Carina's POV
The cool air brushed against my skin as I pedaled through the uneven dirt paths of the fields, the orange glow of the setting sun bathing the world in a warm, golden hue. The crickets had already begun their nightly chorus, their sharp notes blending with the faint rustle of the tall grasses swaying in the breeze. The fields felt endless, stretching far into the horizon where the sun kissed the earth.
This was my favorite time of the day—the in-between, when the sun was still there but already fading, and the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the dark. I grinned as I turned sharply down a narrow path, the tires of my old bike kicking up a spray of dry dirt.
I loved riding out here. It was freeing, like I was part of the fields themselves, like the land somehow remembered me.
I rode faster, standing on the pedals to give myself an extra push. The wind whipped against my face, carrying with it the scent of dried grass and faint smoke from nearby cooking fires. This place was so different from where I’d grown up back in the States. Here, everything felt alive—not just alive but awake, like the fields were watching me.
“Hey!”
The shout startled me, and I wobbled on my bike before steadying myself.
“Look! It’s the Amerikana!”
I looked over my shoulder to see a group of boys about my age, four of them, their bikes cutting through the field as they rode parallel to me. They were laughing, their voices carrying easily in the open space.
“What’s she doing out here all alone?” one of them called, his Tagalog thick and a little too fast for me to catch every word.
I frowned, slowing down just enough to give them a glare. “I’m not alone,” I said, my English accented with irritation.
That only made them laugh harder. “What’d she say?” another boy asked, his grin wide. “I don’t think she can even understand us!”
“I can understand you!” I shot back, louder this time.
Their laughter didn’t stop, but the tallest boy in the group slowed his pace, coming closer to my side. His bike was shinier than the others, the metallic blue catching the last rays of sunlight. His dark hair was tousled, and his grin was lopsided—teasing, but not cruel.
“Don’t get mad, Amerikana,” he said, his voice slower and more deliberate than the others. “We’re just joking.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, not in the mood for jokes. “I have a name. It’s Carina.”
“Carina,” he repeated, drawing the name out like he was testing it. His accent made it sound softer somehow, like the vowels had been stretched. “Okay, Carina. You shouldn’t be out here too late, you know.”
“And why’s that?” I asked, my irritation giving way to curiosity.
He smirked, falling back slightly to let his friends catch up. “Because the field is haunted,” he said, his tone casual but with a hint of warning.
“Haunted?” I repeated, trying not to roll my eyes. “By what?”
“Engkantos,” he said, like it was obvious.
I stopped pedaling for a moment, the word unfamiliar. “What are engkantos?”
The other boys had stopped, circling their bikes around us like vultures, their teasing looks now replaced by something more serious.
“They’re spirits,” the tallest boy said, leaning on his handlebars. “Not ghosts. They live in the land, the trees, the water. Some are good, but some…” He paused, his smirk fading slightly. “Some are bad.”
I raised an eyebrow, not sure if he was messing with me or not. “And you believe in that?”
“Of course,” he said, his tone almost defensive. “My lola knows all about them. She says this field has had engkantos for a long time. She says you have to be careful, or you’ll make them mad.”
The other boys nodded, their expressions a mix of fear and respect.
“Right,” I said, my voice dripping with skepticism.
“You don’t believe me?” the tallest boy asked, his grin returning. “You don’t have to. But you should still be careful.”
I didn’t respond, suddenly feeling the weight of the air around us. The sun was almost gone now, the golden light replaced by long shadows that stretched across the field.
“Well,” he said, straightening up and turning his bike toward the road. “We’ll leave you alone, Carina. But remember what I said.”
The group started to ride off, their laughter fading as they disappeared down the path. The tallest boy glanced back one last time, his grin still teasing but his eyes serious. “Stay safe, Amerikana. Engkantos don’t like strangers.”
I watched them go, a strange feeling settling in my chest.
As I turned my bike back toward the house, his words echoed in my mind. Engkantos. Spirits. Good ones and bad ones.
When I reached the front of our house, I stopped, my heart still racing slightly from the encounter. The fields were quiet again, the only sound the soft chirping of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves.
I glanced up at my window.
It was dark, the curtains drawn, but I could feel him. The shadow.
He was waiting for me.
I swallowed hard and pushed my bike toward the side of the house, my thoughts a tangle of irritation and unease. The boys had been annoying, sure, but there was something about what the tallest one had said—about the way he’d looked at me—that I couldn’t shake.
As I climbed the steps to our front door, I glanced back at the fields one last time. They were cloaked in shadow now, the last traces of sunlight gone.
Something about them felt different tonight.
And as I stepped inside, I couldn’t help but wonder if the fields were watching me. Or if something else was.
****
After dinner, my stomach full of rice and the tangy, savory taste of my mom’s adobo still lingering on my tongue, I climbed the stairs to my room. The house was quiet now, the kind of silence that comes with a full day’s end in the countryside. Outside, the crickets sang their nightly melody, and the faint glow of the moon filtered through the windows, casting soft shadows on the walls.
I opened my bedroom door, and the familiar, comforting smell of my room greeted me. It was faintly of wood and the scent of the dried flowers my mom kept insisting would make the space smell fresher.
Flicking the light on, I let out a soft sigh. My bike ride had drained me more than I’d expected, and my brief encounter with the boys in the field replayed in my mind.
"Engkantos," I whispered to myself, shaking my head. Their superstitions didn’t bother me, not really. But that boy… his warning felt different. Not cruel or mocking, but genuine, like he actually believed what he was saying.
I walked to my desk, set down a book I’d been carrying, and turned off the light.
That’s when I saw it.
The shadow was there, as it always was, in its usual corner—dark, formless, and yet somehow distinctly present. But tonight, something felt different. It didn’t just hover; it seemed to pulse, a faint, shifting blackness that didn’t blend with the room’s other shadows.
I smiled, though I couldn’t explain why. “Hey,” I said softly.
The moment the word left my lips, it moved.
It was fast—too fast—and before I could register what was happening, it was in front of me. A cold, unnatural chill swept over my skin, and I gasped, almost stumbling back as it loomed so close I could feel its presence pressing against me.
“W-What are you doing?” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.
The shadow leaned in, its form more solid now but still cloaked in darkness. And then I felt it—cold, almost icy, against the curve of my neck.
It sniffed me.
The sound sent a shiver down my spine, and my knees threatened to give out. The gesture was oddly intimate, too close and too deliberate to be anything else. I froze, my breath caught in my chest, as the cold touch lingered against my skin.
“You smell like those foul creatures,” it said, its voice low and resonant, the words unfamiliar and foreign.
The language wasn’t Tagalog or English—both of which I understood—it was something else entirely. The way it rolled off its tongue, guttural and ancient, sent a chill through me.
“What?” I whispered, my voice shaky. “What did you just say?”
The shadow didn’t respond. Instead, it raised a hand—its shape more defined now, long and slender fingers tipped with faintly glowing edges. Slowly, almost reverently, it reached for me.
Its touch was feather-light, tracing along my arm as if it were testing something, and the cold from its fingers seeped into my skin, making me shiver.
“Tell me,” I demanded, finding a hint of strength in my voice. “What did you just say?”
It ignored me, its hand lingering for a moment longer before retreating.
Then, just as quickly as it had approached, it was gone—back to its corner, blending into the shadows as if it had never moved.
I stood there, my breath shaky and my mind racing. My neck still tingled where it had leaned in, and the spot on my arm where it had touched felt colder than the rest of my skin.
“What…” I murmured to myself, rubbing the spot as I stared at the corner where it lurked.
The air felt heavier now, like it was charged with something I couldn’t explain.
“You can’t just…” I trailed off, not sure what I was even trying to say.
It didn’t respond, didn’t move.
I sat down on the edge of my bed, my legs weak and my thoughts spinning. For the first time, the shadow felt less like a friend and more like something else. Something I didn’t understand.
Something I wasn’t sure I wanted to understand.
The boys’ words from earlier came back to me.
Engkantos...
I swallowed hard, my gaze fixed on the corner of my room. Was that what it was? An engkanto? But if it was, why had it followed me all those years ago, all the way from the fields?
And why, after all this time, was it suddenly acting so… strange?
****