Sigbin Story

I think that in the end, we are all just decaying organic matter, and nobody loves us, and we would all die alone, and sad and miserable, and what the hell is that you’re eating.

They’re grubs.


These are the larval stage of this beetle that eats coconuts. Munch, munch. They’re rich in protein and vitamins and all sorts of healthy chemicals. Eat?

No, Jesus.

The conversation ends and we don’t know who these people are, or what their deal is in life, or whatever. This narrative ends here, unless you have anything else to add. Yes?

Uhm, sir, I think that since we’re already here, we might as well do something, you know.

Like what?

Share stories, like interesting ones, to keep the reader’s attention.

Yes, you at the back.

I have a story, sir.

Let’s hear it then, young man.

This all started when I heard rumors that my uncle was keeping a sigbin as a pet. To those who don’t know, a sigbin is this magical creature. It’s sort of a unicorn, but uglier. Like, it’s not a horse, it’s … nobody really knows what it looks like since no one has actually captured one and sent it to a zoo or a museum. Well, it was my mother was talking about it, and it was in a half-joking way, and I picked up the conversation and finally I just had to go to the province and ask my uncle about it.

The province, my mom’s hometown in the province, there are some people there who are known as healers. Their method is a combination of massage, dried plants, mysterious oils, and sometimes even incantations or prayers. Maybe they call on the Lord, or some minor local spirits or something. Well, anyway, one of the more famous and well-known of these healers, since his method was supposedly more hit than miss, was a drinking buddy of my uncle. How they knew of each other was because of my cousin’s condition. My uncle’s daughter has had asthma all her life. And it’s the intense kind of asthma too. She has a nebulizer and stuff, but like that Russian prince with hemophilia, was only able to be cured by some magical guy with healing powers.

Well, my uncle got really close to his healer, who was already old by then, but still liked to imbibe of alcoholic drinks. When this old guy died, rumors started in town that my uncle is now the owner of the old man’s sigbin. Apparently, the sigbin has been the property of the old healer for decades. No one knows where or how he got it. Relatives of the old healer decline to comment when asked about the origins of the sigbin. How the sigbin was transferred to my uncle’s ownership was this: the old man simply gave him the sigbin stones. This is the sigbin in its dormant form. It’s kinda like a pokemon situation. The stones are the pokeball. And it’s not just one stone, it’s several. Maybe if one stone goes missing, the sigbin can no longer be summoned, I don’t know. The old healer taught my uncle the words to summon the sigbin. And then after that, maybe a few months, maybe a few years, the old healer died.

Well, I never really got to talk about the sigbin with my uncle. I lost interest in the whole thing once I arrived there. There was a birthday party when I got to their house, and we ate and drank and sang on their brand-new karaoke microphone machine. It was my younger girl cousin’s birthday, I said happy birthday to her, visited my other aunts and uncles in the hometown afterwards. Then on the way back home, in the bus, I decided to stop by this sort of famous beach with white sand. It was cold and raining when I got there, which was perfect, as I hate the sun. And I was just there, all alone, on the shore, looking at the sea. It was heartachingly beautiful. And that’s the end of my story.


About kara

I just like to read. Used to work in a library. My interests are horror and the gothic imagination, absurd and dark humor, urban legends, and other related unwholesome topics. I write short fiction sometimes. Older stuff:
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