Tales from the (Filipino) Dark Side

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Perhaps the best example of the melding of old and new Filipino culture through the ghost story is the celebrity ghost story. When Filipinos find out that weird stuff happens to popular or famous people, it only adds to the veracity of the tale.

Take for example the tale of Andrea Torres, the lead star of GMA-7’s “Sana Ay Ikaw na Nga” remake. Torres started her career as the host of the now-defunct youth-oriented TV show called “Ka-Blog!” For its Halloween episode, the production crew shot scenes at an old building where, Torres claims, she heard voices talking in Korean or Vietnamese (she wasn’t sure). Interestingly, the only people in the old building were the staff and crew, and they didn’t hear the voices.

Or this spooky story from singer Sheree:

“It all started when I rented a place. It was just me and my yaya. I was surprised because the unit was cheap even if it was in a nice area, so I signed the lease for three years. During the first three days of my stay, I noticed that I was having bad dreams. I dreamt of weird characters like the queen and king in the deck of cards, a person without a head and ugly dwarfs. They asked me what my name was. I ignored it and thought maybe I was just tired from taping because at that time I was so busy with my shows and tapings.
But then it started happening almost every night. Then, I saw this black long-haired man standing in front of me with red eyes.

Another time, a friend from Cebu stayed at my place overnight. I again had the same dream.  So I woke up and at the edge of the bed, I saw this dark man standing there. A few minutes later, my friend woke up saying she had a nightmare where she saw this black man standing at the edge of the bed.

In another incident, my yaya woke up with half her face being black and blue like someone had beaten her up. She said that when she woke up, she accidentally hit her face on the edge of the wall. I thought that was impossible because the wall is way too far from her bed. I asked her to go home and rest. The night she left, I heard someone crying from her room. I thought it was our neighbor, then I found out from the security guard that our neighbor had left for Canada.

I decided to have the house blessed. I put a crucifix in the middle of the house just as the priest had told me. The scariest thing happened the next morning I woke up and saw that the hands of Jesus in the crucifix were broken and that the cross had been turned upside down.  I was so scared that I decided to look for another unit where I could transfer.

But things became worse. Delivery boys kept bringing five gallons of bottled water, saying that I had ordered them. But I had not called them! Then one time, my road manager and I were talking when we heard the gas oven being turned on.

I had a lot more scary experiences in that place. My best friend Odessa took a picture the night before I moved to another unit. When I checked the photo, I saw that someone else had joined the picture-taking, There was this figure standing in the back with big eyes and an open mouth, and covering his face like it was scared by the camera flash. I locked all the doors and we ran off.

The following day, the day I was leaving the unit, we were woken up by the banging on our door. It was so loud, as if someone was kicking and trying to break down the door. Then when the guards opened the door, nobody was there. That was the last day. I’m never going back to that unit ever again.”

Sometimes, the story isn’t an outright ghost story but a tale of strange and sometimes threatening situation.
Model Solenn Heussaff, host of “Fashbook,” has had close calls that were scary in themselves. The first was at a shoot for a product endorsement. From out of nowhere, a huge piece of metal almost fell on her and would certainly have caused serious injury if she had not moved away just seconds before the metal piece fell.

At another shoot for her show, huge lights came crashing on the chair that she had just vacated because she had to go the bathroom. Solenn is hoping that she would be as lucky should another perilous experience happen to her.

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Originally written by Ruel S. De Vera, Niño Mark Sablan from Inquirer Lifestyle.

My Encounter With An Aswang

I have numerous experiences with ghosts or whatever they might be but this one I would never forget. It happened when I moved up to Calamba from Paranaque due to my new job location.
I rented a penthouse; it's on the rooftop on a two story building apartment. I'm living with my girlfriend and in the first weeks we began to experience strange things, at first we tried to hold these from each other but then began to discuss them among ourselves. I told her at times I would hear a male voice whistling in a merry tone or some people (a female) conversing in the middle of the afternoons which to my surprise she hears them too. She then told me she would catch at time in the corner of her eyes a silhouette rushing through the door which I do also encounter.

Her elder sister one time visited and stayed with us and during the first day she said she sense something in the house but told us it was guarding the house or we and we need not to be afraid. She told us these even we don't tell her any stories of it.

Now, the worst one, we are experiencing this scratching, something like crawling or walking in our roof, at time we would hear thuds. I already have hints it's an ASWANG, I was so angry at it that I would curse at it when when we heard the sounds.

I got 2 handguns with me a.38 and.45, a samurai and a number of knives which I collected. I would get out of the house armed and with a flashlight and threw stones on our roof, ready to shoot anything that comes off of it.

It was one night my spitz dog which I tied to the backdoor was crying in the middle of the night and I knew it's starting again. Slowly with all the lights off I approached the backdoor and I heard the only sound that I cannot decide what kind or where it was coming from. It was somewhat coming afar, it says Kaaaak! Kaaak, sounds like a bird or what ever that is scaring the hell out of my dog. I was told that the aswang sounds afar when it is near you.

My dog was really scared with her body pressed against the backdoor crying. I was just waiting for the doorknob to turn and I'm really going to blow this aswang away if it intends to go through my backdoor so I click on the hammer of my gun and got into a position. Suddenly the sound stops. Probably heard the gun-clicking, my eyes were all over the place, looking the window direction or any. It was dark and I don't if he already managed to slip in the house.

I let out a curse for the aswang to hear seconds later there was nothing. Soon I was back in the bed and we heard rattling on our roof and again with my gun and a knife, my girlfriend along with me we went out of the house. I'd say past 12 midnight maybe and checked out our roof. I told her to throw garlic's and salt in the roof and around the house especially on the doors path. It was then that it all stops for months.

It was then we are sitting outside the house enjoying the moon that night when she notices something flying, flapping it's wings at points it to me, to my surprise I cannot make something to what I see, brown in color maybe the size of a dog some 100 meters away maybe and my girlfriend and just look at each other and we both agree its no big bird or bat it is, it was flying slow and I'm totally sure its now owl too, I've seen owls they don't get that big nor fly that way.

Today I sleep with my guns and knives beside me, I was told to wet the bullets with my saliva to have them penetrate these beings the same way I did with my samurai and knives sharpness. Who knows I maybe the first one to kill some of things or whatever they maybe.
 
Source

A Creepy Wailing Woman

It has been a while since I last posted a story. Work has been hectic but at least I've 'earned' a few experiences to share.

This particular one happened fairly recently, around June 2010, when my husband and I had our master's bedroom repainted. Because of the strong odour from the paint, my husband and I decided to sleep in the guest room which was right next to our dining area. After reading a book and exchanging stories for a bit, we were both asleep. Around half past two, I felt aware of my surroundings and I started hearing a woman's voice. I then opened my eyes and listened in, trying to make out what she was saying. I can't say exactly if she was singing a melancholy tune or if she was crying. Worse of all, her voice sounded ethereal that I immediately knew she wasn't of this world anymore. One minute she'd sound nearby and another minute, her voice would suddenly sound distant. It even came to a point that she sounded like she was right outside my bedroom window. The thing is we live on the 4th floor! I decided not to tell my husband about it because I knew he'd probably think I was nuts. Days later, after having convinced myself that I probably dreamt about her, I heard her again.

I was having lunch with my hubby and dad-in-law when I suddenly heard the same ethereal wail-singing. I was creeped out but I chose to keep quiet about it. After lunch, I couldn't take it anymore! I went straight to the kitchen to ask our maid if she was hearing what I was hearing. To my surprise she said: "Alin po? Yung babaeng kumakanta na parang umiiyak? Opo ate, naririnig ko sya gabi gabi." (Do you mean the woman who sounds like she's singing or crying? Yes mam, I hear her every night.) My jaws almost dropped. At the same time, I was also happy to realize that what I was hearing was real! (Considering the fact that I only asked her if she was hearing anything strange yet she described what I was hearing accurately!) She then went on to tell me how the woman's voice would sometimes sound like its right outside her bedroom door! She even told me how she'd deliberately play praise songs on her CD player in an attempt to keep herself safe and at around 2 or 3 in the morning, she'd find the CD player unplugged!

We have no idea who she could be or what she needs, but I think she needs help. I've also tried burning incense in every room of the house but it only seemed to keep her away for a few days. One other strange fact about the whole experience is that I never hear her when I'm at the master's bedroom, which is only a few feet away!

Any thoughts?

Source

The Price of Freedom

I knew a man, a dead man who was nameless, and a spectre that every sane man forgot. He told me his story in my nightmares and my dreams and he’ll repeat it to me every goddamn day.

The days long ago were harsh and black; every man’s life was more a dead living then living until death. In this time, there was a young man, a defiant man with eyes of the bluest, deadest ice.

No one knew his name, no one could care, and life was too much of a struggle to be involved. This young man was taken away as prisoner for a crime to his dying day would say he did not commit. He was a lonely man by any means, a quieter man you’ve never met yet a friendlier one you’ve never seen, but there was a scent of madness on this man. It was in his skin, his breath, his essence, it was the scent of a dead man walking and he knew it but he’d fight it to the end.

They took him in cuffs to his court room drama, and he fought it all the way. The guards, they tore at him and ripped his clothing to shreds. With both hands tied, he broke their skulls with his head alone but for every man he broke in survival, he lost every chance, every possibility of walking free.
Fate pulls at the heartstrings in all of us, but it seems only the worst of luck would place a laughing judge behind the desk in front. A Judge, a Jury and a Warden, and whose corruption was at peace with the time of the world, when money and numbers meant everything and names and lives meant nothing. The prisoner fought telling the court he was innocent, innocent.

“I’m Innocent!” He cried.

It was all in vain. The jury just laughed with jeering cries, calling for a harsher punishment, calling for death and execution. All the while the judge just sat behind a quiet smirk, for of course he knew he was getting his money and his time was not wasted.

The guards eventually subdued the young mad man, and when they had him on all fours, they didn’t waste a second on him, for he was scum in their eyes. They beat him to an inch of his life, let the blood pool in his kidneys and his lungs, pummelling against flesh and bone, for they enjoyed it all. They enjoyed beating the animal senseless.

To them, he was filth, just another criminal, another piece of trash on the street, garbage as if the world wasn’t full of it and each and every one piece protesting their innocence. They cried and sobbed, still yelling their innocence until their throats was raw. He was no different.

Blindfolded, his pride destroyed; they stripped him down and dragged him to his cell. The guards opened the door, threw him in wrapped only in a small loincloth made of rags. The cell was cold and damp, a reminder this wasn’t just a prison but a camp.

Slowly the man was broken down. For that first day his screaming would not stop, instead it would turn to sobbing or hysteria and who could blame the prisoner? Stripped of everything and left in the cold to die like an animal, would you not cry your sanity away as well?

Two years passed and the prisoner had lost his words. He could think, he could hear, see and smell. He could touch and feel and he knew where he was, but he would not talk. After that first day in his cell, no man ever heard him utter another word. Instead he remained in a near catatonic state, always on the very edge of sanity. Until one day in his second year of imprisonment his world changed.

The guards were always cruel and for their own messed up reasons, he was their special prey. They always made sure to include him in their sadistic games. One special occasion, a guard had a twisted game for his meat. Armoured and tall the guard strode in; rifle under one arm and a red fountain pen in the other. The pen was small, thin and sharp but solid and strong.

The guard told the prisoner to make it easier on himself, that he would exit the cell and give the prisoner enough privacy to kill himself quietly, provided he wouldn’t make too much of a mess and for the first time in his life, the prisoner had an option could think about even if it was only briefly.
Slowly the prisoner nodded his head to the guard, indicating he wanted to go through with it. Laughing savagely the guard wandered off, leaving the man with a choice.

The prisoner sat quietly on the cell floor, both hands wrapped around this pen full of bloody ink. He thought about everything his life had once been, about everything that had been taken away from him.

Half an hour later the guard came back and found the prisoner asleep. He looked through the bars in the door at the prone figure, swore quietly to himself about people being weak and stalked off.
The prisoner lay sleeping and for the first time in a long time he found himself dreaming, not just sleeping but actually dreaming pictures and words. He found himself dreaming for one thing: freedom.

The next morning the prisoner awoke his new weapon in hand. From morning to night, night to morning he tapped the butt of that god forsaken pen against every inch of wall in his cell, always listening closely for any hollow noises, anything to indicate a weakness in the walls. The endless TAP, TAP… every few seconds was enough to drive those still sane mad.

For ten years the prisoner tapped every morning and every night. For those ten years his other prison-mates complained. One night in his tenth year, the prisoner heard a hollow noise from his tapping; weakness in the wall just above his bed frame, maybe from water damage or heating. He tapped as a mad man, the echoing thuds loud enough for everyone to hear. This prisoner had the scent of hope, and hope is something no prisoner should hold, at least not in the eyes of their keepers.

His keepers, his guards dragged him from his cell in the eye of the morning to a room in the back, a place away from passing patrols and surveillance cameras. They beat him, they beat him so hard. They pummelled him with batons and broke his ribs with their fists and boots. The morning air was filled with the sound of bruised flesh and breaking bones. He had been close to death many times before but not as close as this. They flayed his flesh with whips and stabbed him in every area not vital with glass and nails, anything they could use to take away his hope.

Torn asunder in mind and body, they left him there to die, and die he did until a petite figured nurse with blonde and black hair found him. She was beautiful and rare, something the prisoner could barely see through eyes so swollen. She spoke about everything and anything while she worked and he loved every moment of her company, but the hours passed too quickly and his keepers came to claim him to his cell.

Days went by and she was all the prisoner could think about. He wanted to escape, to take her away from this devils paradise. The more he thought about her, the quieter he became, a fact his guards hated. He would give them no response; no gasp of pain even a goddamn glance. They laughed at him, jeered at him because they knew he could never speak a word.

Night by night they beat him and they laughed and every night he woke to the voice of the petite blond and black haired nurse. She spoke words he could not comprehend, but only hear in blurs and muffles in his broken head and deafened ears. Through blood-cracked lips… he smiled.

The guards were ruthless in their taunting, in their effort to break him. They would point and laugh at him, knowing he had no words to come back with; until one day... he snapped. A man already broken can snap, and when he does death is always waiting close by for him and those around him. He walks beside them all but when a broken man cracks, death breaks into a run and the scent of agony fills his senses with ecstasy.

The prisoner pointed at all of them with fingers snapped in all directions and he laughed. He laughed beyond everything and all he was for a moment was hysterical, hurting laughter. It was as if every beating, every hurt his heart had felt was coming back up in his bray, like he was telling the world and the guards to get lost, to go screw themselves and lose themselves in their pathetic lives.
He could not talk, but he could think and this laughter was the closest thing to true defiance he had ever had before.

This scared the guardsmen, it scared them in a way they had never known. The beatings came faster and harder every hour and every day, and every day he’d wake and laugh. He’d laugh so hard and so hysterically through bloodied lips and cracked ribs. Blood would pool on the ground from teeth that had been knocked out, from cuts and scrapes and skin in strips, but still he would laugh. He knew what he was doing in his own mind. Because every time he’d laugh, they would beat him and he would wake up in the arms of his lovely nurse. The pain was worth it, the beatings were worth it just to wake up in the arms of company.

Her small expressions of kindness were enough to get him through his days, to help him weather the pain of his own life. He thought that if he could do this long enough, maybe he could grow stronger and accept that he was a prisoner, he would never truly leave his cell behind.

But the keepers were not stupid. They caught on to his fondness for the nurse, the game he played. For a time they stopped their beatings. They never came to take him away to the back room, away from the world. Even when he laughed and pointed at them, they walked away.

He never could understand why until it was far too late and this time, they would not hold back. There was no back room this time; there was no hiding from other patrols or the surveillance.
This time it was pure, raw hatred for a man who they saw had wronged them, had used them. In front of the crowd of in-mates they beat him worse than they had ever. They broke both his legs and shattered his kneecaps to being useless. They broke every bone in his body and saved the spine to last, just to watch him squeal and scream and he held on. He held on with every part of his soul, all because of his nurse.

Little did he know of the news they held back. They waited for the right time to tell him. They waited three weeks til he woke from his battle coma. They smiled at him and waited eagerly for his reaction as one of the smaller ones piped up.

His nurse was gone, they sacked her for stealing. She lost her job, her references and any hope of survival. They made sure she’d never work again. They’d beaten her and raped her, scarred her face with their sharpened knives meant for unruly prisoners. They’d made sure she would never earn a dollar on the streets even, for no man would take a night out with a hooker with a carved mask for a face.

To their delight, their hard work paid off, for at the start of their shift that day, they found her body in the street; malnourished and frozen, she lay on the staircase to their entrance her fist frozen to the door, her pleading to be let in still caught on her still-beautiful face.

The looks on their faces that day when they shared their news with the prisoner, they giggled and laughed and made every crass joke under the sun. They watched him cry and plead, something he had not done for a long time.

With broken legs they dragged him one last time to his cell. With broken legs he dragged himself through the cell door, his legs like splintered ivy, bones shooting off in all directions.
For three days he lay there on the floor, on his stomach. For three days he cried.

On the third night, a small fountain pen with red ink rolled out from under his bed towards him. He wondered how, for there was no one in his cell. Without light he could tell there was no one beside him.

The guards that morning heard his tapping, the endless procession of eerie, tiny taps and then the loud thudding began. Hope in his heart, he had found the weakened wall again, but he wanted them to know. He wanted to see their eyes when they knew he had discovered his hope again. He wanted them to be scared, to be terrified of a man who had lost all and only recovered the maddening of a slim hope and so he pounded that pen against the wall, against the weakened mortar.

They rushed to him and he waited. He waited for their yells, their curses. He waited until they had just pried his cell door open. He waited until they bent close to him, and tried to grab his arms.

To this day, be it my dreams or my nightmares, the strength behind a desperate act still scares me, as did the look in this man’s eyes. He has left his soul behind and now only clings to his flesh.

As the guards bent down, his will returned. With broken arms and fingers splayed in all directions, he fought them off. The sheer power in those broken hands was enough to snap his captor’s wrists as he pried them off. Slowly he stood on broken legs with agony passing through every vein. The guards… they cried out for help, any one to stop this mad man, but on that day time came to a slow. The first step he took, he nearly fell, but he regained his balance quickly as the second step came down faster, and in a heartbeat later he was close to running.

His keepers stood in silent fear, in a world of awe as he charged full speed at that weakened wall. A man’s cell is his prison, as is his heart; but that day the prisoner was free from his jail. Six inches of mortar and brick become dust as the prisoner hit. A demolition crew couldn’t break that wall like the prisoner did that day.

He was free...

But freedom comes with a price, and this is something we all know. For some of us the price is too high and we choose keep being prisoners from our own fear. For others, the price is just right and they pay it willingly.

For ten years the prisoner had never known the layout of his jail, for ten years he had never known how high or low he was off the ground, and that there was his mistake. A mistake he would pay for with his life and this he knew at the very end.

As he fell through the wall, his momentum carried him on and before he fell, he turned himself over to look at his captors once more. He looked into their eyes one last time and kept their glance, laughing all the way down. With tears in his eyes, his thoughts were chaos, all but two.

His last thoughts were two things a second before he hit –
His blonde and black haired nurse, whose beauty he would never forget, but name he had never known.

His very last was –

“I’m finally free...”

Source

Silent Screams

My sister isn't one to believe in things that go bump in the night. But that changed when she attended an out-of-town seminar and came face-to-face with an otherworldly presence.

My sister said it was more like a retreat than seminar, really. It was held at one of the vacation houses owned by the company she worked for. It was far from the main road and could only be reached by private vehicles. No public transportation passed by. But you can take a tricycle from the main road and just direct the driver to the house.

It was far from the maddening noise of the city and was nestled amidst mountain ridges that accounted for the breezy afternoons and chilly nights.

However, she found it creepy that the trees had all these crosses on them. One of her officemates said it's because the trees were used for the Station of the Cross during the Lenten season.

It was a week- long seminar. The days were spent with the usual team- building exercises and activities. At night, they would have bonfires and tell encouraging or inspirational stories.

It was during one of these bonfires that she heard about "resident".

Some of her officemates, especially those who had with the company for years and had previously attended these seminars, recounted their encounter with the lodge's apparition. How it would suddenly pass them by on the stairs; how it would appear at the door of the dining area as if checking on them.

But the manager who had been with the company for almost 10 years, would quickly debunk the stories and call them "nonsense." And my sister, as I've said earlier, was not one to easily believe such talk. So, she and the manager had a good time laughing the stories off.

The third night of the seminar, as they were all preparing to go to bed, one of her officemates came rushing to her room. The officemate told her she heard something moving, rustling, inside her closet and asked my sister to accompany her to check it out.

It was my sister who opened the closet door and there, lying top of a bunch of clothes was a salamander. Her officemate freaked out. Nothing like a reptile to scare the wits out of somebody. Anyway, since both of them were afraid of the reptile, they decided to leave it alone. My sister then asked her officemate to just sleep in her bedroom. The slamander might attack her, they thought.

My sister and her officemate went back to her room and got ready for bed. After a few hours of chit- chat, they went to sleep.

My sister is a light sleeper. A movement on the bed would easily wake her up. She woke up in the middle of the night with a sense of unease. She wasn't exactly sure what woke her up. But she felt chill even before she opened her eyes. Her mind registeres that maybe she had forgotten to close the windows. And so even though her lids were heavy with sleep, she willed them open.

And there, hovering above her was a face!

She felt a scream rise to her throat. She wanted to kick her officemate, who was happily snoring beside her, into wakefulness. She wanted to raise her hands in alarm, wanted to fail her arms at the spectre. But fear paralyzed her.

The face was that of a woman. She had wide sunken eyes, gaunt cheeks and an empty hollow mouth. It screamed at her, a high piercing sound that could've come from the very pits of hell.

Then her officemate turned and in an instant, the apparition was gone and my sister, trembling, woke her officemate up. She told her what happened and though scared as my sister, they went to the next room to crash another officemate's room. My sister huddled close to her officemate, fearful that the wraith would come back. They didn't sleep a wink that night.

Source The company stopped having it's semminars at thet house shortly after that. A few months after the incident, my sister resigned. Though she would not admit that it was probably the experience that pushed her to do it.

Source

Elizabeth's School Spirits

Magnolia Avenue Elementary in California: for 12-year-old me, that school was the furthest thing from normal. Rumors flew thick and fast about Magnolia – some people said that before it was a school, it was a mansion, later destroyed to build a mental institution. Death seemed to have its hand on the mental institution, because it was soon turned into a cemetery. Some tales claimed that the school was built right on top of the cemetery without the dead bodies being removed.

The stories were real enough to me. I avoided being alone as much as possible, but for a shy, lonely fifth-grader like me, it was nigh impossible to always travel with someone. Everywhere I went through the hallways, I could feel gazes on me. Sometimes, an invisible hand would touch me, or a voice would whisper my name. No matter how hard I looked, I could never see anyone there.

One day, I raised my hand in class to ask if I could use the restroom. No one was in the bathroom; I made sure of that before I settled in to relieve myself. As I was wrapping up, I heard the door slam. I peered around the edge of the swinging door, but saw nothing – until the lights began to flicker.

Then I saw the shadowy figure of a girl. She began to talk in a sing-song voice, and I stood there and listened to her. Fear paralyzed me, but curiosity kept me from overcoming that terror. She told me how she died, and then she moved her hand to indicate the ceiling. I knew what I would see there, and I didn’t want to follow her gesture, but it was as if there was an invisible string attached to my head. There she was, her dead body, dangling in the middle of the bathroom, swinging gently.

Footsteps interrupted my horrified observation, and I jerked to see that the girl was gone. Some of my classmates came in, gossiping and giving me strange looks. I hurried back to class, vowing never to return to that bathroom.

I found another restroom near the cafeteria, and for a while, I was able to go in peace. Then my friends sniffed out the story about my terrifying experience and, knowing I was prone to such fears, decided to dig up another tale of woe.

They told me that a girl went crazy in one of the bathrooms – though no one seemed to know which it was – and that before she hung herself in the big tree right outside, she was raped by the school janitor. The cruel man then locked her in the bathroom for a long weekend, without food or water and only her thoughts to keep her company.

Her thoughts became her reality: soon after the janitor let her out (after forcing her to swear she would never tell, on pain of death), she would scream randomly, pointing at mirrors all throughout the school. She saw something there, she would desperately tell anyone who would listen. After everyone rejected her story, she climbed into the tree, tied a rope around her neck, and hung herself.

It was the story of the girl from the first bathroom. I led my friends back there and we scoured the mirror. After a while, I spotted a black dot, which my friends claimed shifts spots every time you return and look in the mirror anew.

We all had our own theories about the spot. Some of us thought it was the soul of the girl, trapped forever with her demons to haunt her. Others said it was the devil’s spot, trying to claim another young soul in that bathroom.

At any rate, we stayed out of there.

Source

Prayer for a Ghost

My family and I used to live in an apartment in Manila. The apartment was very old. We liked to think it had character. More than that, it had a ghost.

Nobody in our neighborhood wanted to admit they knew about the ghost in our new house. We'd heard the talks though.

But since the rent was quite low compared to most apartments in the area, my parents chose to "conveniently ignore" the rumors and attributed them to the overactive imaginations of our neighbors.

But our "housemate" would not be ignored.

The first night, we felt the presence immediately.

We were in our respective rooms when our three dogs started howling. I quickly got up to check what was causing the commotion. My parents also went out to investigate.

We saw all three dogs circling around and howling at some unseen entity. My mom yelled at the dogs to stop and herded them to our room.

For weeks, things went on that way. The dogs would suddenly go berserk, and bark at something, their fangs bared as if ready for attack. Then, they would whimper, as if scared into submission, and then run off, their tails behind their legs.

One day, after my dad, my younger sister and I went off to work and my brother went to school, my mom set off to clean the house. She had just finished cleaning the bedrooms and decided to do the same to the sala (living room) when she heard something fall to the floor.

Suddenly, my brother's toy cars came zooming in the sala from his bedroom. She quickly ran out of the house and ran to the nearby sari-sari store. The owner told my mom it must be some spirit who wanted prayers.

She told us what happened that night, and said she thought she would faint from fear.

You could just imagine the agitation the whole incident caused in our household. My parents decided we should start looking for a new house and move out. But it wasn't easy to find reasonably-priced apartments in Manila. They're either too expensive or too cramped.

So we decided to stay put till we found a new house, one that didn't have much "character".

It's funny. The house we just moved out of had a ghost too. I'm beginnning to suspect Parañaque's full of earthbound spirits. Either that or they're following me around. Of course, they're both crazy assumptions.

Then it happened again. To me.

My younger sister and brother went to sleep over at their friends' houses. I share a room with my sister, that means the whole room and the television are all to myself.

I retired early. I turned on the television and picked up the book I'd been trying to finish that week. I do that a lot--watch TV and read at the same time. Or watch TV and write.

I don't remember falling asleep, but I do remember a shrill scream waking me up. I quickly wiped the sleep from my eyes with the back of my hands. The TV was still on, some 70s-looking slasher flick was on.

I turned off at once and pulled the plug. My father always insisted we pull the plug of whatever appliance we've used as a safety measure.

I then turned the lights off and went under the covers. Suddenly, I felt the temperature in the room drop. It's not like I have an aircon in the room and I didn't think I set the electric fan on Number 3.

Then I saw her. She was sitting at the foot of my bed.

In the dimness of the room, she appeared to be illuminated. It was the image of an old woman, wearing a floral dress and a pair of eyeglasses. She had short, graying hair and a pert nose. She appeared to be smiling although I couldn't be so sure. I blinked and then she was gone.

The following day, our landlady visited us, having heard all the strange stories about the house. I then told her about what I saw the previous night. She looked shocked and her eyes became watery.

"That's my mother," she said. "Her death anniversary's next week."

We had a mass paid for her and the bizarre goings-on stopped.

Source

Residents of this subdivision in Parañaque often relate how the engineer who designed and developed the village they lived in hasn't left his home, which is situated near the subdivision gate. Not even after his death, several years now.

The engineer was a distinguished old gentleman who usually dressed all in white, from his shirt and trousers to his shoes.

According to the story, the engineer developed the land for Air Force servicemen assigned to the Villamor Air Force back in the 1930's. The land was as an extension of Villamor Air Base. It was his grand plan to design identical houses for families of airmen just a stone's throw away from the airbase.

The engineer became a popular figure around the village. He would often be seen, strolling down the streets of the subdivision in his familiar white garb.

His wife, however, was a different story. She was very unpopular, known for her hot temper and snooty airs. Her househelp often cowered in fear whenever she ordered them around. Rumors that she beat them for the slightest infraction of the rules also followed her wake.

Helpers, who were employed at the house would come and go, most of them leaving in haste. Some of them simply disappeared, never to be heard from nor seen ever again.

Residents reported the suspicious activities were happening at the house.

For several years, the engineer and his family prospered. But then disaster struck and his business faltered. It was a big blow for the engineer. He was crushed and devastated.

Soon, they had to sell their home. They settled in a room in the tenements.

The reversal of fortune affected the engineer's sanity. Burdened by the weight of his problems, h leaped from the top floor of the tenement building and smashed his head on the pavement.

Years after his death, several residents reported sightings of him in the village. They would see him, dressed in his usual white, roaming the streets of the village, surveying his realm.

Soon enough, his tale became legend. Stories of him were passed down from generation to generation: how he died, why he died, and his wife's cruelty. He was the village's resident ghost.

He would often be seen as a headless figure dressed all in white. People would catch sight of him at his former home. Even tricycle drivers stationed at the back of the house would report seeing the old man.

Its new owners would sometimes see the apparition standing on the terrace of his previous room.

The ghost would even show itself to the guests of the new owners. Guests would feel uneasy staying in the house, especially in the bathroom, where many guests reported they felt they were being watched. Most of them had trouble sleeping. They said, they felt that somebody was leaning over them in bed.

As such the house kept being sold and passed on from one set of owners to another.

One day, the new owners of the house decided to have the basement renovated. Construction workers were digging in the basement when they stumbled upon what seemed to be a burial plot. as they dug a little deeper, they uncovered several bones. Bones which looked human. Spooked residents theorized that the bones belonged to the missing househelp.

After a few years, the villagers got used to their village ghost.

Unfortunately, the ghost attracted other spirits to the subdivision. Vacuumed by the negative force brought by the engineer's presence, spectres from neighboring areas flocked to the subdivision and soon invaded the engineer's former home, including an incubus and succubus.

The incubus preyed on women in the house, while the succubus preyed on the men.

A househelp was once seen being abused by the misheivous spirit. It took off the victim's clothes then proceeded to sexually assault her. The victim felt icy cold and was left in a daze. She was incoherent for weeks after that.

Today, the sightings and the strange goings on continue at the engineer's house.

The one they call the House of the Unholy.

Source

Subic Terror

One day, my friends and I decided to go on a three-day wacation in Subic. Leaving all our cares in Manila, we proceeded to enjoy the wonders of the former American naval base. We went to various pretty places.

We visited the Bat Kingdom, swam in the beach, and of course shopped at the numerous Duty-free outlets.

We stayed at a famous condominium, so we were assured of getting a good night's sleep, which we enjoyed--but only for the first two days.

On the third day, the last night before we headed back home to Manila, we decided to have a fun night. We divided ourselves into groups and each group prepared a presentation. Since I was tasked to videotape the whole thing, I was not assigned to any group.

Everyone was excited to perform. After short rehearsal, the groups performed their presentation. There were those who sang, while others preferred to dance. We all enjoyed watching the presentations. For my part, I enjoyed watching the festivities through the lens of the videocam.

When the presentations finally came to an end, we decided to give an award for the best group. After a short deliberation, we decided to award the honor to the third group. Everyone cheered for them (they were the crowd favorites).

After the excitement died down someone suggested we view the presentations on TV while we drank a few rounds of beer. So we slipped the tape into the VCR and sat back to enjoy and laugh at our friends' shenanigans.

As we watch, the screen suddenly turned black.

"What the....?"

We were all perplexed by what happened to the tape.

"Sigurado kang natape mo un (Are you sure you taped that part)?" my friends asked me.

"Oo naman (Of course)!" I said. "Wala namang naging problema nung tine-tape ko yung part na yan (There weren't any technical problems as I was taping that part)."

In the middle of our argument, Cherry, one of our girl friends began crying. We turned towards her in surprise to find out why she was crying. Then she fell into dead faint.

Panicked, we sprang into action trying to revive her.

She was stiff as a board, and she lay very, very still. We decided to carry her to the room. Normally, she was very easy to carry, being a bit small and thin. But to our surprise, it took five of my friends to carry her.

Upon reaching the room shre regained consciousness. She suddenly began wailing. Ed, one of my friends who was a psychic said she might have been possessed.

Then he confessed that he invited spirits to come to the house, to give us a scare so that we could have a thrilling night. He said the spirits he had called were the ones possessing our friend--two women, a dwarf, and a big, bad and dark man.

He said he would cast out the spirits. He began praying. He tried to talk to the spirits and asked them to leave our friend's body.

Outside, we formed circles and prayed for protection. Ed said the spirits requestd three girls to enter the room.

When the girls entered they cried as they watched my friend screaming. They continued crying as they went out of the room. Soon, they too began acting weird.

We realized that some of the spirits transferred to them and are now possessing our friends' bodies. Later, they toyed with us, transferring from one body to another.

Funny though, the spirits spared me, and my friends who were in the circle praying.

When I saw what was happening I fled to the comfort room to pray alone. But to my shock, as I was praying I heard sounds of laughing and giggling inside the restroom with me.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood and I got goosebumps.

I ran outside and rejoined my friends praying. Some of my friends were crying and laughing, acting every inch like possessed people.

Later, my psychic friend told me he had convinced the malevolent to leave. We felt him leave the room. Shortly after, we heard the door bang against the wall.

Unfortunately the remaining ghosts didn't want to leave.

It was getting late so while Ed stayed with Cherry to try to convince the spirits to leave, we fled the room and tried to get some sleep.

All through the night, we could hear doors banging downstairs. Finally, in the morning everything grew quiet. The ghosts finally left.

When she came to her senses, Cherry said she could not remember a thing.

On our way back to Manila, we talked about our experience and we knew we would never forget that terrifying night in Subic.

Source

The Howling in Benitez Hall

It was about 11 in the evening, and the air was damp and heavy with rain.

The evening sky covered the city like a dark gray blanket even though it was right on midnight.

The wind was cold, bitter and crisp, almost vindictive as it howled and made the branches of the old acacia trees that lined the edge of the University of the Philippines Sunken Garden whistle.

Two friends, Alma and Christine (not their real names), both young creative writing instructors at the Diliman campus, were stranded in front of Benitez Hall.

They hadn't expected it to rain so hard that day. There was nothing in the news about an oncoming storm. There were no warnings from PAGASA, as usual.

After alighting from the jeepney, they ran as fast as they could towards the huge wooden door of Benitez Hall where a security guard was sitting quietly, writing something on a small piece of paper.

Christine, who lived nearby, asked the security guard to let them into the building since the rains were getting more furious. The two teachers needed a place to stay for the night, or at least, until rains subsided.

After presenting their IDs, the guard let them in. By that time both Alma and Christine were already soaking wet.

The guard accompanied them into one of the room situated at the left wing of the old building. The guard called Obet, the caretaker of the building, and asked if he had the keys to the classrooms. As the caretaker opened the door, a whiff of frosty air blew toward the faces of the two instructors. Which was strange Christine thought, noticing that all windows were closed.

As the two instructors went in, Christine, who was more spiritually sensitive of the two, felt a certain presence brush near her shoulder. At first she did not mind it. It's probably a wayward breeze, she said to herself.

Benitez Hall, or the college of Education, was one of the oldest buildings in the campus. Aside from being the building where some of the best professors in UP were honed, Benitez Hall is likewise infamous because of its ghost sightings.

In its former incarnation, it was an interrogation camp of the Japanese Army during World War II. Most UP graduates know that it is the most haunted building in the campus.

Christine and Alma settled down, took off their wet business jackets. They put together two tables to use as beds. Since they did not have blankets the two used their jackets.

As Christine was about to hand the jackets to Alma, she heard footsteps coming from the corridor, on the other side of the door. At first, she thought it was the guard, but she noticed that the footsteps were made by someone in rubber soles, like slippers. The guard was wearing leather shoes.

Both knew they were the only ones in the building aside from the guard.

Christine went to the door. She tried to open it, but the door remained tightly shut. Feeling something eerily strange about the goings on, she motioned to Alma to help her open the door.

But even though both of them combined their strengths and pulled with all their might, they could not budge the door.

They started yelling, calling for the guard. Despite their shouts and calls for help, the guard did not come.

But Christine could still hear the footsteps from the other side of the door. After about three minutes, the sound of footsteps stopped. She peeked through the peephole to see who it was on the other side. All she saw was the color red.

Alma, scared stiff because of the ghost stories she heard in the past about Benitez Hall, started banging on the door and kicking it.

A few seconds later, the door opened and the guard rushed in the classroom, asking what happened.

Christine asked, "Is there anyone in the building aside from us?"

The guard shrugged his shoulders.

"We heard footsteps, someone wearing slippers."

"Obet already left. There's no one in the building but us," the guard confirmed.

"Is this building really haunted?" Alma asked.

"I've been guarding this building for the past six months," the guard said. "Yes, I've heard stories of people who died in Benitez Hall. I also heard ghost stories from the former guards. I don't believe these ghost stories. All I know is that a student died here once. A friend of mine who used to be assigned to guard Benitez Hall said he saw a person floating in the air dressed in white, with BIG RED EYES!"

At that christine slumped down in a dead faint.

Source

The Ghost On Dimasalang Street

I used to be Daddy's little girl. I was very close to him. We did everything together--went to the mall, to Church, to kiddie parties... I hardly remember doing things with my mom, most of my early memories were tied up with my Dad. You could say I was spoiled by my Dad. He usually gave me what I asked for, within reason.

"Daddy bili mo ako ng rubber shoes ( Dad please buy me rubber shoes)" I would ask.

"Sige anak, pumili ka lang (Go ahead, choose what you want)," he would usually answer.

He would also do the same thing for my sister and brother, but my Dad and I shared a special bond. All that changed when I was in second year high school. That year, my Dad suffered a mild stroke and he became an invalid.

In the beginning, we had to hire a guy nurse to help us in taking care of him, because my Dad was a tall guy. But because of what happened, my mom became the breadwinner of the family and we all had to tighten our belts. There were five of us in the family--my parents, my sister, my baby brother and I.

Pretty soon, money became too tight and eventually, we had to let go the services of the nurse. This meant we would have to take up the slack of taking care of my Dad, assisting him as he moved about in the house.

Trying to make it easier for us, he volunteered to sleep in our living room instead of bedroom upstairs. He knew that we would have a hard time taking care of him because we were all girls (except for my kid brother) and he was so big.

This made life a little easier. But I missed spending time with him. So from then on, I would do my homework in our living room to keep him company and I would always feel sad at the end of the day whenever I had to leave him downstairs.

One day, I gave him a gift.

"Daddy o, sa iyo ito. Binili ko yan para sa iyo (Daddy this is yours. I bought it for you)."

It was a rosary that I had bought from school. I told him to put the rosary under his pillow so that he would not get scared and lonely should he wake in the middle of the night.

"Salamat anak, (Thank you)" my Dad said, then we hugged.

It took a while for him to recover because we did not have enough money to continue his therapy. So his health slowly deteriorated.

All of us took turns checking up on him throughout the night.

One night, it was my turn to check up on him. I went downstairs half awake when I heard whispers coming from our garden.

"Ano, kunin na natin mamaya yan (So do you think it's time to fetch him later)?" said the first voice.

"Wag muna, bantayan pa natin nang ilang gabi (No, not yet. Let's watch over him for a few more nights)," said another voice.

"Wala tayong madadala nyan (But we might not have anything to bring)," said a third voice.

"Mahirap din e, may bantay (It's difficult, too, because someone stands guard all the time)," said the first voice again.

I ran to the window, but I couldn't see anybody in the garden. I was so scared. I knew they were talking about my Dad but I didn't know what to do, or how to save him from the voices.

I hit the switch, flooding our living room with light. I ran to my Dad and hugged him tight.

"NO!" I shouted at the voices I heard in the garden. "Hindi niyo pwedeng kunin ang Daddy ko! Hindi niyo siya makukuha sa amin. Mahal na mahal namin siya! (No, you can't take my Daddy away from us because we love him so much.)"

My Dad was startled awake.

"O bakit? Ano ba yang panigsisigaw mo diyan? Binangungot ka ba? (What are you shouting about? Did you have a night mare?)" my Dad asked, trying to shake his sleepiness away.

At that, the whisperes subsided and eventually faded into the darkness.

As my Dad lay awake in our sofa. I rushed upstairs to wake up my mom, my sister and my brother.

I told them what I heard. They all grew scared as well. Who could the voices be?

"Baka demonyo! (They could be devils!)" my brother said in a scared voice.

"Buti na lang may bantay daw si Daddy (It's a good thing Daddy had someone guarding him)!" I cried.

At first I thought the "bantay" the voices talked about was me. But then I realized they meant the rosary I had given my Dad.

From then on, we all decided to sleep in our living room with my Dad.

For a long time afterward, I pondered on who these voices were.

Then I remembered something my grandmother told me several years ago, when I was still a kid.

She said that when a person is on his or her deathbed, beings come to "fetch" his or her soul. Sometimes these are the spirits of dead relatives or family members.

But there are also bad spirits who would try to intercept these souls. According to my lola, these manunundo (fetchers) do nothing but wait for dying people to finally expire so they could get their souls and bring it to hell with them.

Could they have been these beings?

Source

Spare Me

Story by: Pandemic


Ellie was caught in the middle of dreaming and reality. She was paralyzed in bed and had her eyes slightly open. Her hair and her back were dripping in sweat and she’s frozen in terror. She keeps hearing words from a suffering lady saying “Spare me, spare me.”

At first, the only thing she sees in the darkness was the closet opposite the bed. She wished her eyes haven’t adjusted through the darkness yet, but it did already. After a few seconds of being paralyzed in bed and half asleep, she started seeing weird things.

She heard the door opening and a girl in polka-dots red dress entered. Her hair was stuffy and messy as if she just got away from a brawl with another lady. She was crying, her lipstick was all over her face, parts of her dress have been torn and her lower lip was a bit bloody. After a split second, the door opened again and was slammed closed. A man entered, he was wearing white sleeveless shirt and faded jean pants. He appears to be on drugs because his eyes are very red and he, although it was Ellie’s first time to see him, appears to be not himself.

The lady leaned pleading in the corner of the closet and the wall. She keeps saying “Spare me, please. Stop, stop, stop!” The man, seeing the lady’s pleadings, appeared to be amused. He walked slowly toward her. When he reached her location, he dragged her near him by the hair, their faces almost touched, and he said “You bitch don’t meddle with anything with me again. When I ask for your dimes, you give me your dimes, understand?” The hurt lady nodded as tears flow from her eyes.

Ellie almost wished she can close her eyes because the next happenings were too brutal for her. Still holding the lady by the hair, the man banged the woman’s head to the closet door repeatedly. And when he stopped, he slapped the lady’s face very hard that the wounded lips bleed badly again and the woman fell to the floor weeping.

That’s when Ellie awoke. She sat up in bed, dripped with cold sweat and panting like a tired horse. Unlike what she saw in her nightmare, the daylight was bright and the room is calm. There is no one in the wide, square room but her. She couldn’t quite believe that everything she saw was just a part of a nightmare. Ellie is not like any other thirteen year old girls. She knows more. She thought she was just caught in a sleep paralysis. It is the state when you are not completely asleep and also not completely awake; it is when your brain meddles with reality and shows you things that aren’t real but seems like the reality.

But this theory doesn’t completely fit. The event or dream, or whatever lasted at least for two to four minutes in her estimation, although she can’t really accurately estimate how long the scene had taken because it was just a dream.

Lest being ridiculed or mocked by her younger and older cousins, Ellie resisted asking her aunt during breakfast about her dream and told herself that what she had seen was simply a part of a nightmare. Ellie is in a small town in Bicol for a week-long vacation with her older sister, Erika. Another reason why she came to the place is also to get to know her relatives in that province.

The night that followed wasn’t particularly worse but definitely not better. But for Ellie, if you were in her position, the nightmare was definitely worse. The second nightmare doesn’t have any scene that will appeal to drama fans; there is no battered wife or abusive husband and the drama cliché of slapping faces. Sounds better than the first one, right? But could it really be better if you seem to be a part of the nightmare already?

Ellie again was paralyzed in her bed. This time her eyes are more than half open and everything that she sees appear to be very vivid and real. The closet is still opposite the bed, except that someone blocks the view. At first, it was only the same woman that she had seen last night standing at the foot of her bed, wearing white sleep dress. Her eyes look straight into Ellie’s intently. Ellie was frightened to death. She could see the woman’s face clearly. Below the woman’s eyes are thick, bulgy, blackish eye bags, her face is very pale and weathered. She doesn’t look mad or angry, but her face is sad, as if pleading.

But then, the worse isn’t over yet. The scene changed. In Ellie’s peripheral vision, in the left of her, she could see a man standing in the open doorway, watching. In front of Ellie, the woman is no longer merely standing, but floating. She was slightly rotating while her neck was tied with thick rope and she was hanging there with her eyes open but dead. Then Ellie heard the man’s horrific, fiendish crackling laughter.

The scene vanished again. Both the woman and the man disappeared, except the woman didn’t completely disappear. The next moment, the woman was in Ellie’s left, she appeared to be leaning her face down to Ellie’s ear. There she whispered in thin, cold, misty voice that Ellie actually felt her breath, “He didn’t spare me.”

When Ellie awoke, everything that she had seen seemed to be in real time, the door was open and the room doesn’t feel calm at all, although it is impossible because the lady appeared to be a woman who lived during the 50’s. It was still in the dead of the night. The digital clock beside her bed shows in green light the figures 1:05. She was again dripping in cold sweat and panting very hard. Instead of going anywhere, she hid herself under her thick comforters and tried to continue her sleep.

The next morning, during breakfast, Ellie couldn’t hold her little secret anymore. There are eight of them in the table. Her sister Erika, her four cousins, and her Uncle Robert and Aunt Hilda were all having hot pandesal, coffee, bacons and eggs, and other freshly-cooked food.

“Aunt Hilda…” Ellie said hollowly.

“Yes Ellie?” Aunt Hilda replied.

“For my past two nights here, I’ve seen things.”

Both Aunt Hilda and Uncle Robert looked at Ellie with sudden interest, their eyes narrowed. “What is it that you saw, Ellie?" Aunt Hilda asked.

“A man…a man and a woman…fighting.” Ellie said, she was suddenly feeling scared again.

“W-when was this?” Uncle Robert asked. When Uncle Robert showed interest, the rest of the people in the table started paying attention to what Ellie is about to say.

Ellie then said her accounts of her first two nights in the house. She said everything that she saw, every detail of it. When she finished, at first, everyone was silent. The two younger boys shivered, Aunt Hilda just stared in blankness, unable to utter a word. After a moment, Uncle Robert said something. “Okay, this is the first and the last time that I will talk about this. Since it has been a long time, I’ve no reason to keep on telling this story and I also forbid any of you to share this with anyone.”

Aunt Hilda looked at her husband, but she doesn’t appear to disagree with what Uncle Robert is about to say. “It was 1958-”

“Wait.” Aunt Hilda interrupted. “Let me tell the story, Robert, since this concerns my ancestors.”

“Okay.”

“It was in the year 1958 and I was four. Most of the families in this neighborhood were part of our extended family from our great great grandfathers. In this house, my aunt Miranda resided together with her abusive husband, Uncle Rodrigo. Through the years, the couple did everything and did all the praying, but still they failed to have a child. In frustration, my Uncle Rodrigo ended up being an alcoholic and a drug user. He started being apathetic, arrogant, rude, and abusive to our Aunt Miranda. Aunt Miranda’s earnings were just enough for common necessities because Uncle Rodrigo stopped working. When Uncle Rodrigo is either stoned or drunk or in need of money, he will beat his wife. Ten years after their marriage, Aunt Miranda was found dead in the room where you are staying. She was found hanging near the bed as what you have told us, Ellie.

“It took a few days before her body was discovered. The police officers first assumed that she was killed by her husband, but later found out that the husband didn’t do anything to kill her. My aunt killed herself because of the sufferings and depressions she has been through. Uncle Rodrigo nevertheless was jailed for a few charges, including drug abuse and violence to a woman.”

“This house wasn’t really changed even after at least fifty years. We only maintained it but we never did any major reworking in any part of this house. Maybe that’s why the dead still lingers. The history of ghostly encounters in Aunt Miranda’s room is also the reason why as much as possible, I don’t allow guests or anyone to stay there. You have been quite persuasive, Ellie, that’s why I allowed you to stay there. And I also thought and hoped that Aunt Miranda’s ghost has left already, that she already moved on to the other life where she belongs. That is the history of this house.” No one has been able to utter a word after Aunt Hilda’s story.

After Aunt Hilda’s tale, Ellie spent the rest of the summer vacation sharing a room with her Ate Erika.

Haunted Pilipinas #4: The Ozone Disco

The Ozone Disco at one time was a trendy hotspot disco in Quezon City that caught on fire. Due to mass panicking, nobody was able to get out alive. Some people near the location hear ghostly disco music in their houses at night and see faint people dancing.

A fire at the Ozone Disco Club in Quezon City, Philippines broke out shortly after midnight, Philippine Standard Time, March 18, 1996 (04:00:00 PM, March 17, 1996, GMT) leaving at least 162 people dead. It was officially acknowledged as the worst fire in Philippine history, and the world's worst nightclub fire since the 1977 Beverly Hills Supper Club fire in Southgate, Kentucky.

Ozone Disco, located along Timog Avenue corner Tomas Morato Avenue in Quezon City, was opened in 1991 by Segio Orgaoow. Its building had previously housed a jazz club named "Birdland". The disco was operated by Westwood Entertainment Company, Inc.

The fire broke out on March 18, 1996. At the time of the fire, it was estimated that there were around 350 patrons and 40 club employees inside Ozone Disco, though it had been approved for occupancy for only 35 persons. Most of the club guests were high school and college students attending graduation or end-of-the-school-year celebrations.[6] Survivors reported seeing sparks flying inside the disc jockey's booth shortly after midnight, followed by smoke which they thought was part of the party plan of the DJ.

Many of the bodies were discovered along the corridor leading to the only exit, piled up waist-high. Quezon City officials were quoted as saying that the club's emergency exit had been blocked by a new building next door, and that there was no proper fire exit. It was also reported that the exit had been locked from the outside by the club's guards, who had thought that a riot had taken place.

Even though the incident happened, the structure which housed the disco is known for its haunting's until today. The people who live near the location of the disco house hear faint disco music and see ghostly people dancing when darkness falls. They also claim that the people were the victims of the fire.

The Ozone Disco in Manila was the scene of a fire that caused the death of 162 revelers on March 19, 1996. The burnt-out shell of the club still lies vacant and undisturbed -- except, apparently, for ghosts. Passers-by report strange noises and sightings. Investigators, grieving relatives and friends of the victims say they have seen apparitions. Some photographs appear to show floating, whitish figures.

In a bid to put the spirits at rest, Joseph Stephen Santos, who lost a cousin in the fire and heads the Justice for Ozone Victims movement, invited the questors to hold a séance on the site. Questor Josie Buenafe, a teacher at an exclusive boys' school, called up the spirit of Ed. He said that while the victims wanted to be remembered, they urged their loved ones to let them go. Ed said there were only 60 spirits left in the Ozone and asked the questors to return for another meeting on the first anniversary of the fire.

In March this year the questors were back. This time they tapped into the spirit of Joey, who told them the details of what had happened on the night of the fire. Thought to be the deejay, Joey explained that when disco-goers saw smoke bellowing from his booth, they assumed it was just part of the show. Joey grabbed an extinguisher and tried to douse the flames, but was finally overcome and engulfed in the fire. He said he could "find the light" and move on to the next world, but had stayed to help the other spirits who were having trouble leaving.

Today, the Ozone's old neighbors have gone. A once-flourishing design shop next-door now stands vacant. On the other side, separated from the Ozone plot by a wall, is the restaurant and club of a recently built hotel. Workers in a glass shop two doors down say they don't hear anything unusual, but no one works late. "We all go home at night," they say.

Perez says there are far fewer spirits in the remains of the Ozone Disco than there used to be. "But many still remain, mostly because they are concerned for the welfare of their loved ones, who are still grieving. Unless the living learn to let go, the spirits will stay in the disco and will not find peace."

Many family members of the victims in the accident had tried contacting the souls of their love one thru a medium. Rituals were also held outside the once flourished discotheque regularly to assist the spirits of the victims to leave the world in peace. A man assisting in the ritual was said to have being processed by one of the spirit of the victim during the accident. The processed man could illustrate the process of the fire breakout in vivid clear details. Today, the street is still very quiet; workers around the neighborhood had said to experience fewer ghostly encounters and they never carry out work at night.

  Source

Haunted Pilipinas #3: Baguio City

This Philippine city is of course considered to be highly haunted. Aside from the military academy, there are other haunted places scattered throughout the city, such as cemeteries, old hotels and sites where populated buildings and structures used to stand until the 1990 earthquake brought them down, injuring and killing the people inside. There is the Diplomat Hotel, an abandoned structure in Dominican Hill that allegedly saw the beheading of nuns and priests during the Second World War.

Many say that horrible Aswangs, who are evil wicked witches often practice black magic here in the dead of night. And that many have seen them flying low in the night trying to capture young men and women to torture or to steal their bodies. Residents in the area claim to have heard them and their victims screaming and Aswang howling even during the daytime.

Former hotel employees even say that when the location was in operation there were several headless ghosts walking the halls carrying their heads on platters.

The haunted fountain is said by many to be a place where few dare to tread. Many say it once flowed with human blood and still is a favorite spot where the dead congregate to commune with the living. If your brave enough to stay their in that spot for 24 hours.

This abandoned hotel in the Philippines is a historic attraction on the verge of being turned into a museum after decades of stagnation (unless you count the creatures that reportedly haunt the place).

The building has served many purposes throughout the years including being a refugee camp, housing for Dominican friars and a first-class hotel. Its current state of disrepair is said to make the place incredibly spooky, so consequently it is a place of both notoriety and great interest to the world’s ghost hunters. when you stroll outside the compound you would see neighboring houses with crosses painted on their doors and windows, and are kept shut when darkness falls.

At Teacher's Camp, a popular location for company meetings and school seminars, visitors claim to have heard mysterious voices and seen weird shadows. Legend has it that the camp, constructed as a tent-city for teachers during the American Occupation, was built on an old battleground for Baguio's indigenous citizens. It seems that some of the warriors who lost their lives here have never left.

And in the Philippine Military Academy, phantom platoons are said to be heard marching on the grounds. A ghost of a uniformed man appears too. Many say vampires and blood sucking or soul stealing monsters roam the night here. Some believe that a shape shifting demon that can assume the guise of an animal, especially a huge black dog. This monster often is said to lure unwary travelers into the dark buildings to slay and devour them. The creature also preys on young children, robs graves, drinks blood, steals coins and eats the dead, taking on the form of the one they previously ate going to their home and devouring the entire family over the course of a night.


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Haunted Pilipinas #2: San Juan, La Union

In 1582, San Juan was proclaimed a mission station under the authority of the Augustian Order, as recorded by the Nueva Segovia Bi-centennial souvenir booklet dated April 25, 1587. By 1586 the town had become the center of the parish, and was renamed San Juan by the Augustian Fathers after the Catholic Patron Saint of San Juan Bautista. The town boasted an Augustinian convent and a population of 6,000. Its first priest was Friar Agustin Niño. The center of the parish was subsequently transferred to Bauang, with San Juan sometimes being an out-station (visita) of Bauang and sometimes of Bacnotan. In 1707 the Church of St. John the Baptist was constructed at San Juan. In 1772, the mission station was placed under the authority of the Dominican Order. In 1807, San Juan was established as a parish in its own right.

Pindangan Ruins this is the home of the headless stabbed priest whose sole ghost prowls at night, either carrying his severed head or searching for his head. Some report hearing his head calling out for his body to find it. Many say EVP's happen here all the time and the wind is known to whisper strange malediction to those that disrespect the location.

Pasatsat is word rooted on the Pangasinense word satsat, meaning "to stab". Pasatsats are ghosts of people who died or were killed in the Second World War. Coffins during the time were so expensive, so the families of the dead wrapped the corpses in reed mats or icamen. The dead were buried in places other than cemeteries because tomb robberies were rampant during that era of extreme poverty. These ghosts usually show up in solitary paths and block passersby. To get rid of such a ghost, one needs to stab (hence pasatsat) the reed mat and unravel it, but doing so will show no presence of a corpse, although the mat will emit a noxious odor, much like that of putrid flesh.

In 1898 during the latter days of the Philippine Revolution, the whole of San Juan was razed to the ground by a great fire. Many ghost from this period are said to roam the streets.

The town of San Juan, La Union has a considerable amount of ghost encounters, sightings and many many paranormal monsters and legends, including a headless nun and a smiling white lady at the old tower.

Another strange ghost is that of Devil Cigar Man or as many call him just the Devilman. In the months just before the war, young men from the town would all go around an abandoned man-hole, there they would smoke cigars and speak of the goings on of the day then one night at midnight something strange occurred. Once, a stranger came appearing strangely with his his long well combed black slicked and straight and braided beard is his most striking feature for his face is always overshadowed by a large brimmed straw hat, he came to them asking for light. When they lent a lit cigar, the man looked up to light his, showing a spine-chilling blank where a face should have been. The faceless Devil man allegedly still shows up, because he prefers unbranded, native tobacco to imported ones. And if you don't give him a light he will drag you straight to hell are strike you deaf and dumb on the spot.

Another strange haunted tale is about finding the the Devilman's large brimmed straw hat. If by chance you see a straw hat of or hat of any type of hat or head gear on the side of the road by no means touch it. Because if you dare to do os of God forbid to put it on your head. To do so will bring you straight to hell.

The tale of the strange ghost nun that was beheaded by the Japanese, and her convent burned down is a very weird ghost story.

If someone passes the ruins of the covenant on a full moon at midnight, an eerie ghost bell tolls this is the signaling of the approach of the nun's ghost. One of the many tales tells that the old historical ruins of a Spanish convent were burned by the Japanese and a pious chaste nun was beheaded as an example for all to see.

The old ruins of the covenant still stand. On some nights when an unfortunate person happens to pass by on a full moon at midnight, some spectral bell would toll from the netherworld. It supposedly signals the approach of the ghost nun who will slowly creep up on you from behind. They say she is looking for the man who killed her or his descendents to take her exacting revenge. Many say several daring people have died from fright others driven mad when being touched by her on the left shoulder.

The white lady another ghosts not to be confused with the ghost nun or the Balete Drive specter, is said to appear at midnight in the ruins of an old watch tower that dates to pre-Hispanic times, and is particularly likely to be seen by many individuals. In recent times, she is often called the laughing white lady is said to have been showing herself periodically in the old historical ruins. The ghosts of this woman is said to appear often and her disguised appearance is said to be very frightening for she has no eyes. Only gaping sockets which glow with an erie spooky ghost light. Many report they hear her maniacal ghostly laughter and would rather run the see her eyeless ghosts.

One of the hitchhiker stories tells of three boys who pick up a girl near a cemetery and take her to a party. this is very similar to the tales of Resurrection Mary in Chicago USA. On the way back, the girl complains of the cold and borrows a jacket. The girl disappears near the cemetery, and the boys find the jacket neatly folded on the headstone of her grave. Or that of a freshly dug up grave where the body has been pulled from the earth and partially eaten. Many believe her to be a real ghoul like creature. A ghoul is a folkloric monster associated with graveyards and consuming human flesh, often classified as undead.

In another story, a male hitchhiker asks to be taken to a given address. When they arrive, the hitchhiker has disappeared, but it turns out that he used to live at that address and this is the anniversary of her death. Stories tell that this young disfigured man appears as if he was just in some terrible accident with blood on his clothes.

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Haunted Pilipinas #1: Balete Drive

Balete Drive is a street located in New Manila, Quezon City known for apparitions of a white lady and haunted houses which were built during the Spanish Era (1800s). New Manila has an abundance of balete trees, which, according to legend, is a time honored favorite resting spot of wandering spirits and other otherworldly paranormal beings. Many believe Aswangs and their evil spooky paranormal pets live in these haunted trees, roosting and waiting for their next victim to draw near.

Paranormal experts believe that the white lady multo (ghost) was a poor woman who was brutally raped by Japanese soldiers during the Second World War, her corpse many say was not buried properly it was thrown on the side of the road and stayed there for many years, only to be carried away by birds, rats and other creatures over time piece by piece. Some of her hair and bones are still perched high in branches as part of their nests or buried in rat holes in the ground under the trees and the street street. And this tale which is supposedly told by locals as 100% truth differs from the movie version. Her skull many say or her face which was cut away by a machete or bayonet blade was taken as his personal souvenir. Many believe she searches for the man or his descendents to exact her evil revenge upon them. Or as many believe today upon those that mock her existence.

Hiwaga sa Balete Drive (Mystery on Balete Drive) is a Filipino movie that was filmed in 1988. The white lady was played by Zsa Zsa Padilla. In the story, she died in the Spanish Era but her spirit keeps on searching for her undying love. Some of the scenes were filmed on location on Balete Drive. The movie is frequently shown in Halloween specials on the Filipino TV broadcasters ABS-CBN, Cinema One and TFC. Midnight DJ Episode 12 Babae sa Balete Drive

Witnesses of the white lady ghost, advise other motorists to avoid the street at night at all costs, especially if they are alone. If it is necessary to travel the route, they advise that the backseat of the car is fully occupied and that no one should look back or look in any mirrors. If your riding in a taxi cab you will notice the drivers edginess and fear and panic level rise. For if you or the driver see her then she will certainly mark you next for a certain violent death. Only by saying the holy rosary and fasting for the following three days after you see her might then you be spared.

Those who have seen the White Lady ghost and lived to tell of it say of her apparition that she wears a long white blood stained night gown tattered and ripped, and she has long disheveled tangled hair but has no distinguishable facial features or one covered with dripping blood.

If you are on foot or a motor bike or bicycle and she touches you then you will die on the spot. And if she chases you then it is a sign that you need to change your lifestyle or personal ways immediately and live a pious life. Many young men and women who have encountered her often will not speak of their encounters to do so brings sudden doom or bad luck.

Some modern tales say she was raped and killed by a taxi driver and this is why the fear driving in the area. Motorists are advised by locals to take alternate routes at night. If passing the road is unavoidable, there are several precautions one might take if they find themselves on Balete Drive: Make sure the backseat is fully occupied with people and no pets, don't look back and don't look in the mirrors.

Many believe that aswangs (witches) also live and seek out victims in the area. These evil witches are believed to prey upon lost pets and the homeless or a stray tourist that might trek through the area at night. Their evil pets Mannagals or Sigbin type creatures are also noted to be hungry for blood and souls to steal.

The Aswang witch and manananggal (sometimes confused with the Wak Wak in some areas by the Filipinos) is a blood sucking creature. It resembles a Western vampire, in being an evil, man-eating monster or witch.

The myth of the manananggal is popular in the Visayan region of the Philippines, especially in the western provinces of Capiz, Iloilo, and Antique. There are varying accounts of the features of a manananggal. Like vampires, Visayan folklore creatures, and aswangs, manananggals are also said to abhor garlic and salt.

They were also known to avoid daggers, light, vinegar, spices and the tail of a stingray, which can be fashioned as a whip. Folklore of similar creatures can be found in the neighboring nations of Indonesia and Malaysia.

Duwende are goblins, hobgoblins, elves or white or black dwarfs (Spanish: duende "golbin, elf, charm" < "duen de (casa)", owner of the house). They are little creatures who can provide good fortune or bad fate to humans. In the Philippines, duwendes frequently live in houses, in trees, underground, termite like mound or hill, and in rural areas. They are known to be either good or mischievous, depending on how homeowners treat them. They usually come out at 12 noon for an hour and during the night. Filipinos always mutter words ("tabi-tabi po" or "bari-bari apo ma ka ilabas kami apo") asking them to excuse themselves for bothering the Duwendes. Filipinos would leave food on the floor, so that the duwende residing (or guarding) the house would not be angry with them.They also take your things,and laugh at you when you try to find it. They give it back when they feel like it,or when you tell them to please give it back.

Kikik also are known to haunt the area and they are creatures who are bird-like humans. They are winged-humans who at night search for victims. They hunger for flesh, livers, bowels and blood. In American Literature, it is like a vampire.

The intersection of Balete Drive is between Aurora Boulevard, a few blocks away from Gilmore Avenue and Broadway Centrum. The east side exits near St. Luke's Medical Center and the west side exits near GMA-7 and Tomas Morato Avenue, one of the night-life centers of the city. The central intersection of Aurora Boulevard is the EDSA-Cubao shopping center built in the 1970s.

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The Suspense Novelist

by Pandemic

Hi, I’m Ned Santiago. I’m thirty years old and a suspense novelist. And so far since I started writing three years ago, I’ve published four books, and I’m working on my fifth now. And so far, I can already consider myself a successful writer.

Some critics said my novels are “epic” and “game changing”. Not that I’m bragging, but I really do believe that my works are both epic and game changing. Here in the Philippines, fiction books rarely enter the top 10 bestselling local books of all genres, and all of my books entered the hot list.

My first novel titled “The Smell of Blood” has been a #2 Bestselling Local book in 2002 three months after its publication and enjoyed being in the top 50 for the next two years. Three big film outfits tried to persuade me to sell the rights of that particular book to be adopted in a movie. But I always say no, believing no director or scriptwriter or movie producer can ever give justice to my debut novel.

“The Smell of Blood”, according to a funny movie critic from a men’s magazine, “..was almost a step by step instruction book for an aspiring murderer.” I literally laughed out loud when I read that crazy yet accurate (at least for me) review. And that explains it; how can an “almost step by step instruction book” be ever adopted into a movie? You know, when you like to read books, there are certain parts of it that can never be felt or seen in any other form of entertainment..only in your head, exclusively in your own imagination. That’s why I always say no even though their offer is, to be honest, mouth-watering.

Anyway, I’m going to share with you one of the major elements that made my first novel “The Smell of Blood” be liked by critics, suspense-horror fans, and ordinary readers. The story revolves around a man named Santi. Saintly by the name, but as fiendish as a devil by persona.

Santi obsesses on blood, the smell of it, the warmth of it, and the rosy redness color of it that’s just irresistible and lustful. He literally bathe in blood after every successful murder of his.

One of the most loved parts of the book basing on the fan emails and snail mails I’ve received was the murder of Janice, a college girl. Her part was somewhere in the middle of the book, the “most evil, gruesome, and sinister part” according to a particular fan. And I can tell, of the four books I’ve written, Janice’s part is one of the most noted, favored, and critically acclaimed. Although almost every murder scene in a book I write is noted, Janice's is stand alone.

The chapter goes, not exactly, but similar to this. Janice is a supreme student government president and that demands her extra time in the school. It was already five minutes past six and she was still in the SSG office, finalizing some paper works for the upcoming college week. What a very dedicated student leader, Santi thought as he watches her from a distance. He was watching her from a small opening in the jalousie window of the office. His body shivers in excitement from the thought of having Janice’s blood spilled all over a closed area, smell it, feel it, devour it like a hungry tiger eating his prey.

Janice on the other hand somehow felt conscious, she feels as if someone is watching her carefully. She can’t understand the feeling. She looked around the office and in the door, no one’s around, she’s alone. For Santi, he really feels like a tiger, hiding in the tall wide grasses, watching his potential prey carefully and lustfully, waiting for the best time to attack and win its prize for being patient.

Janice managed to pull herself back together and continued working on the documents needed for the nearing college week. But after a few minutes, she felt that sharp staring eyes again although she haven’t even confirmed that someone scrutinized her a few minutes earlier. That’s when she called it a day. It was six thirty already. She knew that she was alone in the first floor of the college building….or was she? Albeit in the upper floors, some few classes are still going on. She started packing her things in her small handbag, that’s when she felt someone walked by behind her. She turned around, she sees no one. Her back was turned on the door when she felt that someone passing, there even has a narrow and vague reflection on her white coffee mug. She shivered a little, but she didn’t dwell on it. Too much things have happened that day and she’s feeling very tired, exhausted, and worn.

The corridors in the five-storey Arts and Sciences Building are L shaped. She went to the girls’ comfort room, and it was on the other end of the long corridor and which you’ll reach after turning to the unlit part of the hallway, the seemingly base of the L in the corridor.

She already motioned for the school to replace the nonfunctional bulbs, not only in the first floor, but all over the college. Fortunately, the lights in the comfort room weren't broken yet, allowing her to see herself in the mirror…but it flickers a little. Then she gently combed her long black hair. Everything was on a peaceful and normal pace. Until Janice saw a man’s face sneaking up from a cubicle, grinning at her like a mad man through the mirror.

Santi thought it was already the time for the tiger to reveal itself to its prey. Janice screamed at the top of her lungs and ran out of the comfort room hysterically. Santi let her, and he just smiled. He perfectly knows that there’s no where for her to go, he made sure of that. He felt his hands and whole body shake in excitement, he’s going to taste her fresh warm blood, devour it, enjoy it, feel it, smell it, like a child with a wondrous lollipop on his hand.

The exit is just on the left of the girls’ comfort room. But before the stairs in every floor and before the exit, there are grill doors. Janice froze in terror to find that the grill doors were locked. She screamed and beg for help. She believed that some people upstairs should hear her…but she realized the real thing. Of course, classes have been dismissed early because every participating student (and there are bunches of them) is busy preparing for the college week! “Oh my God” she muttered.

Then she ran very fast, almost flying, to the other end of the corridor. Sure, the emergency exit is there. But when she reached it, it was also locked! Why, for heaven’s sake, did it happen that every passage from the building is locked? And why, for heaven’s sake, was she locked here with a grinning psychopath? Tears started to fall from her eyes now. And yes, she’s dead scared.

She almost fainted. She can’t move because of the utter terror that she was feeling. Then she started hearing the slow but heavy footsteps of the mad man. (As I’ve told you, this part was somewhere in the middle of “The Smell of Blood”, so characters might have heard of the previous murders already). Is he the murderer? Is he the blood obsessed, soulless creature that has been killing people lately in this small provincial town? She asked herself. Am I going to be the next victim to be found drained with blood? Hell no. I’m going to do anything to save myself.


Santi was now walking slowly towards her, his next prey. He couldn’t help feeling his veins and pulses beat heavily because of his overwhelming excitement. The keys on the passages from the building was in his possession. He started playing with it in his fingers now.

Janice heard the keys dangling. Now she concluded that the murderer was the college janitor. But that was impossible! She has never seen that mad man before! But how did he get the keys?

Then, finally able to get herself together, she noticed there is a door in her right. Above the door, a sign says “School Records Office”. Half expecting it to be locked, she tried to open it. And thank God, it was open! There’s nowhere else to go. The footfalls of the murderer and his creepy humming are now dangerously near. She expected the office to be small, but it was huge. The shelves containing boxes of school records were towering high. It was her first time to enter this office. A good place to hide, she thought.

While the man hadn’t got hold of her yet, she ran deep into the towering shelves, looking for the perfect place to hide. It was dark inside; only the light posts from outside the windows give a weak glow inside the office. She thought on breaking the glass windows, but it will be of no use, she realized, because just like the passages, it was also grilled.

The school records office is the biggest office in the building. The ceiling was made of plywood, but now it’s already peeling and was withered by time. It was also dusty and studded with gigantic spiderwebs.

As she ran deeply into the shelves, she felt her heart pounding heavily, she can barely hear anything. Her mind keeps telling her nothing but only “You’re going to survive.”

Santi reached the wide open door of the records office, still relaxed and taking his time. He was surprised by the towering shelves containing piles of dusty records. He can hear the low, careful breathing of Janice, even though he approximated that she’s quite far away from him.

And, stopping his fingers from playing the keys, he dropped it in his jeans’ pocket and drew a new, stainless butcher’s knife from his coat’s pocket. “Janiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice!!! I’m comiiiiiiiiiiiing!!!” he called and let out a very strong mad man’s laugh.

Janice crouched in the lowest level of one of the biggest shelves in the middle of the office. Sure, it was dusty and dirty, but she didn’t want to die either. She was hoping that whoever that mad man was wouldn’t be able to find her and he’ll just go and accept the fact that he failed. But this hope took a step away from her mind when she heard the mad man’s laugh, a relentless and fiendish laugh that tells her that he wouldn’t stop till he get hold of her. She can’t help but think of how sinister her death might be. She started crying again.

The footsteps of the mad man sounded to her as if it were big speakers on its maximum volume. It brought great terror to her. But she needs to calm down, because sometimes, being calm is what will bring someone from grave danger to definite safety, her sociology professor once told her. She tried to not make sound at all. But to her, the sound of her heart beating is deafening.

She can still hear the footsteps of the mad man; she thinks he was rounding the office, looking at every corner to find her with a terrible murder weapon. Oh, please, God, no, she muttered lowly.

“Janiiiiiiiiiiiice!!! Where are you? Stop hiding from me now, because I’ll tell you, I won’t stop ‘til I get hold of you.” Santi said. “You’re just exciting me. I might end up draining every bit of blood from your body because you’re making me real hungry!”

“You devil.” She muttered, more to herself than to the madman. "I'm not going to let you do any harm to me. I'll fight for my life, I tell you."

Seconds and minutes and hours have passed. Santi is still rounding the school records. “Damn you darkness. You’re taking her side, huh, don’t you?” he muttered. He’s feeling a bit frustrated now, but the thought of just leaving her here still alive and unwounded is a no-no to him. Didn’t even think about it.

“I tell you, Janice, when I find you, it will not only be your body that’ll hurt and bleed. I’ll reap even your soul!” he said now angrily.

“Do it if you can find me.” She responded, but sure she didn’t let her voice be heard. How great the peril shall it bring to her.

And then she felt her nose itch. “Oh, hell, no. Shit.” She feels like sneezing. Of course, who wouldn’t feel like sneezing in this tight, dusty place. She tried cover her nose to stop further itching and prevent sneezing…but she guessed it’s a little bit too late now. She let out a low sneeze. But it was enough, in the deafening silence in the records office, to be heard by the mad man.

“Great.” Santi said loudly. “I’m going to get you, Janice! How do you like having your body cut open? Hmmm..from chest to your stomach, perhaps?” he started walking to where the sneeze came from. “What do you think? But don’t worry, I’m not going to take your organs away. That’s just so awful. I’ll leave that job to the mortician. I’m just going to drain your blood, nothing more. I’m coming, Janice! Ha-ha-ha!”

“Shit no. Please.” Janice started shaking again, hoping the mad man wouldn’t still be able to find her. The mad man is approaching her hiding place now. She tried to make no sound by almost not breathing. He’s coming. Just the thought of it dreads her a lot. The thought of being cut open, of being drained with blood. “Shit no. Please.” The thought of seeing her body, damned, dead...Oh c'mon, Janice, stop thinking about it!

The mad man is now in the lane of shelves where she hides. She can see his dirty sneakers and worn out jeans. He was walking slowly. She was no longer breathing. He can smell the woman’s perfume. She was hoping he’d believe she wasn’t there at all. He knows she was in this lane of shelves. She’s readying herself on fighting til death. Oh no. Take that word “death” away.

“Hi there!” the mad man peaked down into the shelves’ lowest level where Janice is carefully hidden and has fitted herself with great effort. He was grinning like a little boy, with a mental problem. He raised his hand to show a bright silver, huge butcher’s knife. But instead of being eaten by terror, it has been hours since she had readied herself for this moment, she kicked the man in the crotch hardly. It was the strongest kick she has ever given in her life...and might be her last.

She got out of the shelve immediately when the man fell grunting and wincing. But the man was able to make her stumble by kicking her in the knee. She also fell. The man, still weak and still in pain, drag Janice’s blouse, then her hair. He has got a nice grip of her now.

“Argggggggghhhhhhhh!” Janice grunts. “You’re not going to kill me!”

“Oh yeah? I am now actually! You piece of shit!” Santi said angrily.

Janice held Santi’s hand and tried her best to claw it, to stab it with her “somehow” pointed fingers.

“Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh! You dumbfuck bitch! I’m going to kill you the slowest but the most painful!” Santi said angrily.

Both of them were wincing. The clawing didn’t do a lot for Janice because Santi can resist such minor pains.

When Santi fell when Janice kicked him, the butcher’s knife also dropped. Santi gained a little strength now to stand up, still dragging Janice by the hair. And now he started walking towards the butcher’s knife with great effort, because Janice is struggling really hard to get loose from him.

“I told you you’re going to die!”

“Both of us have goals! And I’m telling you, I’m not going to die—" realizing what he’s up to, Janice tried harder to get loose…he was approaching the butcher’s knife. She screamed.

“You’re scared now, aren’t you?”

Janice tried to stand up, and with a little success, she punched him hard in the stomach. His grip eased. She was almost ready to escape…when he said “Why use a butcher knife when I have a smaller, fluffy kitchen knife in my coat’s pocket?”

Before she could escape, he stabbed her in the back. Janice stopped. The wound was so deep it, the knife’s point almost went through out her body.

“Oh my! You’re blood is now dripping! It’s so beautiful!” the mad man said. His voice now changed. It sounded now like a child who saw a very fluffy stuff toy. Leaving the kitchen knife still inside Janice’s body, he helped himself with the dripping blood and smelled it, he plunged his face in his bloody palm. Janice has fallen to her knees; blood started flowing now from her mouth. She was wounded badly. But now that he was quite busy, she thought she still have at least a percent chance to escape. She tried to crouch, but she’s too weak and in a dreadful pain now. She might be able to continue to move away slowly, but when the mad man notice this, it will be the end of her. Tears started dropping from her eyes and more blood poured from her back and from her mouth.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Santi moaned. He took away his face from his palm to breathe, his eyes closed. “Blood! Always blood!” then he opened his eyes. He saw that she’s a few meters away from him already, the kitchen knife still on her back.

“Haha! You think you could escape with that big knife in your back?” he said, still with the childish tone. Then he picked up the butcher’s knife. He always readies himself for contingencies. That’s why he always brings two knives. But he has never been in a situation to need to use the second knife, and it slipped his mind that he has indeed a smaller knife. Good thing he remembered it before the Janice girl could escape.

Now, the butcher’s knife is in his hand again. He walked slowly to the struggling girl. Janice continues to crouch, her senses started to get vague now. She has lost many blood. She heard him coming. “It’s my end.”

Sure, it has been her end.

Santi, like a mad man, indeed, cut her throat open with the butcher’s knife. “Blood! Blood! Blood!”

Janice fell down completely, can’t move, can’t crouch. She was trying to block the blood from her throat by her hands. But the wound is too damn big. Santi drew the kitchen knife from Janice’s back and it even gave a much more painful feeling to the dying Janice. To finally end her, he stabbed her nape, and she died, giving one final struggling breath. “Blood! Blood! Blood!” he said again.

“She’s losing great deal of blood! I can’t bring her to the comfort room now because she might be drained with blood when I reach the place! So I’ll enjoy you here, Janice!”

I’ll end the story there. Oh no, here’s a brief conclusion of the story. The next day, the record’s office smelled like fresh blood. And they found the spot where the murder happened. But the victim wasn’t there. A few minutes later, a girl screamed and fainted. In the comfort room, Janice’s body was found hanged. Her body was cut open (from chest to stomach, Santi has been true to his words) and drained with blood. She has a cut on her throat, a stab on the nape and on her back. She's so dead.

See how gruesome Janice’s death was? I pity her, but I don’t as well.

Anyway, continuing the story of my wonderful career, I have just received a text message from my agent; it came from the National Literary Guild of the Philippines. My agent informed me that I am to receive a Literary Juggernaut Award and a Filipino Novelist of the Year 2005 award for my works “The Smell of Blood” and my second novel, “Bloodlust”. I wonder why they are giving me awards for my 2002 and 2003 novels now that it’s already 2005. I’m a little bit offended, but I’m going to receive the awards, nevertheless.

Anyway, my four novels were all about bloody encounters with relentless murderers. Although “The Smell of Blood” was considerably successful, I never thought of writing a sequel for it. I don’t see the sense of creating sequels. None of my four novels has been a sequel of anything. My other three novels, anyway, were “Bloodlust” (the book that have just won me the Literary Juggernaut Award), “Devour”, both were 2003 novels, and my 2004 and most recent bestseller (haven’t reached #1, but still in the top 10 now), “No Pain, No Gain”.

I’m currently writing my 5th novel to come out next year. My agent kept on asking me when I will give him the manuscript. I guess he’s excited for it because he knows he’ll earn a great deal of money with my 5th novel. The inbox of my email is full of questions from fans as well, most of them asking “When will you publish your next book?”. I understand them; at least I believe I do. It has been a year since my last book. But patience is a virtue.

I consider the novel I’m currently writing my greatest work ever. That’s why writing it is taking too long. I’m on an enormous research. My mother even scolded me this morning because I wasn’t able to answer her call last night. If she just understands why. I’m on an important business.

I KILLED 10 people last night. This will be another turning point in my writing career. I’ve learned a lot. It will make my future novels broader and intenser. My readers will get a grip of my book and won't put it down until they finish it. I am still to do further research my doing more murders in the following weeks, but I'll be done soon.

My 5th novel by far is the most sinister work of mine. I’m just happy people think the murders in my novels weren’t real, because if they discover that it involves a hands-on and practical research from the author himself, I doubt if it will bring them any entertainment at all.