Chapter 638

The rain had stopped, but the air remained heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and something else, something faintly metallic that stung the nostrils. Javier drove, the headlights of his jeep the only things pushing back the oppressive darkness of the rural Philippine night.

The road was narrow, a ribbon of cracked asphalt winding through dense foliage that crowded close on either side, branches skeletal and clawing in the periphery.

He was returning from his uncle's farm, a long drive even in daylight, and at this hour, it felt almost isolating, the silence broken only by the rumble of the engine and the rhythmic swish of his wipers battling the persistent drizzle that the wind flung against the windshield.

Javier was not a man easily unsettled, having grown up on tales of 'aswang' and 'engkanto', creatures of folklore meant to frighten children. Yet, there was something about this night, a deep stillness that felt unnatural, that pricked at the edges of his composure.

Up ahead, a figure appeared in the beam of his headlights. At first, it was indistinct, a pale shape against the blackness. As he drew nearer, Javier could make out the form of a woman. She was standing by the side of the road, facing away from him, completely still. Her clothes were white, a dress or gown, long and flowing, impossibly clean considering the muddy verge.

He slowed the jeep, his heart rate quickening. It was unusual to see anyone out here at this hour, especially on foot. Concern, mixed with a prickle of unease, prompted him to stop.

He pulled the jeep to the side of the road a short distance from her and lowered his window. The rain had picked up again, a soft, insistent patter against the canvas roof.

"Excuse me?" Javier called out, his Tagalog inflected with the cadence of his province. The woman did not react. She remained motionless, her back to him. He tried again, speaking louder this time, switching to English, hoping she might understand. "Hello? Are you alright?"

Still, no response. A knot of worry tightened in Javier's stomach. Maybe she was hurt, or unwell. He put the jeep in park, switched off the engine, and the silence descended again, thicker now, punctuated by the rain and the distant sound of crickets. He hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and stepped out into the damp night.

The air was cold, a stark against the humidity he had become accustomed to. He walked slowly towards the woman, his footsteps soft on the wet asphalt.

He could see her more clearly now. The white dress was indeed long, reaching to the ground, and her hair, dark and lustrous, fell down her back in waves, also reaching below her waist.

She was slender, almost frail looking, but her stillness was what struck him most. It was as if she were a statue, carved from moonlight and shadow.

"Miss?" Javier said gently, stopping a few feet behind her. "Are you okay? Can I help you?"

Slowly, deliberately, the woman turned. It was not a fluid turn, but rather segmented, each part of her body moving in isolation, like a puppet with stiff joints. Her face was in shadow, obscured by the fall of her dark hair. Javier took a step back, a sudden chill washing over him that had nothing to do with the night air.

She raised her head, and her hair parted, revealing her face. Or rather, what should have been her face. Where her eyes, nose, and mouth should have been, there was only smooth, white skin. Blank. Empty. A featureless mask.

Javier gasped, his breath catching in his throat. He stumbled back, his heart hammering against his ribs. He wanted to shout, to scream, but his voice seemed to have deserted him. He stared, transfixed by the horrifying blankness of her face.

The woman in white took a step towards him. One step. Then another. Each step was slow, measured, deliberate, and with each step, the air around Javier seemed to grow colder, heavier, pressing down on him like a physical weight. The metallic scent in the air intensified, now sharp and acrid, like blood and ozone.

He found his voice, a strangled croak. "Who… what are you?"

The woman did not speak. She continued to walk towards him, her featureless face turned towards him as if she could see him despite the absence of eyes.

Javier felt a primal terror gripping him, a fear that burrowed deep into his bones. This was not an 'engkanto', not an 'aswang'. This was something else, something ancient and terrible.

He turned to run, his legs leaden, unresponsive. He scrambled back towards the jeep, fumbling for the door handle, his fingers clumsy and shaking.

He managed to wrench the door open and throw himself inside, slamming it shut and locking it. He fumbled for the keys, his hands trembling so badly he could barely insert them into the ignition.

Outside, the woman in white stopped. He could see her through the rain-streaked window, standing motionless in the middle of the road, still facing him. Even through the glass, he could feel the cold radiating from her, a cold that seemed to seep into his very soul.

He finally managed to start the engine. The jeep roared to life, the sudden noise shattering the oppressive silence. He threw the gear lever into drive and slammed his foot on the accelerator, the tires spinning briefly on the wet asphalt before catching and propelling the jeep forward.

He sped away, not daring to look in the rearview mirror. He drove faster than he ever had before, the jeep bouncing and rattling on the uneven road, the headlights cutting a tunnel through the darkness.

He did not stop, did not slow down, until he had put what felt like miles between himself and that figure in white.

Eventually, as the first faint streaks of dawn began to paint the eastern sky a bruised purple, Javier slowed down. He was breathing heavily, his body slick with cold sweat.

He pulled over to the side of the road, his hands still shaking on the steering wheel. He switched off the engine and sat there for a moment, listening to the silence, the relatively normal silence of the approaching day.

He looked in the rearview mirror. Nothing. Just the empty road stretching behind him, disappearing into the darkness he had just fled. He let out a shaky breath, trying to calm himself, trying to convince himself that what he had seen was some kind of hallucination, a product of fatigue and fear.

But he knew it was not. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the core, that he had seen something real, something profoundly unnatural. He had seen the woman in white.

He drove on, reaching home just as the sun crested the horizon, casting long shadows across the rice paddies. He parked the jeep in front of his house, his legs feeling weak and unsteady as he got out. His wife, Maria, came out onto the porch, her face creased with worry.

"Javier! You are late. I was starting to worry."

He forced a smile, trying to appear normal, trying to hide the terror that still clung to him. "Long drive, my love. Rain was heavy."

She studied his face, her brow furrowed. "You look pale. What is it? What happened?"

He hesitated, unsure how to explain what he had seen, unsure if she would even believe him. He had always dismissed the old stories as superstition, tales for children and the simple-minded. But now… now he was not so sure.

"Nothing," he said finally, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears. "Just tired. Long drive, as I said."

Maria did not look convinced, but she did not press him further. She took his hand, her touch warm and reassuring. "Come inside. I have cooked breakfast. You need to rest."

He followed her into the house, the familiar scent of coffee and frying fish filling his nostrils. The normalcy of it, the everyday comfort of his home, was almost unbearable. It felt like a fragile shield against the horror he had encountered on the road.

Over the next few days, Javier tried to push the memory of the woman in white to the back of his mind. He went about his work, tending to his small plot of land, helping Maria with the household chores, trying to return to the rhythm of his life.

But the image of that blank face, that featureless mask, haunted him. It would appear in his thoughts at odd moments, during the day, in the quiet of the night, a cold, silent intrusion into his world.

He started having trouble sleeping. He would lie awake in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the night, every rustle of leaves, every hoot of an owl, making him jump. He kept seeing her in his mind's eye, standing in the middle of the road, her white dress luminous in the darkness.

He tried to talk to Maria about it, to share the burden of his fear, but he found he could not bring himself to speak the words.

He was afraid she would laugh at him, or worse, that she would believe him and become frightened herself. So he kept it bottled up inside, the fear growing heavier, more oppressive with each passing day.

One evening, as they were eating dinner, Maria looked at him across the table, her expression serious. "Javier," she said quietly, "something is wrong. I can see it. You are not yourself. Please, tell me what is troubling you."

He looked at her, at her kind, concerned face, and he knew he could not keep it from her any longer. He took a deep breath and began to speak, his voice low and hesitant at first, then gaining strength as he recounted his encounter on the road, describing the woman in white, her featureless face, the coldness, the terror.

Maria listened in silence, her eyes wide, her face pale. When he had finished, she reached across the table and took his hand, her grip surprisingly strong. "You saw her," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Javier looked at her, surprised. "You believe me?"

She nodded slowly. "I have heard stories. My grandmother used to speak of her. The woman in white. She appears on the roads at night. A sign… a sign of something bad."

"A sign of what?" Javier asked, his voice trembling.

Maria shook her head, her eyes filled with a deep sadness. "Death," she said softly. "She is a harbinger of death."

Javier felt a chill run through him, colder than any he had felt on that night. "Death? For whom?"

Maria looked at him, her expression filled with a terrible sorrow. "For whoever sees her," she whispered. "They say… they say she comes for you."

The next day, Javier woke up feeling strangely weak, drained of energy. He tried to get out of bed, but his legs felt like jelly. He called out to Maria, and she came rushing in, her face etched with alarm.

"Javier! What is it?"

"I… I don't feel well," he said, his voice weak. "I feel… cold."

Maria touched his forehead. "You are burning up! You have a fever."

She helped him back into bed and brought him cool cloths for his forehead, and herbal tea to drink. She stayed by his side all day, tending to him, her worry growing with each passing hour as his condition worsened.

Javier's fever raged, his body racked with chills and sweats. He drifted in and out of consciousness, his mind filled with fragmented images, distorted memories, and always, always, the blank face of the woman in white.

He could feel her presence, even in his delirium, a cold, silent watcher at the edge of his vision.

As night fell, his breathing grew shallow, his pulse weak. Maria sat beside him, holding his hand, tears streaming down her face. She knew, she could feel it, that he was slipping away. The woman in white had come for him.

In his last moments of lucidity, Javier looked at Maria, his eyes filled with a deep sorrow and regret. He tried to speak, to tell her something, but his voice was barely a whisper. "I… I am sorry," he murmured, his gaze fixed on her face.

Maria leaned closer, her ear close to his lips. "What is it, my love? What do you want to say?"

He took a shallow breath, his eyes losing their focus, dimming like dying embers. "The woman…" he whispered, his voice fading away. "She… she was beautiful."

And then, Javier was gone. His hand went limp in Maria's, his breathing stopped, his heart ceased to beat. The woman in white had claimed her prize.

Maria wept, her sobs echoing in the quiet room. She had lost her husband, her love, to a phantom, to a creature of legend.

But as she mourned, a terrible thought began to form in her mind, a chilling understanding of Javier's last words. He had said the woman in white was beautiful. Not horrifying, not terrifying, but beautiful.

And Maria knew, with a certainty that broke her heart, that the woman in white was not just a harbinger of death. She was death itself.

And for Javier, death had not come as a terrifying specter, but as something alluring, something he found beautiful, something he was drawn to, even in his fear.

His brutal sadness was not just in dying, but in finding beauty in the very thing that took him, a perverse acceptance, a final, heart-wrenching twist of fate that made his demise not just tragic, but uniquely, devastatingly his.