First of the Gang to Die

II - Strangeness, Here We Come

        Where was I? Oh yes. That's right: empty lot, Banyan Street, Alabang Plains, Easter Monday, 1993, in the very last summer of the Gang of Four.

        Fact of the matter is, that vacant plot of land was just one among several places in our village that had become the subject of (mostly baseless) urban legends, often typical variations of more iconic stories that dumb­-ass kids tell each other to keep themselves up at night. There's the house at the corner of Lanzones Street and Alabang Plains Road, which was constantly being moved in and out of, as many as four times within the same year. Each succeeding family of occupants would inevitably leave, amid tales of strange noises or ghostly furniture, recounted in hushed tones during Sunday masses. Then there's the desolate patch of greenery where somebody's houseboy (or gardener, or hired construction worker, it always seemed to change with every retelling) was supposedly found dangling on a noose from the branches of a sturdy acacia.

        But most dubious of all was the "Devil's Wall", in lot number 23, on Banyan Street. The most basic version of the story goes a bit like this: There had once been a house on that lot, belonging to a family of cultists (or just plain old occultists, or specifically "Devil-worshippers", if the story­teller is partial to the vocabulary of Catholic hegemony). Bottom line is they supposedly conjured up some Unspeakable Evil, in a dark ritual gone horribly wrong. (Once again, the particulars are often subject to the individual tastes and belief systems of the person recounting the myth. Frankly, I'm partial to the one involving a be­tentacled Cthulhoid entity, myself.) So the whole place ends up catching fire, leaving behind only a scorched portion of the back wall. A few years later, some poor fucker is walking home drunk - it's usually somebody's ne'er­-do­-well Tito, or stoner cousin - when they find the sudden urge to relieve themselves on this particular bit of real estate. So they whip out their little buddy and get ready to empty, when lo and behold, it appears before them: an unholy image depicting the ultimate fate of the lot's former occupants, in all its satanic majesty.

        Of course, even at fourteen, most of us recognized that the legend was bunk, even if you left aside 'real world' factors like architectural physics, or the lack of records, or the very tangible effect a story like that could have on property values (which I was acutely aware of, being the son of a pair of real estate magnates). Nevertheless, that didn't stop Buboy from casually averting his gaze, every time we'd skate past that empty lot. In fact, Javi wanted so whole­heartedly to believe in the story that he claimed to have camped out near the wall, during his various nocturnal wanderings inside the village. But alas, no demonic imagery appeared to him. Besides, I was starting to regard these anecdotes of Javi's daring exploits with more than a grain of salt. As for me, it wasn't something that I really ever considered, at length.

        I really don't know what piqued my curiosity, when Javi decided that we finally explore the lot together, as a group, that fateful Easter Monday. Okay, I do know - my Ninong had visited us from Sacramento, one month prior, bringing with him VHS tapes of some X­-Files episodes he'd recorded. He watched the fledgling program, and immediately recalled my childhood fascination with stuff like Bigfoot, and the Loch Ness Monster, and the Abominable Snowman, so he figured out that I may be interested in a more "grown­-up" show about the paranormal. For better or worse, he was right. Filled with a sense of eagerness about discovering the Truth that was Out There, I had enthusiastically seconded Javi's proposal to investigate the Banyan Street lot.

        To say that the lot itself was rather unremarkable would be putting it lightly. In the searing mid­-afternoon heat, it looked like any other forgotten - perhaps disputed - chunk of luxury real estate. The "Devil's Wall" itself was not much up close, a crumbling mess of enduring mortar.

        Even Buboy felt reassured by how normal and everyday it seemed to be. Yes, it may have conceivably formed the back wall of a residence that, in all likelihood, preceded the development of this neighborhood into an upscale village (maybe a remnant of some Illustrado vacation house, or even a one-­time model home for the current subdivision, who knows?) But it was largely hidden behind an over­growth of weeds and garden snakes. Only somebody really desperate would have ventured to the far end of the lot just to relieve themselves, its dark history notwithstanding. But in the spirit of adventure, that's precisely what we did, just as the drunkard in the legend had done. As expected, no spectral imagery was reported.

        After nearly an hour of loitering, we eventually decided there must be a better venue for our shenanigans. So we proceeded to make our way back towards Banyan Street itself, our sneakers bearing down against the muddy grass. And that's when we saw it.

        It appeared to be some kind of glowing Moebius strip, or Infinity symbol, hovering several feet above the ground, just about level with our torsos. It didn't seem to pose much of threat; it was small enough to cup into the palm of our hands, if we chose to do so. None of us freaked out, immediately. We just looked at each other dumbfounded, perhaps wondering how the next guy was attempting to rationalize this bizarre little incident. The sigil was rotating at an even pace, as if it were a power­-up in a video game, or a museum piece encased in a revolving display.

        As far as I can remember, it didn't look completely solid, and that was probably the most unnerving aspect, for me. I summoned up my inner Agent Scully, convincing myself that there had to be some logical explanation for all this. Right away, JR - forever the science geek - brought up the possibility that this mystery object could be emitting some kind of radioactive signal or dangerous frequency. But Javi was far more concerned with the social implications, nervously insisting we all agree to pretend that we never witnessed this, and that none of us ever bring it up again, because who knows what kind of people might be associated with it. Immediately, Buboy agreed, tears starting to form in his eyes. Javi always prided himself over a certain macho posturing, but this was far more intense than I had ever seen him before.

        Obviously, an encounter like this doesn't happen every day, and even then, I knew that if we just walked away and shut up about it, we could be forsaking our one chance at direct interaction with the sublime. So I mustered up the nerve to suggest that we touch the sigil. To poke it, and to prod it; to use our senses to get a better understanding of what exactly we were dealing with. (Okay, it wasn't quite so poetic when I first brought it up, but please humor me.) Javi looked at me like I had gone nuts, and indeed maybe I had, but it felt like too great an opportunity to pass up. I knew JR was probably contemplating the same thing, but he had a lot more to lose than I did, in the way of future prospects, so he'd probably be way too prudent to actually do anything so hasty. I, on the other hand, possessed no such inhibitions.

        Javi was getting extremely impatient, by this point. He looked at me with a fire in his eyes that indicated that he wasn't going to stop me, but if I made any dumb moves, I'd be on my own. The problem was that he was smart enough to know that it wasn't quite true. Sure, he could turn his back on the whole incident. But if anything stupid happened to me, it might not be something that all of us could just cover up. We had reached a crucial impasse, but I wasn't about to let my pioneer instincts go to waste. "Fine," I shouted, "If none of you pussies want to do it, then I will."  So I extended my pointing finger, E.T.-­like, and reached for the glowing symbol. Buboy made a valiant effort to stop me, lunging towards me with reflexes that betrayed his porky frame. But he was milliseconds too late; my entire physical form had been sucked violently inside the sigil.