Written by Dey Bautista

My family has a house in a quiet village in Las Pinas. It was originally built for my aunt and her family, but over the years it came to be a home for other relatives, including us. We stayed there for almost seven years, and in that time, I have heard multiple stories about unexplained and peculiar phenomena occurring within its walls.

Once when I was very little, and we were just visiting my grandparents, the rosary prayer was loudly being played over the speakers in the attic. Now, I never actually heard it myself, but my family said that, for a brief moment, a deep, decidedly male voice came from the speakers, mumbling incoherent nothings. It wouldn’t have been as chilling if the voice reading out the prayer wasn’t clearly female.

There was another instance, this time when we were already living there, that started when the air conditioning in my and my sister’s room broke. While it was getting fixed, we decided to temporarily move to the master bedroom, which, for some reason, my parents didn’t want to sleep in. After sleeping there for two nights, my sister decided to go back to our room and brave the summer’s heat, without explaining why. Since I had no problem staying there by myself, I let her. One night, still in the master bedroom, I was woken up by the feeling that someone was lying down next to me. Whoever it was, there was a lot of movement, almost as if that person couldn’t sleep and was finding the optimum sleeping position. Thinking that it was just my sister, and frankly being annoyed that I was woken up, I just went back to sleep.

In the morning, I woke up to find the other side of the bed unmoved, with the pillows neatly arranged. Again, I didn’t think much of it. Weeks later, when I went back to my original room with my sister, she finally told me why she couldn’t sleep there anymore. It was because she was having nightmares, the kind so terrible and vivid you could feel a scream forming in your throat when you wake up. When I asked her why she went back that one night, she said she never did.

That experience brought to mind my other aunt and her baby boy, who also lived in that house for a few years before we did. While they were living there, I was only around six years old, but I clearly remember her ghost stories. They would scare me so much, but I could never get enough. My parents had to lie and tell me that they were all made up for our entertainment, which is something that I became grateful for eventually. If they didn’t tell me that white lie, I don’t how I would have entered the dirty kitchen knowing that my “gifted” aunt actually saw the white silhouette of a long-haired lady, who she came to call the fairy because of her light yet still eerie presence. I also don’t know how I would have entered the master bedroom – let alone sleep there by myself – knowing that my aunt also woke up to the bed moving. The only difference is that, when she opened her eyes, she saw the hazy figures of young, twin boys playfully bouncing on the bed.

There were plenty of other stories from different people who stayed in that house. Some of the helpers reported having vivid nightmares as well, while others claim that they woke up with bruises they didn’t have the night before. Whatever story I heard, I always tried to rationalize it. You saw me walk into the kitchen when all this time I was reading in my room? You didn’t have your glasses on, and it was probably just my sister. You left nanay’s walker in the bathroom, but when you returned it wasn’t there? Ah, you must have forgotten where you actually put it.

Despite all the explanations I kept telling myself, I would still move out of a room a little faster after turning the lights off behind me. Throughout our stay there, I probably only watched a handful of horror movies, subconsciously fearing that I would meet the ghostly characters later in person. I never looked at the far corner of a dark room for too long, and always kept a small light on when I slept.

I’ve heard multiple stories about unexplained and peculiar phenomena occurring within the walls of my family’s house in Las Pinas. Until know, I don’t want to fully believe in any of them. If I did, I would be admitting that, for seven years, my family and I were never truly alone in that big house.