Once In A Brownout Eric Abalajon Contrary to popular notion, I never heard scary stories or myths from my grandmother. She detested it, usually by saying so but mostly by omission. Once, during a brownout, all of us were seated outside on the terrace when we asked for some. You can see the creases of disgust in her face in the candle light. After a few nudges, it turns out she did have some up her sleeve. An aunt awoken by growling outside, and while peeping at the window saw a massive black dog with blood red eyes and a long tongue with the same color, dangling and reaching the road. A cousin walking home on a moonlit evening and a large flapping shadow on the street keeping pace with him, he never looked up and convinced himself to sleep that it was just a bird. A young woman invited to a fiesta at her best friend’s rural hometown, intended to be the main course by the community of aswang. She was wearing a bracelet, and switched it with her best friend before sleeping. They killed and cooked one of their own. When I was older I learned that it was the plot of the final episode of Shake, Rattle, and Roll II, a movie that came out two years before I was born. I’m not sure if my grandmother was passing it on as her own, but that franchise is also known to adapt or revise already popular horror stories. Considering her sentiments towards the genre, I would presume my grandmother only heard about it, inadvertently passing down the wonder of prior knowledge when I first saw that story about death come alive. 45