In the quiet barangay of San Dimas, the moon hung low, casting silver light over the crooked trees and dusty paths. Most creatures slept—but not the aswangs.
Benny, a cheerful little corgi with stubby legs and a huge heart, had slipped out of his yard, chasing fireflies and adventure. He pranced near the edge of the woods, sniffing leaves and humming a happy tune in his head. But then… a strange sound cut through the night—a slithering hiss, followed by guttural whispers.
Three aswangs emerged from the shadows—emaciated, long-limbed, with eyes that glowed red like embers. Their mouths twisted into hungry grins.
Benny froze. His ears perked. Then instinct kicked in.
Run.
His paws pounded the earth, short legs moving faster than he ever knew they could. His tongue flopped, heart thudded, eyes wide as saucers. Behind him, the aswangs howled, giving chase like shadows with claws.
But Benny had one thing they didn’t: heart.
He zigzagged through coconut trees, leapt over a bamboo fence (barely), and slid under a parked kariton. The aswangs snarled and scattered, slowed by obstacles their long limbs couldn't handle.
Finally, Benny reached the gate of a churchyard—its cross shimmering faintly in the moonlight. As he darted through the iron bars, the aswangs hissed and vanished into mist.
Safe at last, Benny collapsed in front of a statue of San Roque, patron saint of dogs.
He panted, smiled, and thought,
"Maybe stick to chasing butterflies next time."