Now we’re sitting on the plane for I don’t even know how long. Twelve hours? Fifteen? Twenty? I turn to ask her, but she’s already asleep. The wheels haven’t even lifted off the runway yet. I wish I could fall asleep the way she does, as quickly as she does. Sometimes I tell her she ought to get checked for narcolepsy.

So I’m sitting here without anything to do, because packing for the trip and securing a ride to the airport was such a whirlwind that I didn’t even think to toss a book in my bag, and the TV screen in front of me is broken, and the WiFi on the plane isn’t working well enough to load anything on my phone, so I can’t even research things to do in the city we’ll be touching down in tomorrow morning. I reach into the seat pocket and find the safety card and the in-flight magazine, and I also find this little booklet. It’s like a journal with a black leather cover. No title on the front, but the first page inside says it’s “A Field Guide to Supernatural Entities in Southeast Asia,” and that seems kind of interesting. So I flip through the pages. It’s full of ghosts and monsters, all sorts of things from legend and folklore. The kind of stuff I absolutely love. Halfway through, my thumb catches on a page and I’m dumbstruck. The illustration catches me off-guard. It’s a beautiful woman—an angelic face with long black hair. But below the neck, she’s just a mass of internal organs, hanging there like some disgusting, bloody chandelier. I’m repulsed and attracted at the same time, so I read about who she is.

“The penanggalan is a vampiric creature found in Malaysia. Typically a woman who has practiced black magic, the penanggalan soaks her body in a vat of vinegar so that she can more easily extract her organs from the shell of her outer skin. At night she floats through the air in search of victims. In Indonesia, she is called the leyak, while she is known as the manananggal in the Philippines, ahp in Cambodia, krasue in Thailand, kasu in Laos, and so on.”

I’ve never heard of such a thing, but I’m instantly obsessed. And I’m reminded once again why Maddie and I love to travel so much. There’s really nothing like seeing other parts of the world, exploring new cities, trying new foods, learning about new cultures. That’s why we jumped at the chance to fly to Malaysia on a single night’s notice. Well, that and the price.

Apparently I do manage to fall asleep because, the next thing I know, I’m waking up to the sound of the pilot informing us that we’re making our initial descent into Penang. Maddie wakes up, too, but seems far more refreshed than I feel. Soon we’re on the ground and stepping out into the hair dryer heat of the Malaysian sun. Neither of us has ever felt anything like it, and soon we’re both soaked in sweat.

We take a taxi into the George Town section of Penang, where our accommodations are. It’s a “guest house,” whatever that means. Maddie managed to find the place last night somehow and booked the last available room, which was only possible because of someone else’s last-minute cancellation .

When we arrive, the front door is locked. We ring the bell but have to wait several minutes in the blazing sun before someone answers. Finally the lock turns and the door creaks open and we enter the lobby—a small room with tile floors, a bench, a desk, and a few plants. The owner greets us, already knowing our names from the reservation. He doesn’t introduce himself, though.

Maddie and I both sigh at the cooler air inside.

“Yes, we have air con,” the owner says. “It’s nice outside today, though. Warm, but not too hot.” We both chuckle, and I secretly wonder if we’re going to survive the week.

We go to our room, which is tiny, but perfectly fine, and strip off our wet clothes, then collapse onto the cool sheets of the four-poster bed. Without realizing it’s happening, I instantly crash out again, and enter a dream in which I see a beautiful penanggalan zigzagging across a sheet of ice, almost like a skater, but leaving a slick trail of blood in her path as her intestines drag sloppily behind her. She smiles and stares deep into my eyes as she weaves her way toward me. Then, just as she’s about to lunge in my direction, her sharp teeth bared, I’m jolted awake, and surprised to find it’s now late afternoon.

“Come on, babe,” Maddie says. “We didn’t fly all the way here to just take naps.”

I apologize and clear my eyes. In a matter of minutes, we’re both up and dressed in fresh clothes and heading back out. The sun is still oppressive, but I almost feel as if I’m getting used to it already. Unless that’s just wishful thinking. It probably is.

We choose a direction without looking at a map and decide to go exploring.

The sidewalks, if you can call them that, are an adventure in and of themselves. They vary in height, width, and surface type. Close attention must be paid to where each step is set down, unless you want to turn an ankle or fall into an uncovered sewer trench. Some of the walkways are covered by the awnings or roofs of shops. Others have steps or slopes. Some are in ruins; others are tiled and neatly kept. There are gaps and holes, only about half of which are covered by metal grates. Quite often there is very little space to move and two people cannot stroll casually side-by-side. We’ve only been walking for a few minutes and more than once we’ve run into clusters of motorbikes parked in the walkways, blocking foot traffic and forcing us into the streets.

The sun sets, and we’re hoping for some relief from the heat, but I imagine it will be another hour or two before we can tell a difference. We continue walking across the city, simply seeing whatever there is to see, and taking pictures without trying to look too much like a couple of clueless tourists.

The air smells fantastic—a mix of incense and street food.

Each storefront we pass appears to be a small business of some sort, and most of them are already closed for the day. We do see a man operating a small printing press inside one of them, and there is an active pizza shop with a painting on the wall of a cat wearing a Darth Vader helmet and holding a slice in one paw. We see signs for civet coffee everywhere and we discuss whether or not we want to drink something that’s already run through an animal’s digestive system. I’m willing; Maddie isn’t.

We discover numerous examples of Penang’s street art scene. One artist in particular has created a number of murals that also incorporate real-world objects. A pair of children painted on one wall “ride” the real bicycle installed in front of the building. A painted child “standing” on a real chair reaches up toward a hole in the wall, where an actual orange sits. And another painting shows a child ordering food from a street vendor, while his companion “sits” on a nearby three-dimensional bench. And so on. I spot one mural from down the street that looks like it must be a depiction of a penanggalan, and I get excited, but by the time we reach it, I realize it’s just a painting of some oversized fruit.

We pass a Hindu temple and gasp at the astonishing beauty of the brightly colored sculptures piled high, towering over the street. It’s a stunning sight, stacks of human and animal figures painted bright pink and blue and gold and green, all lit up with a heavenly glow against the now-dark sky.

We continue walking, and stumble upon an open-air food court. There are dozens of vendors and what must be at least a hundred tables, all surrounding a stage in the center. There’s a roof, but it’s held up by pillars instead of walls. A woman sings from the stage, filling the air with a language I don’t understand, though I can certainly appreciate its beauty.

We decide we better eat. There’s a red and yellow sign over one vendor’s space advertising their Obama Vegetarian Spring Rolls, but we opt for something more traditional: the nasi lemak, a coconut rice dish. A woman comes around to take drink orders, then brings us a couple beers, and we sit and enjoy the scene for a while .

Eventually, though, the singing stops and the vendors begin closing up. We realize more time has passed than we thought, so we pack up and set out on foot once again.

Maddie asks which direction I want to head in, and I tell her in a goofy-ghoulish tone that it doesn’t matter to me, as long as we keep our eyes peeled for a penanggalan.

She doesn’t know what I’m talking about, and I realize I never told her about the book I found on the plane. This reminds me that I left the book behind. I had meant to hold onto it. Damn.

Then she reaches into her bag and produces a small leather-bound tome.

“Is this what you’re talking about?” she asks, informing me that she grabbed it from my lap on the plane when I was asleep and it looked like it might fall to the floor.

I’m overjoyed, and I take it from her, flipping to the center of the book to find the page that features my beloved penanggalan, now the unwitting mascot of our trip. But I can’t find it. Somehow it’s missing from the book, even though no pages seem to have been removed. It’s simply not there anymore, among the other creatures and spirits. I’m confused, but I stuff the book into my back pocket anyway and describe the strange and beautiful monster as best I can while we walk the streets without any particular destination in mind.

Maddie isn’t quite as taken with the penanggalan as I am, but she’s not exactly the folklore fanatic I am either. I can’t help but feel that if I could show her the illustration in the book, she would understand. Maybe I just overlooked it. I’ll flip through the pages again once we’re back at the guest house, or we’ll find the penanggalan online.

Lost in conversation, we suddenly realize we don’t know exactly what part of town we’re in. It certainly doesn’t feature much nightlife. Soon we get our bearings and we double back in the general direction of where we’re staying.

I stumble over some loose chunks of the sidewalk just as Maddie narrowly avoids falling into a trench. The same thing happens again a minute later, so we decide to detour a block over. When we turn the corner, the street opens up a bit wider. We don’t encounter any people, but up ahead we see a pair of dogs resting on the sidewalk. We actually think they’re statues at first, decoratively guarding a shopfront, but they stir at our approach, and we realize we need to cross the street so as not to rouse them.

That doesn’t matter, though. The dogs are instantly aware of us, and are not at all happy about our presence. Even though we’ve given them plenty of space, they clearly think we’ve intruded on their territory. They growl deeply at first, then begin barking. Maddie and I pick up our pace, speed-walking, just trying to move down the block as quickly as we can so we can find our way back in for the night. It makes no difference. The dogs bark even louder, and suddenly bolt in our direction.

I see now they’re completely untethered. There are no leashes or chains, no barrier of any kind to keep them from us. We need to move.

“Run!” I say, hesitating to make sure Maddie can go ahead of me. Instead, she gives me a push on the shoulder.

“Just go!” she yells. “Don’t wait for me!”

So I move, dashing as quickly as I can toward the end of the block. In the moment, I figure that if nothing else, maybe I can at least lure the dogs away from Maddie, and she can find a path to safety for herself. Once I get a certain distance away from the dogs’ post, they’ll surely leave me be. But for now, they’re angry. And loud. And right on my heels, barking and snarling at our trespass.

I turn back to see how close they are, swearing I can feel the heat of their breath, and also needing to see if Maddie’s been able to turn off somewhere. The dogs are right there, but I’m almost to the corner, so I hit the brakes and slide, the soles of my shoes scratching across the dirty pavement as I curl around the bend. I keep my balance, just barely, and make the turn. And just then, there’s a loud squeal that rises up above the barking of the dogs.

An otherworldly light seems to illuminate her with an almost unnatural glow. She smiles at me, and I feel a warmth inside, much hotter than the heat of the Malaysian sun.

Her gaze locks onto mine, and I feel my eyes widen. The odor of vinegar hits me again, as she lunges for me, smiling, her mouth opening wide, and I see the foul cluster of internal organs—lungs, heart, stomach, intestines—hanging beneath her neck, a heap of soft, twisted entrails. So lovely. I get lost in her eyes and the black void between the rows of her pointed teeth, and she’s everything to me in that moment.

I feel the bite. The smell of vinegar is overpowering. The intersection lights up, and the dogs have disappeared, and everything feels like a blooming flower. I feel a breeze, and the temperature plummets, and suddenly everything turns to red.

“I don’t know,” Maddie says. “It all happened so quickly. We were walking, and all of a sudden these dogs came after us. We tried to get away, but they were so fast. I told him not to wait for me, and he ran ahead, and when he turned the corner, this car just came from out of nowhere and . . .”

A woman, the driver, sits on a bench in the next room, sobbing, her tear-drenched eyes covered by her long black hair. She holds a hand firmly to her chest, just beneath her neck, in an effort to calm herself.

Down the hall, a doctor emerges and addresses a police officer.

“I’ve never seen anything like it before,” he says. “The impact split him open like an overripe piece of fruit. The entire rib cage burst outward, and all his internal organs spilled, en masse, onto the pavement.” The doctor pauses, then hands the officer a small black book. “This was in his back pocket,” he says. “Maybe his wife will want it.”

The officer flips the book open about halfway, to a page folded in toward the center.

“Terrible,” he says, shaking his head. “But at least it was a quick death. Although I always wonder how much of what happened actually registered in the victim’s mind.”

He and the doctor part ways, and the officer unfolds the page in the center of the book. He is taken with the depiction of the beautiful woman there, her piercing eyes, her lovely long black hair.

He snaps the book shut and stuffs it into his back pocket, then decides to go outside for some air. As he steps through the doorway, he takes a deep breath and pauses as a warm breeze hits his face, bringing the smells of the city to his nose—incense, street food, and the slightest hint of vinegar.