(Image generated using Co-pilot)During this time of year, conversations are filled with ghost stories, chilling experiences, haunted narratives, and hair-raising tales.
As someone who lives in the Philippines, a country rich in folklore and spooky legends, I also have my own collection of eerie tales to share.
I have a treasure trove of chilling stories passed down from my grandparents and parents.Each story is infused with vivid imagery and haunting experiences that have been shared around family gatherings, igniting both fear and wonder.
One aspect that truly captivates me about these stories is the remarkable consistency of the details. Despite being told by different family members over the years, there are no significant variations in the accounts.
In the days before phones and television, particularly during the frequent blackouts that were once common in the Philippines, my late father would gather us around a dimly lit candle and share his chilling experiences. Among the many stories I've heard, this one stands out as particularly gripping, especially when I find myself passing that specific location in the evening.
The event took place in the 1990s, a time when paved roads were limited to towns and cities. Once you ventured beyond these areas and crossed to the other side of the island, you had to navigate the neglected and rugged roads that awaited you.
My late father drove a public transport bus, often covering more than 200 kilometers in a single journey, typically at night. However, one particular night sent chills down his spine. I can assure you, my father was no coward, but that evening was unlike any other. As he drove through a rocky and steep road, the ascent was slow, and the engine struggled under the strain. Suddenly, he was startled to see passengers scrambling to close all the windows and doors of the bus. Then he saw it—a massive dog, the size of a cow, attempting to force its way inside, its blazing red eyes staring at him. Fortunately, they reached a slope that allowed the bus to gain speed, enabling them to escape the dog.
Just when you think the story is over when it is not. Twenty years later, my sister found herself teaching at one of the schools in that very area—of all places. One day, around this time of year, Catholic nuns invited her to visit their convent and offered her a glimpse into their way of life, encouraging her to consider joining them. As they traveled to the convent, they shared strange stories to pass the time and ease the monotony of the journey. When it was her turn, she recalled a tale often told by our father and decided to share the story of the giant dog. As she spoke, the nuns gasped, suddenly wide awake. When she finished, they urged her to tell our father that the dog was still alive.
The nuns then recounted their own experience from that year when the prioress returned from a trip to Manila. They had traveled the usual 200 kilometers and arrived at the airport early in the morning to welcome her home. To their dismay, the plane arrived later in the afternoon. After a hurried dinner, they set off back to the convent.
It was around 10 in the evening when they passed through that infamous town. To their horror, the giant dog was there, blocking the road and staring at them with its fiery eyes. Gripping their rosaries tightly, they prayed together, feeling a wave of relief wash over them when the enormous dog finally left. From that night on, they vowed never to travel after dark again.
By the way, I would love to make this trick-or-treat pail for my daughter's Trick or Treat escapade.
(Image from #Splinterlands)
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