Chapter XL: Duo Viscus Revelare
Liz sits on her bed, holding the fragmented photo in her hands. Her fingers trace the torn edges, curiosity filling her mind as she tries to piece it together. Bit by bit, she aligns the jagged pieces, though the dust covering them makes it hard to see the image clearly.
She exhales sharply. "I need to clean this first."
She gets up, grabs a soft cloth, and gently wipes the pieces. Some of the dust comes off, revealing faint outlines of an image, but the rough patches remain, obscuring finer details. Frustrated, she leans back and thinks. Her gaze lands on the bottle of palm oil she retrieved from the base of Sto. Niño.
"Maybe this will help."
Liz takes a paintbrush, dips it into the oil, and carefully applies it to the pieces. Slowly, the details sharpen, and the image becomes clearer. She arranges the fragments again, her heart pounding as the full picture emerges.
"The old Colegio chapel…" she murmurs. "Could Bennett be there?"
But then, something else catches her attention. She squints and brings the photo closer to her face. At the chapel's entrance, a shadowy figure stands in the doorway. She zooms in with her phone's camera to get a better look, and her breath catches in her throat.
The figure's face is unmistakable—it is Ivan Rey Legarda, the president of the altar servers' ministry. But his eyes… they are dark, almost hollow, and his pupils glow with an eerie red light. Small, twisted horns protrude from his forehead.
Liz screams and instinctively throws the picture across the room.
Dolores and Dominga rush in, alarmed. "Liz, what happened?!"
Liz points at the photo, her hands trembling. "Look at it! Look at the picture!"
Dominga picks it up while Dolores leans over her shoulder.
"What are we looking for?" Dominga asks, tilting her head.
"Zoom in on the chapel's door!"
The two women follow Liz's instructions. At first, they see nothing unusual, but then Dominga's eyes widen, and Dolores gasps.
"Is this…? No, it has to be an edit!" Dominga says, shaking her head.
"It's not!" Liz insists. "Why would I fake something like this?"
Dolores frowns and examines the edges of the image. Then she spots something—a date, faintly printed on the bottom corner. Her skin crawls.
"This is an old photo," Dolores says, her voice barely above a whisper. "This wasn't edited."
A tense silence fills the room. Then, an idea strikes Dominga.
"We need a UV light. If there's more to this… we might find something hidden."
Liz swallows hard. "You hold it. I don't want to touch it again."
Dolores nods and retrieves a UV flashlight. She flicks it on and shines it over the back of the photo. Faint, glowing letters appear, forming a letter.
Dominga reads aloud. "Liz, if you're reading this… it means you found what I hid."
Liz stiffens. "Bennett…"
Dominga continues. "I captured this photo, and I nearly died because of it. This is number 40 in my journal. If you want to understand, you need to read it."
Liz rushes to her desk, her hands shaking as she grabs Bennett's journal. She flips through the pages frantically, stopping at Entry 40, dated 09/17/24.
She reads aloud, her voice unsteady:
"As I was cleaning the chapel, I found a strange book—something no one else seemed to know about. It looked like a mini version of the Voynich Manuscript, filled with symbols and words I couldn't understand. It scared me, but my faith kept me grounded."
Liz's heart pounds as she continues:
"Then I heard a sound outside. I hid behind the altar and peeked. That's when I saw him—Ivan Rey Legarda."
Her grip tightens on the book.
"I never liked the guy. He's always been arrogant, prideful, and full of himself. But what I saw that evening… was beyond human. His head twisted in a full 360-degree turn. My blood ran cold. And then, before my eyes, thorns erupted from his skin. His eyes glowed, full of malice. He wasn't human."
Liz pauses, looking at Dolores and Dominga, whose faces are pale with fear. She gulps and keeps reading:
"I took my camera and snapped a picture. But the sound of the shutter gave me away. He turned sharply toward me, and I knew I had to run."
Liz flips to the next page, her voice urgent:
"I sprinted through the hall, but the doors slammed shut before I could escape. I had nowhere to go. He cornered me, holding a rosary—one unlike any I had seen. It was blackened, twisted, like something unholy. He was about to strike when I pulled out my own rosary, blessed from Rome."
Liz's breath quickens.
"The moment I held it up, he flinched. I fought with everything I had. I swung my bag at him, knocking the photo from his hand. He tore it apart, but I managed to grab the pieces. Just as I thought I was done for, the doors burst open. Fr. Edgar and Bro. Padilla entered. The moment they stepped in, Ivan… changed. He looked normal again. Like nothing had happened."
Liz turns to the last part of the entry:
"I knew I had to hide the photo. I ran straight to the cathedral and placed it in the base of the Sto. Niño statue, along with the palm oil, hoping someone would find it one day. Someone who could uncover the truth."
The final words send chills down her spine:
"Not everything is as it seems."
Liz slowly looks up at her aunts. "This… this can't be real. Right?"
Dolores holds up the UV light, illuminating the rest of Bennett's letter. The invisible ink reveals one last message:
"Liz, if you're reading this… it means you are my only hope. Find me. I love you. Please… find me soon."
Tears fill Liz's eyes. "Bennett…"
She clutches the journal to her chest, her resolve hardening. If what he wrote is true, then the answers lie in the old chapel.
She has to go there.
She has to find him.
Liz sits in stunned silence, the weight of Bennett's words pressing on her like an invisible force. The fragmented image, the letter, and the journal all point to something far more sinister than she had ever imagined. Her fingers tremble as she turns the pages of Bennett's journal, hoping to find more answers. As she skims through the entries, one in particular catches her eye—Entry 7.
She begins to read aloud, her voice barely above a whisper.
Entry 7 - 06/14/24
"Tonight, as part of our school camping event, I wandered the hallways, guided only by the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the windows. The entire school was cloaked in darkness, and my footsteps felt deafening against the cold tiles. I was making my way to the campsite when I noticed a shadow moving in the corridor ahead.
At first, I thought it was just another student sneaking around, but something about the way it glided through the darkness sent chills down my spine. My instincts told me to hide. Pressing myself against the wall, I peered around the corner and watched as the figure silently made its way towards the abandoned building attached to the high school wing.
I held my breath as the figure stopped in front of the entrance. It knelt down and unfurled what looked like a mat—one marked with a pentagram. My heart pounded. I had heard stories, whispers of rituals being performed in the shadows of our school, but I never thought I would witness it firsthand.
One by one, the figure placed candles at each point of the pentagram, their flames flickering eerily in the darkness. Then, it began to chant. I didn't understand the words, but they carried a weight, an unnatural echo that sent a shiver down my spine. The air around me grew colder, and I could feel my body locking up in fear.
Then, without warning, a burst of flame erupted in midair.
I stifled a gasp as the fire twisted and swirled, taking the shape of something—no, someone. From the blaze, a veiled woman emerged, her silhouette framed by the eerie glow. My heart pounded wildly as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. She bore a striking resemblance to the Virgin Mary, but something was terribly wrong.
Her head had horns.
I clenched my fists, recalling an old legend—the Horned Madonna. Some believe that Saint Peter of Verona once encountered an apparition similar to this, a false image of the Virgin meant to deceive and lead people astray.
The hooded figure bowed its head in reverence. I could barely make out their hushed conversation, but one phrase stood out to me:
'The serpent will slither through the garden.'
The figure then knelt even lower, as if pledging allegiance.
I knew I had to get out of there. My entire body screamed at me to move, to run, before they noticed me. Slowly, I crept back into the shadows, careful not to make a sound. Every step felt like an eternity, my pulse hammering in my ears. I needed to tell someone. Anyone.
I had already confided in Adrian about the strange occurrences on campus, and he believed me. He agreed that something was happening beneath the surface, something we needed to uncover. But this—this was beyond anything I had ever imagined. I don't know how much more I can take.
If I disappear, let this be proof that something unnatural walks among us."
Liz stops reading, her hands shaking. She looks up at Dolores and Dominga, their faces pale with disbelief.
"This… this can't be real," Dominga breathes, clutching her rosary tightly.
Dolores crosses herself, shaking her head. "Bennett was never one to lie. If he wrote this, then he saw it with his own eyes."
Liz feels her stomach twist into knots. The Horned Madonna, the serpent in the garden—what does it all mean? And more importantly, what did Bennett uncover that made him disappear?
Tears prick at her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. "We need to pray," she whispers, her voice cracking. "For Bennett. For all of us."
Dolores and Dominga nod in agreement. The three of them kneel together, hands clasped, whispering fervent prayers for protection, for guidance, and for the safe return of the boy who had risked everything to expose the truth.
Outside, the night deepens, a heavy silence settling over the house. And somewhere, in the unseen shadows, the serpent slithers on.