Amazing how it felt only a few months ago when I wrote three personal experiences of the paranormal, now it's that time of year again when all I see on TV and online are horror specials.
I wanted to start writing the entry around 1AM today...but I must've watched too many Halloween specials on TV that my imagination started playing tricks on me, you know, that feeling of paranoia that something might pop up in front me anytime soon, so I decided to sleep instead. I had my rest, and though I'm feeling a migraine coming on, I'll finish typing this down before the day ends.
Unlike last year, I'll just write two personal experiences for this year's scary story entry...my paranormal moments had been slow lately─not that I'm wishing for one any time soon. Both experiences happened during college days...which was like─OMG!!! D: ─ten years ago, because both occurrences happened in and around my school. Go USTe! And as promised a year ago, I'll tell you about my experience living in a dorm near our school.
The Hospital Turned Dormitory
The dormitory I'm talking about is an all-girls dormitory right along España Blvd. It's right across the main gate of UST, the old building standing on the opposite end of the foot bridge that is situated near the main gate. I was with my mom and my tita out dorm-hunting when we came across the building. My mother being named Concepcion felt at ease when she saw the name. We went it, and a nun gave a tour of the gloomy place. It had been around for seventy-five years when we came there, and apparently it was a health center during World War II. A piece of information I came by when it was already too late to back out. The nun showed us a couple of available rooms, but it was on the fourth floor, right beside the fire exit that we made a this-is-the-one moment. I can't remember the room number, but I could clearly recall that it was the only room out of all the rooms we saw that had a religious statue placed on top of a shelf. The room was an electric fan room for three occupants, and there were a lot of potted plants on the fire exit stairs, and a lone bathroom at the end of the hallway. It was a St. Anne statue, my mother's patron saint. The nun serenely explained that they leave the statue there and have it and the room blessed once a week a least. I assumed it was just a typical thing...but as it turned out there's a reason for that.
As a sixteen-year-old who left her hometown to be on her own for the first time and is made to stay in an all girls dorm, but is left by her roommates on the weekends to be on her own. And on the weekends, when she's on her own, she feels like there's someone staring at her from the corner of the room. Yep, it felt like a plot-material for horror story. It was horrible! There were nights when we would hear someone knocking on our door only to open it with no one in sight. It happened often enough that we would even ask our dorm-mates whether they were playing a prank on us. But no, even if we would go out and check the down to the corners of the corridors if they were hiding, we never saw anyone. It was usually three light knocks on the door, sometimes louder, but often times it would repeat every few minutes and only stops if we open the door. It was because of that fact that I would sleep with the doors open whenever I'm on my own, other times I would invite other dorm-mates to sleep with me in the room. There was a constant feeling of being stared at by someone whenever I was alone, even in broad daylight. The moment I stepped in that dorm, they air suddenly becomes heavy and it was less than a delightful feeling. Huhuhu...I'm so happy I survived four whole months in there.
At some point, other girls would give me subtle clues that they knew something I didn't. A month before the end of the semester one of my two roommates moved out because she was done with the review leaving only two of us...and that roommate of mine always makes sure to go home three days a week, urgh! Majority of those who stayed in the dorm were CPA graduates reviewing for the board exams. Right after the board, two thirds of the occupants were gone, leaving us poor innocent students on our own. There were also days when we talked about scary stuff, and they would claim that there are times when the shower in the common bathroom would suddenly open on its own, or a toilet would flush with no one in the cubicle. One even showed me a photo of a sort of distorted face posing behind their group pic on our floor...but no one would ever tell me anything about the room I was sleeping in. The staff would dismiss any question regarding the paranormal, while other girls would say they'd tell me only after my last night there. It was both frustrating and unnerving being told an open ended piece of information.
Anyway, fast forward to my last day...I had finished moving out my stuff because I was to transfer to my uncle's townhouse in Cubao─thankfully─for the rest of my college life, I went to my friend who owed me a story. She said, the room I was staying in was the room of girl who committed suicide inside the closet. The story goes that she took the CPA board exams, lost faith in herself and could not contain the possibility of failing the board so she hung herself in one of the closets in our room. Thankfully not mine, but the one next to the door that we kept hearing knocks. To add to the tragedy of the story, it turned out that she passed the board exams...killing herself in vain.
The Balete Tree Near the Grand Stand
If you ever go to UST, notice that there's a huge balete tree on the left side of the stage behind the grand stand. It's the one beside the ROTC office and across the publishing house; a stone throw away from the Beato Angelico Building─my CFAD building. Below the tree there's a faucet there...and we were busy doing our plate then in one of the pavilions. I, needing to wash my paint palette clean, lazily decided to wash it using the faucet there instead of the one in the CR. I was alone when I did this, cleaning the paint off my palette using my hand and washing my hand after as well. It took a few minutes after washing my palette when I felt pain on my legs. I tried to ignore it at first, but the pain kept on. Maybe ten minutes after my using of the faucet below the balete that I went to the CR to pee, and when I pulled down by pants and saw my legs I was horrified with what I saw. My legs were full of black and violet patches, scattered all over were bruises reaching probably twenty individual small bruises that I could not explain. It was painful, and it hurt every time I took a step. I chose to ignore it at first, not really knowing how to handle the situation. On the second day it didn't hurt as much, but both my ankles started to swell like I was having a gout or arthritis or something. I could clearly remember how slowly I had to walk then because it was numbing to a point. It was actually the turning point in my life when it came to eating bitter melons because I hated that stuff, but I was constantly being told that it's good for blood circulation. For the first time in my life then I was forced to eat an entire serving of pinakbet without leaving the ampalaya on the side. On the third day I decided have it checked in the clinic. The doctor said it must be an inflammation of the muscles of some sort because I was too young for joint illnesses, so he gave my medication. I drank it for three days but nothing happened. It was during the weekend, five days after the incident when I finally told my family about it because I was not getting any better. The patches of bruise on my legs had turned yellow and starting to heal, but the sore on my ankles never improved.
I'm glad that one of my mom's sister was in Manila that time and I told her what happened. I was still staying in the dorm then when it happened, and it was during the weekend when I went to see my uncle and aunt in Cubao that I was able to ask for help. Luckily they know a mangtatawas...or taga tawas or mytical healer something, a guy who does rituals for those who are being bothered by elementals. They texted my full name to the guy and explained what happened. He did the ritual with a candle and I was told that a bunch of dwarves or tree druids did not like getting wet so they made me suffer for my actions. I was ordered to return to the tree and ask for forgiveness for what happened. Lo and behold, it took less than thirty minutes after the text that the inflammation on my feet healed, all pain completely gone. As quickly as I was hurting, I was restored. That experience made deepened my belief of the occult and elementals and faith healers...that there's more to the stories than simply being legends.
A week after it was a full cycle, I was back under the balete, this time I asked two friends to come with me so if I go down we go down together. I can still vividly recall that awkward moment of me talking and bowing my head to a tree apologizing while my friends giggled right behind me. To this day, I never went near that tree again...and my friends who witnessed what I did still laughs at me whenever we come across that topic.
