The Night Gael Disappeared

A boy disappears on a full moon in the middle of the night.

THE NIGHT GAEL DISAPPEARED, the moon was exceptionally bulging and bright; and like a magnet, it drew the villagers out of their homes.

The elders had just finished their work in the rice fields, and were now huddled together outside their huts, under the large mango tree where a makeshift bamboo bench stood. The children, on the other hand, had tired of playing hide-and-seek, and, though covered with sweat and still catching their breaths, sat themselves beside the elders to listen to the stories made especially for their ears.

“The moon was full, just like tonight,” the old woman said, with a voice that sent shivers down Gael’s spine, even when there was no wind to be feeling so cold.

Manang Tasing was relating a story of her youth, when she, just like the children, still thought outdoor games were a crucial part of one’s everyday life.

“I hid in the chicken coop together with my elder siblings, Manang Aning and Manong Tante, bless their souls in Heaven,” she said. “Of course, it wasn’t a good hiding spot because the chickens clucked here and clucked there. And soon, the noise gave us away. It was not even minutes when the ‘it’ found us.”

Then, Manang Tasing paused, scratched her head and clicked her tongue for forgetting. “The ‘it’... I don’t remember his name anymore. It was something like Pilo or Pabling or… anyway…”

“Pablo,” somebody from the listening crowd supplied. “The son of Mang Pedring.”

Everybody looked at Mang Kanor, one of the oldest in the village. The children, including Gael, began to listen intently, for they finally realized that this was, indeed, a true story.

“Ah, yes. Pablo,” said Manang Tasing before she went on. “He was the fastest runner in the whole village even though he was skinny and short. I remember, he could run vast distances of fields to find where his forgetful father left their carabao. He had to find the rest of us before Manong Tante became the next ‘it.’

“And that he did. He was able to catch all of us…” Manang Tasing then paused for effect. “Except one.”

One of the little girls shrieked and clutch at the arm of the woman beside her.

“Alfonso was the name,” Manang Tasing continued. “The son of the haciendero living by the river. He was always the hardest to find, for he was skinny, just like Pablo, and he could fit anywhere he liked. Plus, he was a moreno. And no one could see him in the dark. Like a chameleon, he could just disappear and reappear out of nowhere.

“There was even one time when the ‘it’ looked and looked for him everywhere but could not find him. Turned out, he got bored after waiting for so long and went home to eat his lunch.” This made most of the children laugh, but for some reason, Gael couldn’t. He couldn’t even breathe properly.

“After hours and hours of waiting, we finally decided to help Pablo find the boy. We looked everywhere. Behind the bushes. On top of trees. In every pig pen and every chicken coop. We even went to look as far as the grove, where our elders were buried. But then, there was no sign of the boy.” The old woman heaved a sigh.

“We eventually gave up and went home. He’d probably gone home again just like he did the last time was all we thought. It was nearing midnight anyway and it was bad to still be out past midnight, you all know that.”

The children nodded.

“So we went home thinking everything was fine. Until…”

This time, some young ones sat themselves beside the older ones.

“Afraid, tsu!” someone mocked. “Don’t listen if you’re afraid.”

“Until... his parents came knocking on every hut’s door, looking for their son. Soon it was like the whole village was playing hide-and-seek. We were all shouting for his name.”

Alfonso… Alfonso…

“It was all you’d hear that night. Even the crickets were silent. The elders decided we go to sleep, and so we did, but they continued looking for the boy until sunrise. Some said they searched for months. Years. Everywhere, even in the nearby villages…”

“But they never found the boy?” Gael’s little sister asked, wide-eyed.

“Never.” Manang Tasing’s expression was solemn, which made it all the more frightening.

“Where did he go?” she asked again.

“Maybe he was kidnapped?” somebody guessed.

“No. That’s what they all thought at first, but he wasn’t. If he was, then the kidnappers should have asked for money from his parents. They were rich, after all.”

“So what happened to him?” Gael asked.

This time, it was Mang Kanor who replied. “After months of searching in vain, they were told that the boy must have entered another world. They sought for an albularyo—a folk healer, to ask where the boy had gone.”

Manang Tasing nodded silently as Mang Kanor continued to speak, “As it turned out, he hid near the grove after all, behind the bamboo shoots where the black dwarves reside. He was taken as their prisoner, for he stepped on one of their mounds and killed some of their kind."

“Alfonso’s parents offered everything beside the mound,” he said, “White hens’ meat and unseasoned rice. Lots of rice. The offering went on for months. But the albularyo finally said the dwarves wouldn’t listen. If they were white dwarves, they would have forgiven the boy and let him go, but they were black. And black dwarves could never be appeased.”

The mango tree creaked eerily as though it was agreeing. Gael shivered again.

“So you children should not play during the night when the moon is full,” some elder finally said the moral, signaling the end of the story.

“But black dwarves only take bad boys and girls as prisoners. They won’t take anyone who won’t hurt them, right?” Gael’s younger brother asked. “Right?” he repeated when nobody answered.

“Unless…” Manang Tasing started to explain, “unless they liked them very much they’d want the children to live with them. Be their husbands or wives. They always look for masters and mistresses, these creatures of the other world. Especially if the children are good-looking or if they have special abilities. Like being able to carry heavy sacks of rice without help or being able to hold their breaths underwater for a long period of time.”

As soon as Manang Tasing had stopped talking, there was total silence in the group. Everyone was thinking whether there was a chance they would also be taken by these creatures. The silence was suddenly broken when Gael’s mother shouted from their hut.

“Boy,” she called out to one of her sons, “buy me a bottle of vinegar.”

“I’m dead,” was all Boy could mutter. The group of boys hooted and mocked him. But of course, he refused. To reach the nearest store, he’d have to pass by the river and the grove.

“I will if he doesn’t want to,” said their youngest sibling.

“Oh, look, your little sister’s braver than you are,” an uncle teased.

“You go and do it, then,” Boy challenged.

Their mother would not let her, though. And instead, she ordered two of Gael’s older brothers to accompany Boy to the store. It took a while before he reached for the empty bottle of vinegar.

Gael nudged the rib of his cousin, Erning. And even without saying a word, Erning understood. They’d take the shortcut and meet Gael’s brothers by the river. They’d pretend to be ghosts or dwarves and see who’d scream like a girl among the three.

That was the plan. And it was well executed— Gael’s brothers let out shouts of horror, to the two boys’ pleasure— save for the fact that one of Gael’s older brothers hit Erning’s head with the empty bottle. And then, he howled in pain, giving away their cover.

That night, Gael did not have supper, for fear of his father’s fury, and the old man’s wooden stick. He slept under the acacia tree in their backyard, behind the bushes so his father wouldn’t see him in the morning. He didn’t realize his father wouldn’t be seeing him for a long time. For when Gael woke up, he was already in another world.