Ghost stories from Philippines

The Clock in the Dark

The house on Mango Street was a colonial relic, all creaking wood and dusty corners, and it had been in our family for generations. My parents had moved us there...

The Water-Smelling Guest

I never believed in the supernatural, not really. But there are things that happen in the quiet hours that defy logic, and I’ve learned to accept that some mysteries are...

The Phantom Rinse

It began three weeks after I moved into the old Marrow House, a creaking relic at the end of Cedar Lane. The previous tenant had left in a hurry, and...

The Wet News Tape

In the autumn of 2009, I was a graduate student living in a decaying Victorian house on the outskirts of a small, rain-soaked town in the Pacific Northwest. My only...

The Second Copy

I was eight when we moved to my grandmother’s old house in the countryside, a sprawling structure with creaking floorboards and a cellar that smelled of damp earth. My cousin...

Ghost in my Ancestral House

Our ancestral house is located in Malolos, Bulacan. It is the seat of the first congress of the Philippine Revolutionary Government of Gen. Aguinaldo during the revolution against the Spanish...

The Knocking at Number 12

The winter of 1987 was unusually bitter, and the inheritance of my great-aunt’s cottage in the remote village of Blackwood Fen felt less like a holiday and more like a...

The October Corridor

I had never been particularly sensitive to the supernatural. Growing up, I was the one who slept with the lights off and never felt a chill run down my spine....

The Weight of the Moth

The first time I felt it, I was eight, sleeping beside my mother in our cramped one-room apartment on the third floor of a building that smelled of boiling cabbage...

A Friend’s Concern

As I sorted through my belongings, my roommate Mia walked in. We had shared the same apartment for three years, attending different colleges. Mia was usually cheerful, but today she...

The Last Bloom

I was folding my last shirt into the suitcase when my flatmate, Mira, walked in. We were both graduate students at different universities, but we had shared this cramped two-bedroom...

The Last Call at 9:15

I was folding my laundry, the familiar hum of the dorm’s ancient radiator a constant companion, when my roommate, Lena, slipped in. We’d shared this cramped room for three years,...

The Stage That Waits

In the humid afternoons of my childhood in Cebu, the old school building stood like a weary beast under the tin roof. It had been a maternity ward during the...

The Lathe and the Lock

The old mill house sat at the edge of the village of Greybrook, its timber frame leaning like a tired grandmother. We were seven students from the city, sent to...

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