I see dead people—and haunted places

It seems to be a habit of ghosts to love old places—ancient cemeteries, houses, and yes, even those seemingly lifeless mannequins and body forms. Because I belong to a family where there are four generations of fashion designers, living and deceased, there is no short supply of both ghosts and the forms they inhabit.

Ghosts also love old districts, especially those houses, streets, chapels, and grounds that have had a bloody past. The Ermita area for one saw much violence and bloodshed at the hands of Japanese soldiers during the Liberation of Manila and tales of blood stains in the DLSU chapel abound to this day.

How ghosts especially love to make a home of Baguio with its creepy old houses, brooding pines, and somewhat melancholy air!

My mother-in-law’s seventies-era Baguio apartment facing Mt. Pulag is one place where my kids have heard, seen, and felt ghosts including a malevolent young woman who is obsessed with watching my son Joshua sleep. Amazingly, he is more annoyed than afraid of it and has even sketched the girl’s face. 

One time, one of Joshua’s best friends Briana gifted him with a hilarious eye mask in the form of a frog with droopy eyelids. On his next visit to Baguio, he wore the mask to sleep and distinctly heard the ghost—who either stands by the door or goes up to his face—mutter a sarcastic, “Haha.”

I have come home to the apartment after shopping in the palengke to find my files, notebooks, and other papers on the floor. Joshua claimed the kids in the apartment above us were stomping their feet so much it made my things jump out of their portfolio and land on the carpet.

Fat chance.

And guess what? We learned there were no children in the apartment above.

I have never seen this ghost but I have felt her, sad and unloved. On one trip, as we were preparing to go back to Manila I left her calla lilies on the balcony and prayed that she would find peace and true love in the arms of The One who truly loves us all. The atmosphere lightened after that.

But those are just the Baguio ghosts. 

In the ancestral home of my family in Pasay, my son has walked into a room where some of his artwork is displayed, and while he was there, the open doors of a closet slowly swung shut.

As for me, I have felt and heard a ghost emanating from one of those old mannequins. It actually stomped its foot as if commanding me to leave. I responded by playing and singing praise and worship music which non-benevolent spirits do not like. They will flee.

I do the same at our Quezon City house, built in the seventies and home to my family, our veritable zoo, and my husband’s collection of war artifacts.

We have heard loud booming sounds emanating from artillery containers, and I’ve seen one of the bodiless head mannequins wearing my husband’s helmet and headgear collection glaring at me, captured even in a photo. I deleted the picture because I didn’t like that malevolent stare.

Again, it’s my husband, kids, and household staff who bear the brunt of seeing and hearing most of these spirits. They have heard battles on the staircase, seen faces staring at them, and one yaya took a selfie in the sala only to see, in the photo, a skeletal arm around her waist! I didn’t know about this. She returned to the province for good, saying she had to help her husband manage their sari-sari store.

Yeah right.

My kids and our Pomeranian dream see and hear the ghosts of two of our most beloved departed Poms, Alta and Deena who were half-sisters. Their sudden passing about a year apart left us heartbroken and I guess they know it and miss us too, hence the visits.

Though I often hear or feel ghosts I don’t often see them, but the other day in broad daylight I glanced at the dining table and there was a white cat’s head looking at me. I did a double take and it was gone. I have also gone into my home office in the morning to find my desk in disarray.

Decades ago I used to drive between Ilocos and Abra to source abel for a livelihood project. Accompanied by my friend and churchmate Mags Lim who also worked for the same ADVANCE foundation, we had just left Vigan when on the highway, in front of us was a bus that wove dangerously from side to side. We tried to distance ourselves from this bus as much as we could but it stayed resolutely ahead of us, weaving from side to side.

Suddenly a truck drove between us and the errant bus. Since the truck wasn’t carrying anything we could see that there was a driver with a companion. Sometime later the crazy bus disappeared.

We drove all the way to the junction for Abra at Tagudin with the truck still in front of us. To our amazement, it also turned left at the junction! But this road leads to nowhere but Abra, what were the chances we had the same destination in mind?

Up we drove behind the truck on the winding road past scenic views of the land and the (then called) South China Sea, glinting in the distance.

We were the only vehicles on the road that morning. 

Suddenly Mags pointed out that where there had been a driver and a companion, now only the driver remained in the truck! How could the companion have gotten off? How did he disappear?

And just a short while later the truck disappeared itself, turning down a side road to nowhere.

But thanks to that ghost we arrived in Abra—safe and in one piece.