I try to ignore the camera pointed at my face. “It’s the Diwata’s way of testing people, to see if they’re worthy.”

“Worthy of what?”

“Of being sacrificed. If you’re one of the eight deaths that he’s looking for. The ones who are kind—he won’t harm them. The ones who are not—” I pause. “If you’ve done your research, you would have known this already.”

“Have you ever had sightings like the ones my crew has been experiencing?”

I take a deep breath, not knowing why I am being so honest. “Not my own, no. But I see everyone else’s. I know you’re going to dismiss this as nothing more than superstition, but I’m telling you that the legend is just as real as you and me. And while I may not agree with your reasons for coming here, I don’t want to see any of you harmed, either. Kisapmata is dangerous, and you should start treating it as such.”

Hawaiian Shirt gazes steadily at me for a few more seconds. I can tell that he’s more worried now, but he shakes it off.

“Nice work,” he says. “We got all that, Rich? Do you mind saying everything again but in Tagalog, so we can decide the better version to air later?”

Hawaiian Shirt seems happy to pass off the visions as a form of mass hysteria. The psychologists on the team mandate that those who’ve had an encounter schedule an appointment with them.

Goatee, I notice, never reports his own experiences.

***

The VIPs reach the island two weeks later. The ship that brings them to shore is a bangka larger than mine, large enough for tours but small enough to get close to the shallower shoals. It anchors beside a small wooden pier built for the production. A dozen people climb out; they look around with curiosity, a few with distaste.

The first out is a man in his fifties wearing a suit despite the hot summer day. He glances about with misgivings, shaking off someone’s attempt to guide him to the sand. “This is an Armani,” he snaps. “Wash your damn hands first.”

Reuben Hemslock arrives with eight men dressed in military fatigues and camouflage, all visibly armed. They hover around him like a moving barricade, stopping others from getting too close. Hawaiian Shirt quietly assures the surprised crew that this is normal, because Hemslock has specific stipulations for them in his contract. A flex in Hawaiian Shirt’s jaw also tells me that some other clause has been broken, nonetheless.

“He’s been in a few movies, you know,” Goatee murmurs, words slightly slurred. “Ever seen them? Infinite Space? The Fight at the End of the World? That recent Star Trek movie? He’s done a few popular roles in television, too. Best Served Cold? The Con-In-Laws?”

I shake my head.

“You’re missing out. He’s been nominated for several awards, for Infinite Space especially. He started out with reality documentaries, but it turns out he’s a pretty great actor, too.”