My family lived in Manila, then. And my eldest brother, a civil engineer, frequently goes to Cebu city for a construction project. After a month, he decided to rent a house - I can't remember the exact location - though, it is 15 minutes away by car from the city proper. I do remember that the street on which the house stood was named Tres Abril.
On the summer of 1980, I went to Cebu to attend a National Youth Camp sponsored by our church (we are from a protestant group.) My parents thought it would do me good to get there one week before the camp activities so I could get to visit the beaches, and the historic landmarks in the province. For a whole week, I was to stay with my brother in his house on Tres Abril.
The house was very comfortable and well ventilated. There were even plenty of trees within its compound, and I was seriously contemplating asking my father if I could transfer my studies to Cebu. I was an incoming High School Freshmen, and the change in environment could do me well. So, we went out for lunch, and my father and my older brother treated me to a little tour of the city. When we got home at around 5 in the afternoon, I was tired, and my legs felt like lead. I decided to sleep early. I woke up again at around 9 in the evening to an excruciating tummy ache. It felt like I was being stabbed, and I vomited several times. There was also the splitting head ache. After that, there was the shortness of breath, as if I was running out of air. I had never had an asthma attack, so my father was concerned. I was also crying. Dad said, I was "weeping."
So they took me to a hospital. As soon as my brother drove out of the compound, the pain began to subside. By the time we got to the hospital, I felt fine. But they had me checked by the doctor, just the same. After they were convinced that there was absolutely nothing wrong with me, we went home. The whole thing happened again the following evening. I woke up crying because of the intense pain in my stomach. I vomited several times, and I was out of focus. Dad said I looked as if I was either drugged, or drunk. This time, they kept me at home and gave me hot tea. At past 10, things began to ease down for me. I fell asleep on the couch and woke up again at around 12 midnight. By the end of the week, I transferred to the camp site, and our middle brother and his family arrived to spend a few weeks of summer vacation.
I found out later that the same thing happened to my very young nephew (he was five at the time.) But there was more - my nephew "heard" children crying, as if begging to be helped, always at around 9 in the evening. He also said he vomited because of the strong smell of blood (I don't remember smelling any blood.) My sister in law, who was pregnant at the time, also reported seeing a woman standing right next to their bed at between 9-12 midnight. And there were also other strange occurrences inside the house. My mother, who came for a visit around April of that same year, said she would frequently wake up at 9 pm for no apparent reason. She'd feel concern for our safety, then feel sad as if she someone she know had died.
Months later, we found out that an entire family was massacred in that house.
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