Horror: Malikmata by Joseph Nacino (Philippines)

“You know how it is. I’m sure you’ve heard this before.”

“Why don’t you start from the beginning.”

Paolo lights a Winston Lights with one hand. The other holds the steering wheel steady as they drive under the yellow-glare of streets lamps in the commercial business district of Makati. He says, “The first time it happened, I came in late, around 3 or 4 a.m. I parked my car at the basement of the condo where I live. Just as I was getting my stuff from the back seat, I could have sworn someone was standing at the window. Gave me a start, but there was no one there when I looked.”

“Could have it been a ghost?”

“I don’t know. Figured I was just tired. I’d been working hard at that time doing a shoot for a fashion magazine. We’d been working straight for two days then. I just thought was just… you know, nerves.”

“You’re not the type to be frightened easily, are you?”

“Not really. My family comes from Tarlac province and my grandfather used to tell us stories about walking at nights so dark you can barely see the road. But I grew up in the city where the streets are well-lit. So the idea of darkness that isn’t lit up by city lights… I can’t imagine it.”

“I can. I grew up in Bicol and I always had salt in my pocket when I was a child. Came in handy when you’re walking at night through the forest. Getting back to your story, what happened next?”

“I got my bags, walked over to the elevators, and went up.”

A passing headlight reveals Paolo’s face: mestizo-looking, baby-fat now all angles casting sharp shadows. Beside him, Father Ramon raises an eyebrow on his bulldog-wrinkled face as he sees the gleaming façade of the steel and glass building before them. “Is this the condominium? The place looks expensive.”

“It’s not so bad. I can afford the monthly payments and the previous owner was willing to let it go cheap.”

They drive down a well-lit ramp into the basement and Paolo turns the wheel down another ramp. “So where was I? Oh yeah. That’s when it got weird.”

“How do you mean?”

“I thought there was someone else in the elevator. You know, when you feel someone standing near you? There was no one there but it felt so real that I kept looking over my shoulder.”

One of the basement white-fluorescent lights flickers as they pass. They head down to the sub-basement. Paolo angles the car into a slot near the elevators.

Scratching the stubble on his face, Father Ramon says, “I hate parking areas under buildings. It always feels so… damn heavy being under all this steel and glass.”

“I don’t mind. I’m just glad to have parking. Living in Makati can be a bitch at times if you have a car.” Paolo turns off the engine and reaches for his cell phone and wallet in the glove compartment. Father Ramon leans back to give him space and

A shadow passes by his window

Father Ramon jerks to look but sees no one’s there. He looks behind them and there’s nothing as well.

Meanwhile, Paolo opens his door, steps out of the car and opens the back door. “Hold on, let me get my stuff.”

“Do you need help?”

“Sure. Can you grab my camera? It’s on the floor.”

“Nice. A Nikon DSLR, right? I still go for film.”

“Not for me, too expensive. At least with a DSLR, all I need to do is plug in the camera to my laptop.”

“I’m old-fashioned, I guess. I used to print my pictures in a dark room I set up at home. Now printing the pictures in a store, that’s expensive.”

They walk toward the elevators and Paolo presses the button. The right-most elevator slides open after a few seconds with a metallic sigh. They step inside and the mirrors on the walls reflect two figures walking into an infinite number of elevators. Paolo presses the twenty-first floor button.

They ride the elevator in silence. Father Ramon glances into the mirror

A figure behind them steps back

He looks behind but no one’s there. The elevator bell sounds their destination and the doors open.

Paolo gestures to the left. “My place is this way.”

The condo units are marked alternately through the well-lit corridor that stretches before them. At the end of the corridor is a beige-painted metal door with a lit EXIT sign. Father Ramon clears this throat and could swear he heard it echo. He says, “Quiet place.”

Paolo shrugs. “I like it. The people here leave each other alone and I only see them when riding the elevator.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel like a friendly place.”

“You sound like those Spirit Questors. They were here a month ago but they weren’t much help then.”

Father Ramon laughs. “No surprise there. We do almost the same work. Unfortunately, those people only talk to the spirits—but what do you do when nobody’s listening?”

“I hate to think what you do in your ‘line of work’,” he says with two fingers mimicking quotation marks. “But then again, what do I know, right? And I’m really getting tired of this corner of the eye thing. It’s not something you get used to.”

Father Ramon nods. “Is this your unit?”

“Hey, good guess. Are you psychic or something?”

“You took out your keys. I’ve noticed people who live in apartments always get their keys when they near their floors.” Father Ramon points at Paolo’s hand, which is holding a set of keys on a metallic keychain. Paolo looks at it and grins.

They stop before a solid-looking door with a faux-bronze doorknob. The number 215 is etched on the door at eye-level. Before he can unlock the door, a slim young woman dressed in a smart-looking beige blouse and black skirt opens the door. She is trying to juggle a laptop bag while looking for something in a large leather handbag hanging on her shoulder. When she looks up, she grimaces. “Paolo, where’ve you been?”

“Hey Robin, this is Father Ramon Orteleza. Remember what I said about Father Joseph knowing a priest who could help…?”

Robin smiles and shakes her head. “Hi Father Ramon. Paolo, I was supposed to leave thirty minutes ago. Now I’m late!”

“Sorry, I had to pass by the office. Lou wanted the prints from the Caluruega shoot. You know how he gets.”

Robin throws up her hands. “Look, I have to go. I’ll text you later. And Denver peed again in the bathroom.”

“I’ll take care of him, okay? You got the car keys?”

Robin jingles a set of keys as she walks away. Paolo turns to Father Ramon, who looks at him in confusion.

“Sorry about that. Robin has the night-shift at an IT firm. She drives to the office so at least we see each other in the evenings when I pass on the car to her,” Paolo says with a shrug.

Father Ramon’s mouth opens and shuts. Finally he says, “Denver? What’s wrong with peeing in the bathroom?”

Paolo laughs as he closes the door behind them and gestures to the living room. He says, “Denver’s a dog. We don’t have time for children so I treat Denver like he’s our kid. Robin says I spoil him too much.”

“How long you’ve been married?”

“Two years. Anyway, make yourself at home.” Paolo drops his laptop bag on the couch and heads toward the kitchen.

Father Ramon walks to the black-and-white photographs framed on the walls. “Did you take these pictures? They’re pretty good.”

“Thanks. I like the way the shadows look more solid than the shape itself.”

“Ah, is this Denver? Here boy…” The Labrador, still a pup, whines and sniffs at Father Ramon’s offered hand. The older man asks, “He looks sick. What’s wrong with him?”

“Oh, he keeps barking all the time for some reason. The vet said he could be craving attention. You want anything? Beer? Coffee?”

“Coffee would be good.”

Paolo opens a cabinet and looks inside. “Uh-huh. We only have instant. Is that okay?”

The lights suddenly go out. Denver starts growling in the dark.

“What the…?”

“I presume this doesn’t happen regularly?”

“Hold on, I’ll get us a light. Shut up, Denver! And no, this doesn’t happen always. Christ, why did Robin leave the curtains down? I can’t see a damn thing.”

“Wait, I still got the camera. Let me try…”

The searing light from the camera flash flares and fades slowly. The sound of claws on the marble floor marks Denver’s hurried departure from the room.

Paolo rubs his eyes. “Crap! Give a guy some warning before you do that, okay?”

“Paolo…”

“I can’t believe this. Don’t tell me the generator is down again…”

“…Shut up!’

“Uh… okay.”

Father Ramon says, “I’ll set off the flash again. Look in the direction of the wall near the kitchen.”

The flash brightens the room again:

A child crouches in the corner

“Holy shit!”

“Exactly.”

“What the hell was that?!”

“Do you have a candle or a flashlight?”

“I don’t know! I don’t want to move!”

“One more time… “

The camera flash whirr-flash-clicks again and they see the figure is gone. Paolo is breathing loudly.

“Take it easy, Paolo. It’s gone.”

“… Christ!”

“You have that flashlight? I’m tired of blinding myself with this thing.”

“I… I think we’ve got some candles around here.”

“Maybe you can use your lighter in the meantime?”

“Yeah… hold on. Here it is…” The flame is small but it casts features on Paolo’s relieved face.

“Better. You get the candles, I’ll pull up the window curtains.”

They move carefully. The small light flame disappears and there’s a clatter on the floor. “Shit!”

“What’s wrong?” Father Ramon says.

“I burned myself, damn it…”

Father Ramon pulls back the curtains, revealing city lights against the night. He tries to open a window but it doesn’t move.

“Sorry, this place has central air-conditioning. No way to open the windows,” Paolo says as he opens drawers.

Father Ramon peers outside. “Looks like you were right, only your building is out of power. The rest of the city seems to be doing fine.”

“I swear, I’m going to…” There is a whiff of lavender as Paolo lights a small candle. Two more are lit.

“Perfect. Hopefully the candles will give some light on our situation.”

“I’m going to light up this place with candles. No way I’m going to be in the dark with that… thing.”

“Be my guest. You don’t have a flashlight?”

“Yeah, it’s… where did I place it? Right, it’s in that cabinet near the window.”

Father Ramon opens the cabinet and pulls out a heavy black flashlight as long as his arm. He turns it on and the beam is strong enough to light up the whole room. “Fantastic, one of those high-intensity Maglights.”

“Look, I’m going to call the lobby guard, find out how long this blackout is going to last.”

Father Ramon says, “But isn’t…” as Paolo mutters, “I forgot, the intercom is also out. My cell phone…Shit!”

“What?”

“Hello! Robin! What…? Your signal’s breaking up! Hello! Okay…okay! Stay there, we’ll be right down.”

“What happened? Is she all right?”

“She’s stuck in the elevator. She said went all the way down to the bottom when the blackout hit.”

“Ah, I think the basement’s not the best place for Robin at the moment.”

“Why?”

“If I had to guess, the source of all your troubles is coming from below. And what better place than the basement, yes?”

“Shit! We got to get down there now!”

They hear a soft exhalation:

The candles in the kitchen go out

Paolo looks at Father Ramon over the beam of the flashlight and says in a strangled voice, “What the…?”

“Time to go, I think.” Father Ramon says, waving the hand holding the camera towards the door. They retreat outside of the unit. As the door closes behind them, they see the corridors are dark, quiet, and bare.

“Where are the emergency lights? They’re supposed to turn on. This place is a fire hazard. And where is everybody? Hey! Is anyone there!?”

Father Ramon hands Paolo the flashlight and points at the end of the corridor. “The fire escape is that way. “

“Crap. We’re on the twenty-first floor. I had to climb down a couple of months ago when the elevators broke down. Nearly killed me.”

“Maybe you should quit smoking then.” Father Ramon pushes the heavy fire escape door and it swings open with a heavy sigh. With the darkness and the low ceiling, the space is claustrophobic. They look down the concrete stairwell.

“I so do not want to do this.” Paolo says, the light swinging up and down and back and forth. Father Ramon places a hand on his to steady the light.

They start their descent, the light guiding their steps. Two levels down, Father Ramon looks at Paolo. “Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“I thought I heard an echo. But it wasn’t us.”

They stand still:

Whispers drift up from below

Paolo says, “Now that is fucking creepy.”

“Hopefully we don’t meet whatever’s making that noise.”

They start moving again. Paolo looks at Father Ramon. “You said that whatever’s the problem is coming from the basement? Why?”

“Do you remember that earthquake in the ‘80s? It caused the Hyatt Hotel in Baguio City to collapse and it killed a lot of people.”

“Yeah? So?”

“Well, the Hyatt was hollow. If you stood at the bottom, you could see the hotel rooms all the way to the top.”

“Huh. I know a lot of other hotels with that same feature. I remember a few years after the quake, my friends and I would sneak into the ruins to look for ghosts during our summer break.”

Father Ramon remains quiet for a moment. He says, “I remember when they pulled me out. There were more spirits than rescuers roaming the rubble that night.”

“You were there?”

“Yes. I was about to exit the building when the quake hit. You know what they say, that you’ll be protected if you stand in a doorway if there’s a quake? It’s true. Unfortunately, I was trapped under the hotel entrance roof for five days. They really wanted to kill me then.”

“Who?”

“Those living under the Hyatt.”

“Ah,” Paolo says. After a while, he asks, “So what does that have to do with this place?”

They come to the fourteenth floor, the number bold in black on the wall. The darkness of the stairwell before them seems solid.

Father Ramon holds out a hand. “Wait.”

“What now?”

“We’re coming to the thirteenth floor. I suggest we move quicker through this one.”

“You mean run? Are you crazy? We’re likely to break our necks! And this building doesn’t have a thirteenth floor.”

Father Ramon snorts in disgust. He says, “There’s always a thirteenth floor in buildings.”

“God almighty, I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I. Are you ready?”

“No!”

Father Ramon starts off, jumping down two steps at a time. Paolo curses and follows. In the bouncing beam of the flashlight, they glimpse their surroundings:

Long clawed limbs reach out

Father Ramon leaps forward. He points the camera flash into the darkness, click-fwash-whirr and the light is bright like the day:

Snarling, dark faces pull away

Paolo overtakes him as Father Ramon throws something white and powdery behind them. There is a sound like nails on cement and a wail. They continue running downward and stop when they reach the eleventh floor landing.

“…Okay… now?”

“Yes…not as young… anymore… “

“Fine… come on. What… was that… you threw anyway?”

“Good… old-fashioned salt… in my pocket. Never grew… out of the habit.”

Their pace is slow and they steady themselves against the concrete walls.

“You were… saying something before…”

Father Ramon leans back against the wall for a moment and says, “There are… two reasons why I don’t like buildings. One is thirteenth floors…”

“There is … no thirteenth floor… in this building!”

Father Ramon ignores him, says, “The other… is basements. Call it… bad juju. All the fears, the anger… of the inhabitants… it all rolls downward. Down elevator shafts and… garbage chutes. Down into the ground.”

“So?”

“Whatever lives underground… whatever used to live in these places before we built these… they don’t like it when we dump our… garbage on them.”

At the ninth floor, Paolo looks at the closed fire escape door. “Where is everybody? Why are we the only ones using the fire escape?”

Father Ramon shrugs. “I suspect the building knows I’m here and is preparing a welcome.”

“The building knows…? Man, I know I called you but you’re really weird, you know that?

At the fifth floor, the cell phone rings again and makes both of them jump. The sound is jarring in the enclosed space. Paolo almost drops the phone as he answers the call.

“Hello! Robin! Hello! What the fuck… there’s no one there. Hello?”

The call clicks off. Paolo looks at it and sees the battery is dead.

Father Ramon looks down the stairwell. “I think we should move faster.”

They move briskly now. The air feels oppressive and it feels like they’re not alone in the stairwell. When they reach the basement door, they can’t budge it open.

Paolo rams his shoulder against the door. “Who locks fire escape doors? I swear I’m going to sue the building management!”

“Wait, let me…”

There is a clack and the door opens.

“What the hell?”

Father Ramon grins, holds up a scapular wrapped in plastic. “A present from Pope John Paul II during his last visit here. Add a little prayer, works every time on anything you want.”

The flashlight beam slices through the darkness of the sub-basement parking. They move quickly to the still-shut elevator and Paolo bangs on the doors.

“Robin! Robin! Can you hear me!”

“Paolo!”

“Robin! Are you okay??”

“It’s dark in here! Get me out!”

“We will! Just hold on! Father Ramon, help me with these doors!”

“Uhf… they seem to be stuck. If we had a lever…”

“In the car! I have a tire iron!”

“Give me the keys. I remember where your car is parked. It’s in the trunk?”

“Yes, in the tool box! Do you need the flashlight?”

“No, use it. Stay here and talk to her. I’ll be back quickly.” Father Ramon runs into the darkness.

Paolo bangs again at the doors. “Robin! Don’t worry, we’ll get you out soon!””

“Hurry! I think… there’s something in here with me.”

“Ah… just don’t move, okay?” He looks around and hears:

The scuffle of many bare feet

Paolo whispers, “Father Ramon? Is that you?” He sweeps the flashlight back and forth but sees only parked cars. He hears the crash of metal on metal in the dark. He peers into the darkness:

Something touches his hand

“Shit!” He jerks his hand and crashes his back against the elevator door. “Father Ramon! Hurry up…!” A shadow moves near him and Paolo curses, flashing the light against the figure.

“Right here,” Father Ramon says, blocking the light in his face. He brandishes the tire iron with the other hand.

“Don’t do that!”

“Sorry. Come on, let’s get Robin out.”

There is a metallic whine as they force the doors. The flashlight reveals the pale face of Robin, alone and standing at the back of the elevator.

Paolo holds out his hand. “C’mon Robin, let’s go!”

“Watch out!” Father Ramon cries.

Paolo stops Robin from falling but he drops the flashlight down a large ragged hole in the middle of the elevator floor. The falling light reveals the hole is deeper than the building’s foundation. As the light hits the bottom, they see yellow eyes looking upward at them.

“Fuck me like a dog,” Paolo whispers.

Robin’s voice is sarcastic. “God, Paolo! Nice going!”

Father Ramon snaps, “Quiet! Move it, people!”

Robin jumps over the hole into Paolo’s arms but she screams as she slips. There’s a blinding light of the camera flash and a squeal of pain as a dark arm withdraws back into the hole. Father Ramon pushes the couple out of the elevator. “Move it!”

They run with Father Ramon using the camera flash to find their way. In the stark light, they see bits and pieces—the parked cars, the low basement ceiling, the exit door—in black-and-white flashes.

Once they reach the fire escape door, Father Ramon looks back and uses the flash to see:

Figures swarming over the floor ventilation shafts pipes walls

“Good God,” Paolo says.

A crying Robin pulls the fire escape door open and three enter to see:

The fire escape now runs down even lower and the stairs are full of shadows crawling fighting biting as they try to climb up and the whispers are multitudes stronger, the voices angry

Father Ramon slams the metal door close behind them but they hear the sound of many small hands slapping against it.

“What do we do now?” asks Robin, hiccupping, as she gazes at the stairwell that descends so far, its bottom is invisible.

The stairwell shifts, like the inside of a throat clearing, and they hear the words: “Hello Father Ramon. We felt your presence and wished to welcome you.”

“Damn. And I thought I was done with this,” Father Ramon says as he looks down. He thrusts the camera flash into Robin’s hands and brings out the scapular and a fistful of salt.

Paolo says, “What… you know what this thing is?”

“I lied: there’s a third reason why I hate buildings. This is it,” Father Ramon says with a grimace. “Some… things have long memories, obviously.”

“Well, we better do something. Those things are getting closer,” Paolo points at the climbing shadows.

Father Ramon looks at the scapular and the salt in his hands. He pockets both and says “Both of you. Run. Now.”

Robin gives a squeak and hurdles the first few steps up to the ground floor. Paolo flees as well. Father Ramon turns to the stairwell and says, “Next time.”

The voice laughs, like the wind echoing through a passage way, and says, “A third time, Father Ramon, and maybe you will not leave us then.”

The three reach the door to the ground floor. As they push past the fire escape door, Father Ramon looks back down and sees the shadows are withdrawing into the hole.

He breathes in relief and steps out of the stairwell.

The three are confronted by a crowded lobby painted siren red by the emergency lights. People raise their voices in complaint towards the harassed security guards at the front desk. Some are talking to each other, chatting and laughing. Some are texting on their cell phones while others are listening to music plugged into their ears.

Paolo hugs the distraught Robin and looks at Father Ramon. “Where… what the hell was that?”

Father Ramon leans against the closed fire escape door, breathing heavily. “I told you I’m not like the Spirit Questors. Some things don’t want to talk, especially if they’re mad as hell when someone builds over their homes.”

“Are… are we safe now?” Robin asks, gazing at the door.

Father Ramon looks at the crowd in the lobby. “You’ll be safe when you find yourselves a new place to stay. Me, I prefer something with only one floor.”

The lights go back on and crowd cheers.

Joseph Frederic F. Nacino has worked in media and online publishing for most of his working life until he cracked like an egg. His fiction has been published in the Philippine Speculative Fiction anthologies, the Digest of Philippine Genre Stories, the anthology A Time of Dragons, the Ladies Confessional Special of the FHM Erotica issue, and Manual Magazine. He was also the first place winner of the 2nd Philippine Graphic/Fiction Awards (which was judged by Neil Gaiman). He now serves as the series editor of estrangheropress on his free time (which he has a lot). He co-edited The Farthest Shores online anthology together with Dean Francis Alfar.