Long ago, before the war, in Calibungan, Victoria, Tarlac, there lived a couple named Florentino and Florentina. People in the village called them Ka-Inggo and Ka-Ingga. Back then, Calibungan had no electricity and was still a remote place. At night, they only used a kerosene lamp to light their home.

In Tarlac, there is a delicacy similar to rice cake. It’s made of rice mixed with other ingredients, wrapped in banana leaves, and called tupig.

One night, Ka-Inggo was cooking tupig in the kitchen behind their house. He smoked it slowly over the stove and left it there to cook overnight. The next morning, when he checked, all the tupig was gone. He wondered if maybe a cat or a rat had eaten it, but every single one was missing.

The following night, Ka-Ingga decided to cook tupig so they’d have some to eat the next day. She did it the same way, leaving it overnight to cook. But by morning, the tupig had disappeared again.

“What’s going on? Who’s taking our tupig?” Ka-Inggo asked in frustration.

That night, Ka-Ingga tried again—same stove, same process. And once more, the result was the same. The tupig vanished.

“Something isn’t right here. There’s no way cats or rats could eat that much tupig, night after night.”

So one evening, the couple prepared another batch of tupig. But this time, instead of rice, they filled it with stones.

They placed it on the stove as usual, then quietly waited to see who—or what—was taking the tupig.

After a while, they heard the sound of tiny footsteps in the kitchen. It sounded like there were many of them.

The couple held their breath, waiting to hear the squeals of a burned cat or rat. But instead, they heard tiny voices crying out, “Ouch! Ouch! OUCH!”

Ka-Inggo and Ka-Ingga were stunned. The cries came from small voices, wailing in pain from the stove where the tupig was cooking.

They rushed to the kitchen—Ka-Ingga holding the lamp, Ka-Inggo gripping a stick. And there they saw them: the Ansisit!

They were small, dark-skinned creatures with pointed ears, standing around the stove, writhing in pain as their hands burned from the hot stones hidden inside the fake tupig.

“So it’s you who’ve been stealing our tupig!” Ka-Inggo shouted, raising his stick.

“Please, don’t hurt us! We’re sorry!” the little creatures cried.

“Have mercy on us! We were just hungry.” one of them pleaded.

“Why are you stealing our food?” Ka-Ingga demanded angrily.

“Because we’re starving, please forgive us,” said one of the small voices.

“We haven’t found anything to eat for days. This was all we could find.” another added.

“Don’t you have a home? Why come here to our house?” Ka-Inggo asked them.

“We have none. Our forest was destroyed,” one replied.

“The people have cut down all the trees where we used to live.”

Ka-Inggo and Ka-Ingga looked at each other, realizing the little creatures were telling the truth.

“Alright then. You may take some of the tupig—but only enough for yourselves. Don’t take everything. We’ll share, but no more stealing.” Ka-Ingga said firmly.

“We’ll allow you to eat with us until you find another home,” the couple added.

“Here, take this food we have left for tonight,” they said, handing over what was left of their meal.

“Thank you, thank you so much!” the little ones chorused in gratitude.

In the days that followed, each morning, only half of the tupig was gone. The creatures had kept their promise—they no longer took everything.

Months later, the tupig was no longer touched at all.

“Looks like they’ve found a new home,” said Ka-Ingga.

“It seems so,” her husband replied.

This story was passed down in my family for generations, starting from my great grandfather, to my grandfather, my father, and to me and my siblings. This is one of the many bedtime stories told to us by my dad, my lolo and even my lola whenever they put us to sleep. I hope this short story has entertained you the way it had entertained us from years of the past. I will write more stories passed down to us from my childhood in the future. Thank you for reading.