noreply@blogger.com (heart0107) — Tue, 13 Jan 2009 09:01:00 +0000

That Saturday was no ordinary day for me. Coming from a deeply religious family, I grew up involved in church activities in our local parish and one tradition which I never failed to miss was the annual "pagayak" wherein local residents took turns preparing and decorating the church for the celebrated mass every first Saturday in honor of the Virgin Mary. And that Saturday, I was tasked to take on the tradition.

I woke up early and hastily headed straight to the church, hoping to be joined by friends later on. Since it was still many hours away from the mass, all massive doors of the church were closed so I went back home and waited till 1pm. I first went to the Parish Office to check if one of my friends were already in church. The Parish Secretary advised me that no one has arrived yet so I asked for the keys so I could help myself to start cleaning.

As I climbed the steps leading to the facade of the church, I marveled on how much the structure had become the cornerstone not only of our townspeople's faith but also of our town's history. The church dated back to 1571 and was built by the Spaniards. Its walls were witnesses to our people's struggle from foreign conquerors and served as shelter to hundreds of brave souls. It possessed a beaten, weathered look but every moss-covered brick emanated its magnificence inherent of old, historical churches in the Philippines. I realised that the keys handed to me was for the side entrance so I went back to the parish office and lead my way to the corridor to the side entrance door.
As I opened the door and turned my eyes to the altar, there I saw three men coming my way. Each was of average height and build and dressed in a colorful polo. I stood aside to make way and as they passed, they nodded and greeted me with a smile. I smiled back and noticed how unusually pleasant they looked. I watched the men leave but at the same time my head was racing. Where did these men come from? I did not recognize any of them? Were they tourists?

I hurried to check all side doors thinking that one must had been left open but all locks were intact. Still confused, I rushed to the Parish Office located at the side of the church and there I found Wena, the Parish Secretary. I recounted what I saw and asked her if she knew of anyone who must have let the strangers in. She said she had not seen any men in the premises and that no one other than me and the Parish Priest had access to the Church. Still not satisfied, I asked her to come back with me to the Church and see if anything was missing. She hesitantly agreed. We found each of the valuables intact which somehow I realized I expected. With no satisfactory explanation in mind, I tried to dismiss the incident and got on with my task.

Years after, story of that strange Saturday afternoon somehow circulated its way among the “manangs” and residents. Surprisingly, they believed that I did see three men coming out of the church. One resident, who we fondly call as Nanay Citang, even concluded that the three men were the Lord's three archangels – Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael. If indeed she was right, then that would be the most blessed Saturday of my life.

ghost story?

noreply@blogger.com (heart0107) — Fri, 04 Apr 2008 02:48:00 +0000

I remember with fondness my childhood days spent with relatives of my father in Majayjay, Laguna. I recall each and every moment of my life in my parents' hometown with distinct clarity and loving fascination. But along with these memories, there is that one evening back in the 70's that I struggle to forget but could not. Up to this day, flashes of it send shiver tingling down my spine and reaffirm the evil that lurks and awaits in this world.

Evenings in Majayjay are shrouded in pitch-black darkness and deafening silence. There are only the mysterious sounds of the night to hum you to sleep. I remember that one cold December evening when our family gathered after dinner unsuspecting of what was to be revealed to us. Though ghost stories are commonplace in almost every gathering in the town, what awaited us was no ordinary ghost story. I knew it because even before my uncle revealed to us his eerie encounter, he appeared like a changed man who saw the dark side.

It has been an old tradition in the Philippines (especially with Catholics) to attend the so called "misa de gallo" (mass at dawn) in preparation for Christmas. Also called the novena of masses, it is comprised of nine consecutive morning masses. The first day of the mass starts on the 16th of December and ends with the Christmas day mass on the midnight of the 24th. The "misa de gallo" during those times always started at four in the morning.

Our ancestral house, where my uncle resides with his family, is situated in the hilly outskirts of the town proper. Only a handful of neighbors surround this house and most could be found at a distance of 100 meters. It was built in the 1920’s and stands in the middle of a coconut plantation, on top of high ground where one could have a good view of the mystical and famed Mount Banahaw.

Before you could reach the house, you need to pass by a small concrete bridge which is about six meters in length. At the end of the bridge, you will find a police outpost standing beside a road which would point you to the house (bahay na matanda as we call it).

It was one of those cool crisp early mornings, when my uncle woke up to get ready for the "misa de gallo". Despite the cold, he walked his way to the church and arrived on time for the mass. He got himself a seat near the side entrance of the church but soon felt being lulled to sleep by the cool weather. Since he could not concentrate and was fighting off sleep, he decided not to finish the mass and leave early.

On his way back home, it began to drizzle. Uncle tried to find his way to the bridge and as he approached it, he found a woman clad in a long gown, carrying an umbrella. She was walking slowly, deliberately towards him as if she knew him but he could not make out her face in the rain. Curiosity took over; he slowed down to meet the woman. Just when he found himself standing almost opposite her, she turned to ask him, "Where have you been, hijo (gentleman)?" He hesitated but replied, "I've been to church to hear mass". "Has it finished?" the woman continued to ask." "Not yet. I was feeling sleepy so I decided to leave" my uncle answered. He then decided to himself that he didn't know the woman and bid her goodbye. But as he passed by her, a sudden chill took over his body. He felt goose bumps in his arms and a tingling sensation through his spine as if he was sensing evil. Then he heard a deafening laugh broke out, the kind that was not human. It seemed to echo through the forest, rustled the trees, and spoke of evil. Fear crept and when he looked back, he was aghast to find the woman floating in the air, laughing wickedly with burning eyes fixed on him. He ran as fast as he could, not knowing how he finally got home.

As he recounted the story, I sensed how terrified he remained even after the encounter. The memory of the woman haunted him in daylight and was nightmare in his sleep. His story was enough to make us remember from then on to finish every mass for fear of finding the woman in the bridge, waiting for her next prey.

My Piece of Mind

ghost story?