Shadows of the Unseen

After Vincent and I parted ways, I finally returned to the relative stillness of my apartment. The quiet hum of the ceiling fan and the faint glow of the city lights through the window should have brought some comfort, but my mind was a tempest of memories. The events of the night played over and over in my head: the manananggal's grotesque transformation, its harrowing screams, and the sinister truth of my grandmother's stories that I had dismissed for so long.

I sat on my worn leather chair, staring at the shelf where an old, thick book rested. It was bound in dark leather, its spine cracked from years of existence, and etched into its cover was a script I couldn't read. My grandfather had given it to me years ago, and he'd always said, "When the time is right, Damien, open it. It will guide you." I'd laughed then, chalking it up to his penchant for spinning tall tales. But now, after everything I'd seen, I wasn't laughing anymore.

I picked up the book, its weight grounding me, and traced my fingers over the intricate patterns pressed into the leather. The letters on the cover, written in Baybayin, were unfamiliar to me, but a quick internet search confirmed the name I'd heard whispered tonight: Sacramentum.

With cautious fingers, I opened the book. The scent of old paper and something faintly herbal wafted up, and I was greeted by page after page of illustrations and ancient text. The first image I saw sent a chill down my spine it was a detailed sketch of a manananggal, eerily similar to the one I had faced. Next to it were notes, small symbols, and what appeared to be a description of its mannerisms, weaknesses, and even the variations of its form.

I flipped through the pages feverishly. There were drawings of other creatures: tikbalang, tiyanak, aswang. Each page contained information that could have been torn straight out of my grandmother's bedtime stories stories I'd dismissed as the product of overactive imaginations. But here it was, laid out in painstaking detail: their traits, their dangers, their vulnerabilities.

The book wasn't just an encyclopedia of horrors. Among the pages were handsigns and symbols, paired with instructions for spells and protective charms. Some pages described agimats, talismans that carried unique powers. It was a treasure trove of knowledge, yet most of it was locked away from me by the Baybayin script. Learning to decipher it would take time, but something told me I didn't have the luxury of waiting.

As I turned the pages, one caught my eye. It was different from the others, glowing faintly as though it were alive. The text seemed to ripple across the page like a living thing. The word Sacramentum was written in bold, looping letters that seemed to beckon me closer. I hesitated but couldn't resist I reached out and touched the word.

The moment my fingers brushed the page, a golden light erupted, spilling from the book like liquid sunlight. I cried out, shielding my eyes as the light consumed me. I felt weightless, my body pulled into the blinding brilliance.

When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in my apartment. I floated in an endless expanse of shimmering light and soft, swirling mist. My feet weren't touching the ground as if there wasn't a ground. The world around me felt unreal, like a dream.

And then I saw him.

A man stood in the distance, his presence commanding even in the vastness of this ethereal plane. He wore garments that reminded me of the ancient depictions of datus which have a richly patterned cloth draped over his shoulders, a belt of intricately carved metal, and beads that gleamed like stars. His stance was proud but not intimidating, his head held high as though he were surveying the heavens themselves.

He turned his gaze toward me, and I felt a strange pull, as though I knew him somehow, though I couldn't place where or when. His eyes glimmered with an ageless wisdom, and his face carried the weight of untold stories.

I tried to speak, to ask who he was or where I was, but no words came out. He raised a hand, and though his lips didn't move, I felt his voice resonate within me which is a deep, powerful presence that seemed to come from the very air around us.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the vision ended.

I was back in my apartment, the book still on the table before me. Its pages were normal now, the glow gone as though it had never been. But my hand still tingled where I'd touched the word, and my mind raced with questions. Who was that man? Why did I feel as though I'd seen him before?

The answers, I realized, were in the book. And perhaps, they were also within me.

As I changed into my pajamas after a quick shower, I caught a glimpse of my tattoo in the mirror. Something about it was…different. I leaned closer, rubbing my eyes as if to clear away some imagined trick of the light. But no, it wasn't my imagination. The tattoo, once confined to a single section of my arm, now seemed longer, its intricate patterns weaving further down my skin.

"What the…?" I muttered, staring at it in disbelief.

It wasn't just its length. As I focused on the markings, they began to glow faintly, pulsing like a living thing. A warm sensation spread from the tattoo, not unpleasant but undeniably strange. Suddenly, images flashed in my mind, like fragments of a dream I couldn't quite grasp.

The flashes grew more vivid: an ancient bolo, a blade forged in the fires of an era long past. I saw warriors wielding it with precision, their faces resolute as they fought against shadowy figures that felt eerily familiar. Then, as quickly as the images had appeared, they were gone, leaving me gasping for air.

I stumbled back, gripping the edge of the sink to steady myself. The glowing of the tattoo dimmed, but the impression of the bolo lingered in my mind. It wasn't just a vision and I knew the incantation to summon it. The words weren't in English, nor in any language I'd consciously learned, but they were there, etched into my memory as though they'd always been a part of me.

"I'm losing it," I muttered, shaking my head. But deep down, I couldn't deny the truth: I wasn't losing my mind. This was real. And though I didn't fully understand why, I had the overwhelming sense that I would need that blade in the days to come.

I sighed, throwing myself onto my bed, but sleep didn't come easily. My thoughts were a tangle of ancient warriors, glowing tattoos, and the creatures that haunted the night. Just as I was beginning to drift off, I remembered something else it was the anonymous message I'd received earlier.

As I lay back on my bed, my mind wandered to the message I'd received a few days ago, an anonymous text that had been haunting me since it appeared on my phone.

"You're not alone. Some of us were spirited away, others dragged into this nightmare of the supernatural. We need to talk before it's too late."

At the time, I'd brushed it off as a prank or some cryptic spam. But now, after everything I'd seen the manananggal, the Sacramentum, the glowing tattoo and I couldn't ignore it any longer.

Whoever sent that message wasn't just guessing. They knew. They had answers, or at least they were involved in something just as bizarre as what I was going through.

I picked up my phone and opened the message again, my thumb hovering over the reply button. This wasn't just about curiosity anymore; it was survival. I needed to know more.

"Who are you, and what do you want to talk about?" I typed, then hesitated before sending it.

I decided to be upfront and added:

"I've seen things. I'll meet you, but I'm bringing someone with me."

Satisfied with the response, I hit send and set my phone down, my heart racing as if I'd just set something irreversible into motion.