The Shadow Of A Kapre

By Gerrilyn Cadiz

This happened a couple of years back, when I was just a child of eight. My family and I had just moved an old house in Bulacan.

It was a bungalow-type of dwelling, with two bedrooms, a garage and a big backyard. The house was ample for our compact family, as it was only my six-year-old sister, our parents and I.

For a young girl who grew up in the congested metropolis, this new house was a haven.

The place was surrounded by trees -- mange, camachile, star apple, macopa, jackfruit, aratilis, chesa. There were also santan and gumamela plants planted all around the backyard. It reminded me of my maternal grandmother's house in Sta. Cruz, Laguna, only smaller.

It was, in a word, idyllic.

Our first few weeks there were great. We moved in the summer so we were on vacation. We immediately made new friends with other kids in the neighborhood. My sister and our new friends had a blast climbing the trees and "shooting" the ripe star apples with our rubber slippers. We would spend the day hanging out in the bahay-kubo my parents installed in the backyard, beneath the giant star apple tree.


One day, I overheard my mother and her friends talking about the house. From what I overheard, I learned that no family had been able to stay in the house for more than a few months because of the strange things reportedly happening in that house.


One of my mom's friends related the story that happened to a friend of a friend's friend. According to her, the friend had been passing by the house when she saw a white lady standing in front of the gate, as if trying to get in.


Another related that weird noises could be heard in the backyard at night.


Oh great, I thought, of all the houses in this subdivision, trust my dad to buy the haunted one!


I suddenly remembered how I kept losing, or as my mother would say "misplacing," my things. How one minute my box of colored pencils would be there and the next minute, it would disappear, only to be found, after hours of frantic searching, right where it was originally.


At the time, I thought my sister was playing a prank on me. But then I remembered she was only six years old, and pretty scared of her big sister. So, I easily ruled her out as a suspect.


Then something my mother's friend said totally creeped me out.


One of them said that a kapre was living in the huge star apple tree at the back of the house!


The star apple tree! The tree which stood over our favorite hangout!


I had a pretty good idea what a kapre was. My cousins from the province had already told me stories of a huge, hairy man who is usually seen smoking a cigar.


They said the kapre would snatch sleeping children and eat them and that a kapre could enchant you and lead you astray.


I felt a chill run down my spine. Not only was our beloved bahay-kubo directly under that star apple tree, but its massive trunk was totally visible from the window of the bedroom my sister and I shared.

Silhouette

By Patricia S. Servano

My alma mater, St. Scholastica's College in Leon Guinto, Manila is one of the older schools in the country. As a former sanctuary for soldiers, it lay witness to the brutalities wreaked by the invading forces during World War Two.

Bombed, destroyed and eventually rebuilt, St. Scho has withstood the test of time and ravages of nature. The institution takes pride in its antiquity, and among its jewels is the home of the dramaric kulasas---the Little Theater, situated in the high school building.

During my senior year, my classmate was the director of the theater group. This gave our class an excuse to enjoy such perks as being excused from class to see the productions.

After a successful season, which culminated in a well-received play at the end of the semester, the theater group decided to celebrate their triumph backstage. Nearly everyone came to the party.

Needless to say there was lots of picture taking to record the occasion. Cameras popped everywhere to capture the high-spirited actors.

The moment was captured -- and so was the image of an uninvited guest.

When the film was developed, the pictures were passed around so that everyone could have a look-see.

One of the pictures of the group contained a headless silhouette in between two of the girls. The figure was very hazy, but one could clearly delineate a dress hanging without a head and feet on the ground. The dress was backlit and looked totally ethereal.

Almost half of the student population at St. Scho saw the picture. Everyone who saw it said it gave them creeps. We all tried to grope for an earthly explanation for the apparition.

We tried blowing up the picture to figure out what it was, whether it was just a trick of camera lighting. But enlarging the picture solved nothing except to make the image even more frightening. Although the figure looked harmless, everyone who saw it felt a profound sense of suffering.

More than a little spooked, the theater group had the Little Theater blessed.

That was the last play I watched in the Little Theater. After a while, the controversy died down and our batch graduated without much incidence.

After graduation, I took a vacation in the province. It was, I felt, a much needed break before I entered the world of the working class.

Back from my vacation, with no prospect yet of a job, I was spending a little more quality time at home alone.

One day, as I was taking a siesta, I had a weird dream. I dreamt of the image and she was warning me about something.

In my dream I was at the foot of an old wooden bridge. It was dark, and the evening sky was painted a solid, inky blue, like it was colored in with craypas (the Japanese crayons).

At the other end, lying in wait, was the image from the photograph. Unlike in the picture where the image did not have a head, this time I could see the face of the image cleary. It was the face of a young woman. I saw her serene, young face. She was wearing the same dress in the picture. She was surrounded by big pine trees and I can feel the mist on my skin. She just stood there, waiting.

As I walked toward her, I bacame aware of the chasm underneath the bridge. I refuse to look down. I kept my focus on my pace and joined her on the other side. I counldn't vividly remember what happened when we met. She was trying to explain to me a lot of things and telling me not to go to a Hindu seminar I was planning to attend.

All of a sudden, I woke yp, gasping for air. I was shaken, my heart was pounding a mile a minute.

When I managed to catch my breath I remembered that I saw an ad in the papers for a seminar on Hindu teaching and I was asking a friend to go with me. Why was she warning me about that?

I never did find out. A few days later I landed my first job and concentrated on my career.

I never went to that seminar. And she never appeared in my dreams.

Taken from True Philippine Ghost Stories

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A Summer Night's Tale

By Dino Ray V. Directo III

It was a scene straight out of an episode from the twilight zone. Or perhaps a chapter from one of Bram Stoker's spine chilling novels.

Before my eerie encounter with the supernatural, I was a skeptic, oftentimes shrugging off these stories as "make believe" or bedtime tales that grandmas sometimes tell their apos.

That was, until I experienced a ghostly tale of my own.

My encounter occurred during the mid-90s, when I was still a cub reporter for the Manila Bulletin.

My editor, who edited the features and lifestyle section, was given an invitation to the opening night of a play being staged at the ruins of Fort Santiago by a group of stage artists.

Although I don't remember the title of the play, I remember distinctly it topbilled sexy actress Tetchie Agbayani and was directed by comedian Soxy Topacio.

Because my editor had a previous engagement, she decided to give me the tickets so I could cover it for the paper.

The invitation was for Saturday, at 7:00 pm at the ruins of the Fort, directly across the building that housed Jose Rizal's memorabilia.

I decided to turn the assignment into a date and took my then-girlfriend to watch the play with me. It was a glamorous event, with tinseltown's best, not to mention top politicians and socialites, in attendance. The opening night alone was a story in itself!

At around 9:20 pm, during a lull in the play, my girlfriend whispered that she had to go to the comfort room. But there was a long queue at the comfort room behind the stage, so we opted to look for one outside.

After asking directions from the security guard, we finally found a comfort room, at the side of the Fort's main entrance. These restrooms were newly built, constructed in the area that used to showcase the cars of Emilio Aguinaldo.

Since everybody was at the play, the only person in the vicinity was the security guard at the main gate. Nobody else was around.

The chamber going inside the restroom was cold, damp and pitch dark. Apparently, nobody was expected to use the facilities at that time of the night, so the maintenance man probably turned off the lights. I had to grope for the light switches. The first door on the left was the ladies' room and the door down at the hallway was for men's room.

Out of habit, I peeked inside the cubicles to see if anyone was there. As expected, no one was in the restroom.

So I went about my business. As I was taking a leak, the air inside the restroom plummeted several degrees---like the airfrom a refrigerator when the door is opened. That's weird, I said to myself, but didn't think it was anything to worry about.

All of a sudden, I felt something caressing my neck. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. And then I felt something caressing both my shoulders, down to my feet. Goosebumps popped up all over my arms.

I didn't know what to do. I did not want to turn around, for fear of what I might see behind me. There I was in the middle of answering the call of Nature, and some invisible... entity... was giving me a back rub!

To keep from screaming my lungs out in panic, I began humming out some unintelligible song to break the heavy silence. It was like something was about to happen. After what seemed like an eternity, halfway through my act of nature, all five toilet bowls in the restroom flushed at the same time.

This was all I needed to hear. Galvanized by fear, I zipped up my pants, even though I was not yet through doing my thing, and fled to the corridor, trying hard not to scream.

When I got to the corridor, I heard my girlfriend scream from the inside of the ladies room. I rushed inside, grabbed her, and we both scampered out the door.

Later, when we'd both calmed down she told me that something weird happened to her too in the restroom.

As she was answering the call of nature, a person in military boots walked by her cubicle three times. At the same time, the tiles in front of her got hit by some inexplicable force and flew outside the cubicle. That was when she decided enough was enough, and she screamed her head off.

Hearing the commotion, the security guard came over to check on us. We told him about what we experienced and he immediately radioed for assistance.

The following day, I relayed my experience to the stage director. He merely laughed at what I told him. Apparently he and the other members of the play had gotten used to such bizarre happenings that hardly anything scares them anymore.

Once, he said, during a rehearsal, a spectre walked across the stage in one of the scenes. Those who saw him said he was Caucasian and dressed in colonial attire. The rehearsals were cancelled for the day.

More than a decade after that incident, I still find it hard to go inside Fort Santiago after dark.

Taken from True Philippine Ghost Stories

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Ghostly Encounter In Boracay

By Henry Barrameda

Part I: The mysterious passenger

Behind the festive mood that Boracay has on summer nights is a mystery waiting to be discovered by an unfortunate few.

I was one of those few whose memories of wholesome frolic in the pristine sands have been tainted by a dark and horrific experience.

It happened two summers ago, when the company I worked for mounted a huge event in the island paradise. As expected, the Boracay nights that summer were lit up by a string of parties because we were not the only ones scheduled to hold an event there.

These parties would last throughout the night and almost always end in the wee hours of the morning. Some of the revelers would party on even as the morning sun peeked out of the horizon.

On our last night on the island, when the last of our parties was held, my roommate and I decided, for once, to turn in right after midnight. After a week of festivities, we were both partied out. Besides, we were exhausted from the work we'd been doing for the past five days. We decided on an early morning swim before departing for Manila in the afternoon.

As we weaved in and out of the crowd on our way to our rooms, the noise became steadily fainter. As we stumbled onto the main road, an eerie silence greeted us.

Since it was only a little past midnight, we thought we could still catch a tricycle to ferry us back to our resort, which was on the southern end of the island. For hald an hour, we waited. Finally I proposed that if after 10 minutes no tricycle passed by to pick us up, we might as well walk the one-kilometer trek back to our resort.

My companion wasn't too happy with the idea since we didn't know what we would encounter on the way. He had heard about the island's urban legends. Being a non-believer of such horror tales, I insisted that if we wanted to make it back to the resort and get enough sleep, we had to hoof it.

Realizing he was left with no choice, my friend finally agreed. So after 10 minutes and no tricycle passed, we began our hike back to our lodgings.

By the time we'd reached a hundred meters, we were so exhausted from trying to trudge through the badly lit road, which, to top it off, was under repair at that time. We had to be careful about which side of the road to walk on.

Minutes later, we heard the welcome sound of a motorcycle engine somewhere behind us. I looked back and saw a tricycle coming towards us. Relieved, we flagged down the vehicle and stumbled into the vestibule, stammering our thanks to the driver.

The driver merely grunted and sped down the highway.

After another hundred meters or so, we neared a bank. To our surprise, the driver told us that he could no longer take as any further and insisted we get off at that point.

We asked him why but he would not give us a straight answer, answering cryptically:

"Basta, madilim na masyado paglampas dyan." (It's already too dark beyond that point.)"

We became furious upon hearing this, not because we were frightened by what lay ahead, but because we were already exhausted and walking the rest of the way to our rooms was a big inconvenience. We hurled invectives at the driver, but he seemed oblivious to anything we did.

Left with no choice, we got off and began trudging back home.

A few minutes later, we heard another motorcycle engine coming from behind us. Another tricycle was coming. It was rinnung at low speed and so we thought it would stop to pick us up. We flagged him down.

To our surprise, he did not stop, though it was impossible for him not to see us. Instead, he sped up.

He probably has too many passengers already, we thought.

Peering into the tricycle cab as it passed by, tried to peek in. We saw nothing but the driver and a lady seated at the back. A few meters away from us, the tricycle stopped and we saw the lady alight.

This is our chance, we said. We shouted at the driver, telling him to wait for us, and ran to the vehicle. As we made ourselves comfortable inside the tricycle, we attempted to make small talk with the driver.

We asked him if the lady who went down from his vehicle earlier was his girlfriend. The driver did not seem to hear, nor bother to answer us. Instead, he increased his speed and careened dangerously from side to side. We had to hold on to the railings to maintain our seats on the vehicle.

By the time we reached the end of the road and were about to alight, we began to worry that the driver had gone berserk. We asked him what the matter was. As we handed him our money, he finally replied, "Sinong babae (Which girl)?" Obviously refering to our earlier question.

We replied, "Eh di yung binaba ninyo doon sa may puno. (The girl who alighted near the group of trees.)"

"Wala akong sinakay na babae, kaya ako huminto sa unahan niyo kasi yung pwesto niyo kanina may lumalabas na babae pag hatinggabi. (I didn't pick up any lady passenger. The reason I didn't stop in front of you is because that area is notorious for being haunted by a ghost lady who appears every midnight.)"

Part II: The telephone call

As the tricycle driver sped off, all we thought about was how we'd reached the resort without encountering any more eerie incidents.

There was still a stretch of road before we finally got to our lodgings. We took comfort in the fact much of it was via the beach, where some other resorts were located.

We prayed that these resorts would have their lights on at that time of the night. Sure enough, all of the resorts that lined the last strip of beach towards our resort had lampposts, giving more than ample lighting to those passing by.

Upon reaching the resort, we noticed that the reception area was empty. None of the guests appeared to be up and about.

"At last, some peace of mind," we thought, heaving a sigh of relief.

We took our keys from the front desk and tried to put up a brave front by singing our way up the stairs in order to keep our minds off the lady of the road.

When we finally reached our room, we checked for anything unusual, like if the bed covers were dishelved, or the windows left open, to make sure we didn't have anymore spooky encounters.

Everything seemed to be normal. This calmed down our jittery nerves and we tiredly prepared for bed.

Looking at the air conditioner, I debated whether to turn it on or not, since the air outside had been cold and dry. I decided not to, informing my roommate that the air was cold enough to leave the aircon off. He agreed.

I settled down to get some shut-eye, as my roommate went to the bathroom for a quick shower.

Just as I was drowsing off, I felt chilly wind slip into the room. It was colder than the breeze we felt outside. I stood up and shut the windows against the frosty night air. Bothered but too exhausted to do anything else, I cocooned myself within the bed covers. Determinedly, I ignored the icy atmosphere.

My roommate, who had just gotten out of the bathroom, rushed to put on some clothes, complaining loudly of the cold. I told him I already closed the window. I no loner felt the cold so much since I had already covered myself in the comforters that I brought.

We got into a heated discussion over whether to put on some music as we slept. I wanted some music because I usually fell asleep listening to it. My roommate on the other hand complained he couldn't sleep with the radio on.

After some amount of reasoning, I won the arguement. But he had gotten worked up by the thought that he might not be able to get some sleep and so grumbled loudly, even as I hummed to the music that was playing, oblicious of my roommate's irritation..

After a few minutes, he got fed up, said he would not be able to sleep of we kept the music on, moreso if I kept humming to the songs. What started as a little argument soon escalated into a shouting match.

In the middle of the argument, we both realized I had dropped some of the materials needed for our event while we were on the tricycle.

I told him nothing was gonna make me go back out there and pick them all up, not even the threat of my boss' wrath.

In the middle of the argument, the phone rang. We froze and stared at the phone. It was like a scene from those horror schlockers, when something spooky is about to happen. Meanwhilem the phone kept ringing.

We let it ring few more times while we silently argued over who would pick it up. Neither of us would budge. Eventually, I caved in. I felt guilty about the music and the lost materials.

I picked up the receiver and said hello, but there was no one on the other end of the line. So I put the receiver down and went back to bed.

Less than a minute later, the phone rang again. I told my roommate it was his turn to pick up. So he answered the phone, but like the first time, no one was on the other end. Instead of getting scared, we became annoyed by the incessant ringing.

I decided to contact the officemates we left at the party to ask if they had been trying to call. I was sure no one would call us at that time of the night except our officemates, who probably wanted to make sure we were safely back at the resort. Not one of them admitted to calling is up.

Then the phone rang again. This time, it was my turn to pick it up and a voice finally spoke on the other end. It was a woman's voice. I asked what she wanted ans she asked if the has called the right room number. I said yes. I asked her again what she wanted.

What she said sent chills down my spine.

"Hindi niyo ba kailangan ang mga gamit na naiwan niyo sa daan kanina (Do you not need the materials you dropped on the road earlier?)"

I instantly dropped the phone. I tried to recall of there was any other lady in the area at that time. I could swear there wasn't any.

I ran for the bed and buried myself under the covers. I told my roommate all about the conversation. He said it could have been some lady whom we saw back there. But how could she know which resort and room we were staying in, I challenged him. It was impossible for her to tell from the materials we had dropped because they did not contain any information about where we stayed.

My roommate ordered me to leave the phone off the hook so would not get anymore calls. I did. Right after I did that, the phone rang all of 13 times!

Already frightened out of our wits, we unplugged the phone.

"Let's see if that phone rings again. Because if it does, I am out of here. I am running to the beach and heading off to out officemates, even if it takes me half an hour to get there!" I cried.

The phone became silent after this.

But as soon as we were under the covers, the phone rang 13 times again. We did not get up. Instead we shut our eyes tight and determinedly ignored the incessant ringing.

When we woke the next morning, we told all of our officemates about the incident. I thought our horror had ended that night. I was wrong.

The resort owner overheard us talking about it and finally spoke up:

"Paano magri-ring eh putol ang lahat ng linya mula alas-onse ng gabi. Tsine-tsek ko pa nga oras-oras eh. 'Di ako nakatulog kasi may kailangan akong tawagan sa resort diyan sa daan malapit sa bangko. May babae daw na nawawala. Akala ko yung pamangkin ko. (How can it ring, when the line has been disconnected since 11 o'clock last night. I know because I kept checking every hour for news of my niece. I couldn't sleep because I had to call the resort near the bank. Reports claim a woman has been missing, I was afraid it might be my niece."

He left us speechless, with our mouths hanging open.

Taken from True Philippine Ghost Stories

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Message From Two Lovers

By Joel P. Salud

They almost never made it to Bataan.

The sky was unusually downcast for that time of the month, almost desolate, though not nearly pitch black.

Juni, the associate editor of a lifestyle magazine, and his staff of photographers and writers, were assigned to do a feature on the history of Bataan.

It was the kind of assignment no editor or writer would ordinarily want to do, except for the prospect of advertisers coming in to sponsor the feature. At P120,000 a full-page ad, journalistic ethics may be temporarily suspended, or so they say.

Dampness hung in the air like freshly washed linen. The somnolent dusk, awash with the scent of the cool night wind, made the late afternoon suitable for sleeping. Surprisingly, however, the whole staff was wide awake and alert, raring to get started so as to make the most of the trip.

As the day unwound, slowly slithering into nightfall, the group began rearranging and packing their things inside their dark blue van. From a distance, they saw where they would make their first stop for the day-an old, historic light at the old abandoned port at the foot of the steep cliff.

Through the years, Rodel's family had befriended numerous sailors and seafaring merchants. Most of whom brought them vases, jewelry and other gifts everytime they docked at the port.

It was on one of those numerous visits that Rodel's great-great-grandmother, Estrellita, then 16 years of age, met Chiang, a young 18-year-old Chinese-Filipino boatman from Manila. After a few visits, the two fell in love. The lovers used to rendezvous at the old lighthouse.

Rodel stood up and, pointing at the wall near the small window, said that the soft white limestone allowed the two lovers to make inscriptions on the wall. Jhen, Mark and Cynthia could barely read the scratch marks, but they were distinguishable just the same. The messages were written in old Tagalog. They were short love letters, a record of meetings, dates and time. Estrellita and Chiang actually recorded in stone the days, times and goings on each time they met at the lighthouse.

How romantic, Cynthia said, taking a long swig from her beer can. Mark could only laugh at her comment.

However, not all inscriptions told happy stories. One inscription, presumably from Chiang, spoke of a certain Jose, a Spanish-Mexican sailor who wanted to have young Estrellita for himself. The inscription did not elaborate. However, Rodel knew the whole story.

One evening, while Estrellita and Chiang were inside the lighthouse, Jose Barged in with a couple of Spanish soldiers, demanding the arrest of the young Chinese-Filipino trader.

By this time in Intramuros, Manila, the Chinese community was being harassed by the Spaniards for no apparent, justifiable reason. The Spanish soldiers dragged Chiang and Estrellita out of the lighthouse where the young Chinese-Filipino was shot point-blank in the head. He was killed instantly. Estrellita fearing for her life, ran back to the lighthouse until she reached the top. Jose, vowing to claim Estrellita's chastity before killing her, tried to rape the poor maiden.

But it was too late. Upon reaching the top, Estrellita leaped from the ledge to her death and body crashing on the jagged rocks below. Her last words were, according to those who knew the story, "Hindi kita mahal!"

The group did not say anything, as the garbled sound of waves smashing against the cliff wall punctuated the silence.

Juni, who by then had already consumed about four cans of beer, stood up to go to the john. It was a small room at the side of the window. While the caretaker continued to relate his story, Juni excused himself and went in. The room was dark, save for the feeble light coming from the rechargeable lamp.

As Juni relieved himself, he noticed moisture building up on the mirror next to where he was standing. A chilly breeze rose inside the small room as the midnight moon hurled patches of light where Juni stood wide-eyed.

Suddenly, Rodel, Mark, Cynthia and Jhen heard Juni scream from within the bathroom. They rushed to see what happened. There they saw Juni immobile, his eyes fixed on the mirror beside him. On the cracked mirror, words were spelled out as droplets of water ran down the unpolished glass.

"Hindi kita mahal..."

Juni, they all remembered, is a Spanish mestizo. The group fled the lighthouse.

Taken from True Philippine Ghost Stories

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The Haunting At Concha Cruz Drive

By Joel P. Salud

Marc, a young man in his late 20s, was cruising inside BF Homes Subdivision in Parañaque City along with his two pals. They were speeding along at about 40 kms/hour on a quarter-mile long road known to BF homeowners as Concha Cruz Drive. This long stretch of asphalt used to be the venue for drag races among teenagers in the early 80s.

Ronnie, one of Marc's friends riding with him motioned for them stop. He wanted to relieve himself by the grassy area along the right side of the road. It was nearly midnight, and all was quite as usual. There was not a car in sight.

After Ronnie finished doing his business, the group went back on the road, cruising along Concha Cruz on their way to El Grande Avenue to bring home their friend Jen.

About two hundred meters before the nearest intersection, they were surprised when a black sedan pulled up along their right side. Its windows were heavily tinted so that neither Marc nor his friends could see into it. The black car stopped right next to Marc's, obviously spoiling for a drag race. Marc, the son of a race car driver, was just too ready to oblige the unknown challenger.

As both car drivers gunned their engines repeatedly, the three young boys noticed the window of the black car slowly being rolled down. Marc and Jen rolled out their own window to see who they were racing against. What they see inside chilled their blood.

Inside the black sedan,Marc and Jen saw a young man and a young woman, dressed totally in white, their clothes drenched in fresh blood, their ashen faces streaked with blood that seemed to be pouring from head wounds.

Both lay lifeless on their seats, looking like victims of an accident, with their bloodshot eyes staring unseeingly ahead.

Marc immediately stepped on the gas pedal and sped away from the sedan, which remained motionless. When Jen looked back, he saw nothing but pitch darkness, with only the light from a lamppost flickering feebly in the distance.

They rushed to the nearest house on Concha Cruz, where they knocked frantically until someone finally opened up for them and let them inside. All three were shaking from head to toe; pale from absolute fright. Upon hearing what happened, the lady who let them in, Mrs. Tirona, told them to sit down and listen to a story...

During the early 80s, Concha Cruz was the place to be if you were a race car enthusiast. Teenagers, beginning at nine in the evening, would converge at a certain portion of the road to drink beer, play some loud music from their expensive car stereos, and rev up their "loaded" engines. Most of them lived in BF Homes and adjacent subdivisions.

Eric (not his real name) was one of the top racers of the bunch. He drove a jet black Toyota Macho Machine which his father gave him for his 23rd birthday.

One Sunday afternoon, Eric and his girlfriend, Jenina, were cruising down Concha Cruz Drive when a rival racer - Bernard - pulled up at his side and challenged him to a race. The two cars were right at the very spot where the starting line was drawn. Eric tried to beg off, at the request of Jenina. But Bernard was insistent. Eventually, he managed to provoke Eric into accepting challenge.

As the two drivers gunned their engines, Jenina tried to strap on her seatbelt, asking Eric to do the same. But before she could do so, the two cars lurched ahead, careering down Concha Cruz Drive at top speed.

All of a sudden, one of Bernard's tires blew out. As the car swerved and skidded off the road at close to a hundred kilometers an hour, Bernard's car hit Eric's Toyota, crashing the black sedan into one of the trees. Without the seatbelts to protect them, Eric and Jenina had no chance of surviving. Eric died instantly from massive head and facial injuries. Jenina's head cracked open on impact when she hit the dashboard. She died a few hours later on an operating table.

Bernard walked away with only minor bruises.

Eric and Jenina were dressed in white during their burial.

The black car still haunts Concha Cruz Drive to this day.

"Sometimes, there are witnesses who claim they still see Eric and Jenina drive down the street, flagging down cars driven by teenagers, showing the kids their wounds.

It's probably their way of warning kids not to race down Concha Cruz Drive.

Taken from True Philippine Ghost Stories

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'MY FATHER DOESN'T LOVE ME' : 'WHAT DO I DO?'

Families full of emotional pain and anger seem to be everywhere. If you are in one, here's what you can do.

By David Fraser

"By the time he was through with me, I was spitting blood all over the ground and blood covered the front of my T-shirt.

If You Were GOD... What would you say to encourage teens?

By Joseph W. Tkach

Discouragement comes in all kinds of packages.

With all the pressures on teens today, it's no wonder many feel discouraged.

Maybe the test didn't go well. Or your friend snapped at you and your parents accused you of something you didn't do.

Or the kids at school laughed at your outfit. Or you messed up during the big game, or didn't even get to play.

When you're discouraged, though, wouldn't it be nice to know that there was someone in your corner, pulling for you? Someone powerful, yet understanding. Someone who cares and doesn't think the things that bother you are small and silly. Someone you can always rely on.

What would this ultimate helper be like? What would you want this person to say and do to encourage you? If you had all power and all knowledge, what would you do?

We asked a group of junior and senior high school students, "If you were God, what would you say to encourage teenagers?" Here are some of their answers:

Bruce, 18: "I don't think we encourage other people enough. I think we all need to be prompted to do that a bit more."

Katrina, 14: "God's really a good person to talk to because he's all-powerful. He knows what's going on, so he can help you."

Brad, 15: "Try to get involved with helping other people, because you can forget what your problem is."

Carlos, 17: "As God I guess you have to remind all the people that there is something better to look forward to."

Janelle, 16: "You have to remind people that you're there for them, that you won't put them down.

Amber, 14: "To not worry what other people are going to think about you, just be friendly.... I would like to hear God say he's my friend."

"I'll always be there"

"You can look to me for help. Just ask - I'll always be there."

"If I were God, I would think that one of the most important things I could tell a teenager would be the assurance that I am with him, protecting him, guiding his decisions if he will only just choose my path. I would love to give him blessings and have him be my friend."

"Hmmm, [I would say] if they really want to, they can turn a bad situation around and make the best out of it - and I'll be behind them all the way." A lot of teens we asked said they would show they cared and were there for the discouraged teen. The best thing about this is that God agrees with this prescription. He tells us these things in many places.

"For He Himself has said, 'I will never leave you nor forsake you.' So we may boldly say : 'The Lord is my helper; I will not fear' " (Hebrews 13: 5-6, New King James Version throughout).

When God says he will never leave us, he means never. That's a rock solid promise. That kind of firm commitment can help us face difficulties with confidence.

"I understand"

One teen brought out another important way God encourages us. If this teenager were God, he would say: "Well, teen, I know how it is to be a teenager, because my son Jesus Christ was one, and he told me all about it.

"I know the world is pressuring you to grow up and you're not sure how to. You see all around you the evils and problems of this world, and you don't want to fall into those traps.... Hang in there and keep obeying me!"

God does understand. When Jesus Christ came to earth, one of the reasons was so he could experience the things we go through so he could understand how hard it can be. He felt all the weaknesses we feel. He was tempted in the same ways as we are, yet he didn't sin (Hebrews 4:15).

Christ faced it all, and he didn't find it easy. But he met the challenge, and he can help you meet it too.

"I'll take your heavy burdens"

God doesn't promise we won't have burdens to carry, but he does offer to lighten our load.

" 'Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke.... For My yoke is easy and My burden is light' " (Matthew 11:28-30).

Many times we are burdened by the weight of guilt, worries and fear. These often bring us down to discouragement. Christ offers forgiveness, peace of mind and his love, which casts out fear and worry. Without these burdens, our load is much lighter.

Let's look at one more step in the encouragement process that greatly involves us.

We should take the ways God encourages us, and use them to encourage others.

We should be there to show other people we care, as God does for us. We should be understanding, walking a mile in their moccasins, as Christ does for us. And we should help each other with our burdens, both through prayer and through whatever physical help we can wisely give.

God discusses this process of encouragement and comfort in II Corinthians 1:3-4. These verses tell us about the "God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God."

We are to take the comfort and encouragement God gives us and then pass it on to others.

One comment from a high school student sums it all up:

"If I were God, I would probably say 'I'm there for you anytime you want to talk to someone and I love you and care for you.'

"All people need to feel that they are loved by someone. Many of the problems teenagers have are because they feel no one really cares about them, when maybe someone does, but never shows it. I think that if this is said, and is truly meant, it would end a lot of the problems teens [and adults!] have."

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