The Witch Who Took Footprints

A Tale of the Manananem

There is a village in western Pangasinan where no one walks barefoot on a full moon.

Not since the night of Apo Sion, the village healer, who turned out to be something far darker than anyone had ever imagined.

She had always been quiet, solitary, and strange. The villagers once feared her only a little—she cured fevers, spoke to animals, and seemed to know when death would visit. But as long as you greeted her politely and offered her salt when she passed, there was no harm.

But then, strange fevers began to spread.

Healthy men would collapse overnight, burning up with heat no herbal tea could cure. Children would cry through the night, clutching their bellies, their eyes glazed with pain.

Some screamed that something was “pulling” at their insides.

And always—always—these illnesses came after the full moon.

One night, young Siding, daughter of a farmer, stayed up to fetch water late. As she walked past the fields, the moon shone bright, casting shadows like ghosts on the earth. And that’s when she saw her.

Apo Sion, hunched and grumbling, crept along the dirt path like a cat. In one hand, she held a woven sack. In the other, a long iron spoon. She walked a few steps, then stopped. Bent down. Scooped something from the soil. Whispered to it. Then tucked it into her sack.

Siding squinted. It was a footprint.

The next morning, Mang Iko, the village tuba seller, was found shaking, drenched in sweat.

He babbled nonsense, clawing at his skin, crying, “Don’t cook me! Don’t burn me!”

He died before the rooster crowed.

That day, Siding told her father what she had seen. He shook his head and whispered, “Manananem. She’s a real one. A moon-witch.”

The village elders gathered quietly. They remembered the old stories: of witches who did not steal blood or hair, but something more sacred—a person’s footprint. For in every step, it is said, lies a trace of the soul. And the Manananem would gather these imprints, return home, and roast them over fire.

The result? The victim’s body would burn from the inside out. Some would survive, but the unlucky ones—their intestines would twist, turn, and scramble, until they went mad or perished.

The village decided they could take no more.

That night, a group of brave men followed Apo Sion after moonrise. They saw her scoop a child’s footprint from a muddy trail. They trailed her to her hut on the hill, where they peeked through the cracks.

Inside, over a fire, she laid prints on banana leaves, whispering incantations as she turned them like roasted meat. Her eyes glowed yellow, and her tongue flicked in and out like a snake’s.

They stormed in—but the witch vanished in a cloud of soot, leaving only scorched footprints behind.

Her hut collapsed in flames.

Some say she died that night. Others claim she escaped to the forests of Zambales, where they call her kind the Maniniblot, and she continues her craft among the trees.

To this day, in that old village of Pangasinan, children are told:

“When the moon is full, walk with your shoes.

Wipe away your footprints when you pass.

And if you find an old woman mumbling to the ground,

turn back. Don’t run.

Don’t even breathe.”

Because once a Manananem has your footprint, your soul is already burning.

Reference:

Stoic-Aswang (Updated February 2025). “Monsters and Supernatural Beings from Filipino Folklore and Myths.”  https://stoicaswang.wordpress.com/2015/12/23/supernatural-beings-and-creatures-of-philippine-folklore-and-mythology/