09/02/2022
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Kristine Ong, "Introduction" (Christopher Slatsky, "The Immeasurable Co**se of Nature")
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"The dark lore of the Capiznon in the Western Visayas region of the Philippines talks of the amalanhig, a risen member of the undead that is said to follow a person around, imitating what that person does and says. One variation of the amalanhig urban legend has it performing its duplication of a person’s motions and utterances in reverse—timewise, to further emphasize its perversion. I don’t exactly understand how this version of the myth works, but I take it to mean literally like this: if the person that the amalanhig is mimicking crosses the street at noon, then that person’s amalanhig-tormentor would take the exact same path to cross that exact same street at midnight.
For those privileged with a decent purchase of the world’s culture-spanning pantheon of supernatural horrors, the amalanhig’s touted physical manifestation could seem downright boring, even resembling a basic B-movie monster. It is said to exude the sickly-sweet stench of rotting flesh. It also cannot bend its legs, though this does not prevent it from moving so fast that outrunning it is impossible. When doused with water, the amalanhig is said to turn into a heap of maggots, its vulnerable form. Many other mythical creatures present a far more frightening construction than the amalanhig.
But what truly sets it apart for me is this: the cruel, menacing machinery of torment that anchors the amalanhig myth represents one of the most unsettling iterations of dread because there is no defining purpose of its replication of human acts, which seems absolutely pointless, needless. There is, of course, an element of calculation behind its actions. Malign intelligence exists behind its instincts. Chaos might appear to be outfitted with a cold, perverted heart, but it is still structured from order. In the case of the amalanhig, its intent is perpetually tucked away from sight.
What does the amalanhig want from the person whose actions it is replicating when it is not even attempting to take over that person’s body or that person’s life? Is it hungry, but not in the same way that the Chinese iiangshi is hungry? Is its sadistic torture consistent with its aberrant psychology? Why does it do what it does? Nobody knows. It can be killed with water, but what is it trying to accomplish when it copies a person’s actions?
Avenging nature spirits, for example, tend to do what they do to relieve the source of their perceived injustice, which makes their motivation understandable, less frightening—and, at least, one is still presented with the choice of whether or not to mess with them. Urban legends based on the depiction of the amalanhig as a vengeful creature are probably urged on by this desperate finding of a way to see, this trying to come to terms with the nagging unanswerable whys, which can’t be extinguished by squashing the life out of the heap of maggots that an amalanhig ultimately becomes in the presence of water."
