By Jose Guillermo – Sunday Punch
Growing up, I was a child ruled by fear—fear of the dark, ghosts, horror films, and almost anything that could hurt me. But of all these fears, it was the paranormal that truly terrified me.
My imagination played tricks on me, turning shadows into people and flickers of light into ghostly faces. I always had this eerie feeling that someone was watching me, especially from the kitchen. But whenever I turned around, no one was there.
There were stories about our house, too. Before it was built, there was a banana tree, and one of my relatives once claimed to see a pair of glowing red eyes—eyes of the “kapre,” a giant mythical creature—staring at her from the shadows. She ran away in terror, and after the tree was cut down, no one saw the creature again.
My grandmother also had a strange encounter in our old bathroom. She said water splashed from behind her, as if someone was washing her. Calmly, she spoke aloud, telling whatever it was to stop, and the splashing ceased.
Even at school, eerie stories followed me. There were whispers of ghosts haunting the corridors, especially since the building was under construction at the time. I never saw anything myself, but fear still kept me from wandering too far.
Once, a classmate told me there was a dwarf living in an old drawer. Gullible as I was, I believed it, even throwing food onto the roof, thinking the creature would come down to eat.
In high school, the stories became darker. Rumors circulated about a headless ghost haunting one of the elementary classrooms and bodies buried beneath the stairs. Though I never saw these things, the fear lingered.
By 1997, my connection to the paranormal intensified when a family friend named Kuya Boy, who had never been to our house, mysteriously found his way to our doorstep. He was possessed by a “tikbalang,” a horse-headed figure from folklore. He told me about a little boy and an old Spanish man who often lingered in our home, just watching, but causing no harm.
The paranormal seemed to follow me, even when I tried to ignore it.
In 2001, I began to feel goosebumps when talking about ghosts. I remember drawing a demon-like figure, staring at it until it seemed to hypnotize me. Later, I showed it to a classmate who had a “third eye.” She told me the demon was with me, and it was the reason I was struggling in my Christian Living class. After asking it to leave, my difficulties stopped.
My abilities started to attract attention. I once helped a friend by identifying that her house was haunted by demons lurking under the stairs, something even a paranormal expert had previously confirmed.
Another time, while rehearsing in the UP Theater, someone spotted a “white lady” sitting in the audience. Though I couldn’t see her, I felt her cold presence. One of my friends saw her standing right behind me. It was chilling.
Stranger still, when I attended a play in the UP Theater Arts Building, I found myself sketching a woman’s face. A friend told me that the woman I drew resembled a girl who had died on that very stage years ago, a detail that sent shivers down my spine.
One day, a friend warned me not to open my “third eye,” because I was connected to dark entities.
I heeded that advice.
But the experiences kept coming. While out drinking, I once accurately described the layout of a colleague’s apartment down to the smallest detail, despite never having visited it. I did the same for another friend, describing his house in Pampanga, including the ghostly presence of a white lady that haunted the grounds.
Years passed, and the paranormal became less a part of my life until I started working in a call center. There were stories of a ghost named Jun Jun, a playful spirit who liked to move things around. Though I never saw him, I could feel his presence during my late-night rounds, following me until he decided to stop.
When we moved offices, Jun Jun followed. He’d run to the electrical room every day, as if missing the third floor where he once roamed. But after moving to a new building in Quezon City, the paranormal activity ceased.
Still, I wonder about that white lady from the UP Theater, who had once promised to never leave me.
Nowadays, the eerie sensations have faded. I still feel faint hints of the paranormal, but it’s a vague and distant sense, almost like I’ve learned to shut it down or ignore it.
But every now and then, I still wonder if the spirits are still there, quietly watching, just waiting for me to notice them again.