The scent of drying fish and salt hung heavy in the humid night air, a familiar aroma that usually lulled Old Man Talib into a peaceful slumber. But tonight, unease gnawed at him. He sat on his porch, a worn pipe clenched between his teeth, his gaze fixed on the flickering kerosene lamps dotting the shoreline. The whispers had returned, riding on the sea breeze, tales of the Penanggalan, a creature of nightmare, a flying head trailing its entrails, hunting the vulnerable.

Talib scoffed, a dry, rasping sound. Superstitions, he’d always told himself, stories for children. Yet, a cold prickle of fear traced a path down his spine. His wife, Aminah, carried their first child, her belly a round, precious burden. He’d been more watchful than usual, his eyes constantly scanning the inky blackness beyond the lamplight.

The legend was a chilling one. A woman, cursed for dabbling in dark magic, her head and entrails now eternally separated from her body, condemned to a horrifying existence. By day, she walked among them, indistinguishable. But at night, her head detached, leaving her body behind, and soared through the air, a grotesque predator driven by a primal hunger.

Talib’s gaze drifted to the small house next door. Rani and Kamal, a young couple, had recently moved in. Rani, too, was with child. He hoped they’d heeded the old warnings, kept their windows barred, their home protected.

As the night deepened, an unsettling quiet descended upon the village. The usual chorus of crickets and frogs fell silent, replaced by a heavy, expectant stillness. Dread coiled in Talib’s gut. He couldn’t banish the image of the Penanggalan, its dripping entrails swaying like a macabre pendulum, its hungry eyes scouring the darkness.

A faint rustling sound broke the silence, almost imperceptible. Talib’s heart quickened. The rustling grew louder, closer, accompanied by a soft, wet slapping.

He rose, his old bones protesting. He grabbed his parang, the long, curved knife he used for clearing brush, and stepped cautiously off the porch. The rustling emanated from Rani and Kamal’s house.

He moved through the darkness, every sense heightened. The slapping sound was unmistakable now, like raw meat hitting the ground. He reached Rani’s house and peered through the shutters.

The sight within made his blood run cold.

Through the gaps in the wood, he saw Rani’s body on the bed, her pregnant belly exposed. And hovering above her, in the air, a head. A woman’s head, long, black hair dripping with blood, her face a mask of hunger. Below, dangling in the air, her entrails pulsed and dripped, the source of the sickening slapping.

The Penanggalan.

It was feeding on Rani, its entrails piercing her flesh, stealing the life of her unborn child.

Talib knew he had to act. He kicked open the door, a roar erupting from his throat, a primal scream against the horror before him. The Penanggalan turned, its eyes glowing crimson in the dim light. It shrieked, a terrifying sound, and lunged.

Talib swung his parang, the blade flashing. He severed some of the dangling entrails, sending the creature into a frenzy. It attacked, its teeth snapping, trying to tear into him.

He fought, fear fueling his aging limbs, the image of Aminah and his own unborn child driving him. He knew he couldn’t kill it, not while its body lay hidden somewhere, vulnerable. But he could drive it away.

After a brutal struggle, he forced the Penanggalan out of the house. It shrieked, a sound of pure rage and frustration, and then vanished into the night.

Talib collapsed, his breath ragged, his body shaking. He knew it would return. He had to warn the village, prepare them for the inevitable. The night was far from over. The real terror had just begun.

To be continued …..

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