It’s a good place to pray. His parent’s words rang hollow in Alfonso’s heart.

The first time his parents said they were going to La Union Alfonso had already thought of the questions he would ask the surfing instructor.

He didn’t expect the empty stones of an old church.

Through the years they became a sort of comfort. No matter what happened in his life, the stones would be there. He would be there.

Alfonso remembers the first time he saw the priest.

It was out the corner of his eye. He was exploring the ruins and wanted to know who else was there.

He called out for a friend and he found a phantasm.

Tears in his eyes, he ran to his parents and told them what he saw.

Their answer was always the same – ‘Pray for him’

It is 8PM, 3 hours since Alfonso arrived at the church. He takes another drag on his cigarette and remembers better times.

He tried to find out everything about the priest, of course, digging through urban legends about the headless specter and finding nothing of note.

No one knows why he lost his head. ‘But does it matter?’ he thought.

Another drag, another reflection. ‘The word ‘lost’ implies that you know your destination and you just don’t know how to get there.’ He couldn’t find another word to explain his situation.

He never had a goal he could chase.

9PM and the priest finally shows up, making his rounds through the once-blessed stones.

And Alfonso begins:

Heavenly Father

In You we find salvation

Souls wander

And I cry to you

For those that are hopeless

To those that do not know love

You become all things

To all people

That you may save them

Lift Your hands

Set our souls free

Undo our chains

Cleanse us of the past

Heal our scars

That we may look forward

It happens only through your grace

In your name

Who saves us

Amen

He repeats this without pause and Alfonso’s tears fall on the stones below.

He knows that the priest will still be there the next time.

He knows that he won’t be forgiven.

But he trusts in the power of prayer.

From one lost soul to another.

=====—————————————

Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Inspired by The Headless Priest of Pindangan Ruins urban legends

The Headless Priest of Pindangan Ruins Illustration by Kring Demetrio
IG: www.instagram.com/thekringles
FB: facebook.com/thedrawerkring

The post The Headless Priest of Pindangan Ruins appeared first on Philippine Spirits.

“Mama, she’s doing it again,” Justo says as he pulls his mother’s dress.

“It’s okay anak*just leave her alone. Now help me with breakfast, we have to go to the market,” his mother replies.
“But it’s so early in the morning! I want to sleep more,” protests Justo.

“We both want to sleep more, but if we don’t go to the market there will be no breakfast. Now come along, I’ll make your favorite.”

“Longganisa?!** Ok mama! Let’s go!”

Justo prepares himself for the trip to the market and in the back of his mind he asks, “Why is ate*** like that? All she does is stare outside the window.”

It wasn’t always like that. Justo could remember to the times he wasn’t able to talk and the beautiful serenade of his sister’s voice. He liked the way she would hold him up, as if she was lifting him to the heavens so he could see the entire world.
Those days were gone and he didn’t know why. One night, he heard the soft weeping of his mother from his room and he saw his sister standing by the window side, her eyes glazed.

That wasn’t all that happened. He remembered that his mother told him to stay in his room, no matter what may happen. She locked all the doors and closed the windows and made sure that everyone in the house was where they were supposed to be.

There was a faint sound of something he couldn’t make out. Justo couldn’t keep his curiosity hidden so he pressed his ear against the door to his room and waited.

There was a scream from his sister and a shout from his mother.

And then, silence.

His mother wouldn’t admit that anything was wrong. She would dress up his sister every morning and leave her by the window.

And still, Justo didn’t know why.

What happened to his sister? Why was she like that?

“Mama I’m ready!” Justo was dressed for the rain. He brought his lucky umbrella along to make sure they both would stay dry.

“Oh what a handsome boy! Now come with me, let’s be fast so we can get back early so you can get ready for school.”

“Okay mama.”

Justo couldn’t help but glance at his sister as they left the house. Her eyes locked on something Justo couldn’t see.

Justo always loved the wet market. There were so many things to see and smell. He liked going by the fish vendors and poking the fish in their eyeballs. He had seen older people do this and he thought it was their way of testing if the fish was really fish.

While his mother was haggling over some eggs for their breakfast, Justo had a look around the market. The
vegetables were especially bright today and he spent his time poking some sayote to see if they were fresh.

The vegetable vendor didn’t look particularly amused at the young boy’s playing with his produce and Justo was wondering why he hadn’t been shooed away yet. Usually it would take a few minutes before the vendors realized he wasn’t going to buy anything and they would tell him to go somewhere else.

It was then that Justo realized that the people in the market were looking at him and his mother strangely. They would give a glance and mumble something to their companions before walking away.

“Justo, come here!” his mother called from across the market.

“Coming mama!” Justo ran to his mother’s side, he wanted to go home. Now, he could feel the stares pulling him in different directions.

After his mother paid for the eggs, Justo whispered, “Mama why are people looking at us funny?”

“Don’t pay them any mind. That’s just how some people are,” his mother said with a hint of uncertainty.

But Justo perked his ears and tried to make out what some of them were saying. He could only hear one word, repeated.

“Atros.”

It was the same day in and day out. Justo’s ate would be dressed by their mother and she would sit by the window, unresponsive to anything. One time, Justo threw a ball at her head and she didn’t even flinch.

Every day he would ask his mother what happened and every day she would change the subject.

One day enough was enough.

Justo’s mother was busy washing the dishes when he blurted out,

“Mama, what’s an Atros?”

The kitchen echoes with the sound of the breaking plate.

“Where did you hear that, anak?”

“It was just…. Some people in the market were talking about it when they were looking at us.”

“Don’t listen to them anak, they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“But what is it mama? Does it have something to do with ate?”

“You have to get ready for school don’t you? Come on, get dressed.”

“I’m already dressed mama. Please, tell me. Maybe we can help ate.”

Justo couldn’t tell you how long the moment lasted, but it seemed like five forevers. His mother and he had their gazes locked, both not backing down to the other’s will.

Finally, his mother broke the stalemate.

“It’s time for you to go to school.”

“But mama—-”

“No other words, you have to go to school now.”

“Mama—-”

“No. And don’t ask about this ever again.”

It was the middle of the night when Justo heard something strange from outside his window. It was like the beating of drums.

Justo wondered if it was a parade, but what kind of parade would happen in the middle of the night.

Fueled by curiosity he unlocked the front door and peered outside.

He saw a group of people, though they were very short. They had fair skin, eyes that bulged and big pot bellies. They were riding what looked like horses and the sound of beating drums followed them where they went.

Justo was just about to open the door when someone grabbed him and put their hand over his mouth.

He didn’t have time to react and the mystery figure pushed them both to the ground holding Justo down until the sound of the drums faded.

“Mama!” Justo exclaimed after he saw who it was that pushed down. “What are they?”

His mother was in tears. “I won’t lose another one to those things. I won’t.” Justo managed to pick up through her sobs.
“Mama,” Justo said, “Please. Tell me what happened. What are those things? Do they have anything to do with ate?”

“I was just trying to be a good mother. I heard the drums and I knew the legends. I know what they take.”

“What did they take mama?”

“They took her soul.”

Ever since that night, Justo never trusted the new moon. He saw it as a symbol of loss and pain.

Because every day he would see his sister stare blankly out the window and he knew.

She could never get back what was taken from her.

And it was a curse, knowing what happened, for he couldn’t do anything about it, except watch and wait. For the coming of a new moon.

To see the monsters that took his sister from him.

*Child
**Filipino sausage
***Older sister

Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Story inspired by the Atros legends from La Union

Artros Illustration by Michael Sean B. Talavera
IG: @maykelshan
Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/isaneleach13

The post Atros appeared first on Philippine Spirits.

*Note this story is in Tagalog

Sa bayan kung saan lumaki ang lolo ko, bawal magsalita kapag gabi na.

“Naririnig ko pa rin yung tunog ng bakal na kariton n’ya,” madalas sabihin ng lolo ko.

Kakaiba ang naranasan ko nang tumatanda kasama siya. Nung bata pa kami at mag-iingay kami tuwing gabi, tatakbo siya papunta sa ‘min at sisiguraduhin n’yang tahimik kami, habang hindi siya nag-iingay.

Lagi kong pinagsisisihan dahil tinanong ko kung bakit.
Sa bayan na ‘yon naglalakbay “siya”, hila-hila ang kanyang bakal na kariton. Puno ang kariton ng mga bungo ng mga biktima n’ya.

“Yung mga hindi marunong manahimik.”

Sa paraan ng pagkukwento ni lolo, halatang nawalan si lolo ng mahal sa buhay dahil sa kanya. Hindi nya masyadong binabanggit, pero tuwing gabi naririnig ko s’ya.

“Ernesto, Ernesto kapatid ko, hayaan mo na siya.”

Sabi ni lolo dumaan daw “siya” sa bahay nila. Yung kapatid nya matapang at ignorante, akala niya walang makakatalo sa kanya. Bakas ang kahambugan ng kabataan sa kanya.
“Hinamon niya yung halimaw at nagbayad siya.”

Laging magsesermon si lolo tungkol sa kabayaran. Kung paano nakukuha yung bayad kung masusunod “siya”. Hindi ko naintindihan, hangga’t nung pinaliwanag niya.

“Hindi naman importante kung buhay lang ang kinukuha nung halimaw, pero ang kinukuha nito’y bagay na si kamatayan lamang ang nararapat humawak.”

Nanakaw nito ang kaluluwa ng kapatid ni lolo.

Ngayon, hindi naman ako naniniwala sa mga kaluluwa o halimaw na nakikinig sa gabi, pero nang mamatay si lolo nagsimula na marinig ko yung mga tunog.

Naririnig ko ang pagkalembang nga mga bungo sa isa’t isa sa loob nung bakal na kariton “niya”. Naririnig ko ang sigaw ng mga biktima “niya”, nagmamakaawa para sa panghabangbuhay na paglaya mula sa kanya. Naririnig ko ang huling hininga ng lolo ko, nagmamakaawa para sa kaluluwa ng kapatid niya.
“Parang awa mo na, ako na lang ang kunin mo.”

Pinagdadasal ko na mawala na ang mga tunog. Hindi ko alam kung bakit “niya” sinusundan si lolo, at kung bakit “niya” sinusundan ako. Sinusubukan kong wag na lang pansinin, pero ‘di ko kaya.

Sa bawat gabing lumilipas, palakas nang palakas ang mga tunog.

————————–————————–————————-

English Version

In the town where my lolo was raised, no one was allowed to talk at night.

“I can still hear the sound of its iron cart,” my lolo used to say.

Growing up with him was strange. When we were kids and we would make a sound at night he would run towards us and make sure we were quiet, trying not to make noise himself.

I always regretted asking him why.

In that town it traveled at night, pulling its iron cart. The cart was filled with the skulls of its previous victims.

“The ones that didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut.”

The way my lolo told the story, I knew that he had lost
someone to the monster. He never spoke of it much, but sometimes, at night while he was asleep I could hear him.

“Ernesto, my brother Ernesto, leave him alone.”

He told me it passed by their house. His brother was brave and foolish, he thought he was invincible. The truth of youth was strong within him.

“He challenged the monster and paid the price.”

Lolo would always go on about the price. How it was something that was paid when it got its way. I never understood what it really was until he explained.

“It would not matter to us had the monster only taken lives, but it took something that only death should claim.”

My lolo’s brother had lost his soul to it.

Now, I don’t really believe in things like souls and monsters that listen in the night, but after lolo died the sounds began.

I could hear the skulls knocking against each other in its cart. I could hear the screams of its victims, begging for their eternal release. I could hear the last gasp of my lolo, pleading for his brother’s life.

“Please, take me instead.”

I wish the sounds would go away. I don’t know why they followed lolo and why they’re following me. I try to ignore them, but I can’t.

Every night they get louder.

————————–————————–————————–———–

Written by Karl Gaverza
Tagalog Translation by Ghost Kendrick
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Translation Copyright © Ghost Kendrick

Inspired by the Kuraret legends from La Union

Kuraret Illustration by Leandro Geniston
FB: That Guy With A Pen

Color by Alexa Garde:
Website: Lexa.us

The post Kuraret – Tagalog Translation appeared first on Philippine Spirits.

In the town where my lolo was raised, no one was allowed to talk at night.

“I can still hear the sound of its iron cart,” my lolo used to say.

Growing up with him was strange. When we were kids and we would make a sound at night he would run towards us and make sure we were quite, trying not to make noise himself.

I always regretted asking him why.

In that town it traveled at night, pulling its iron cart. The cart was filled with the skulls of its previous victims.

“The ones that didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut.”

The way my lolo told the story, I knew that he had lost
someone to the monster. He never spoke of it much, but sometimes, at night while he was asleep I could hear him.

“Ernesto, my brother Ernesto, leave him alone.”

He told me it passed by their house. His brother was brave and foolish, he thought he was invincible. The truth of youth was strong within him.

“He challenged the monster and paid the price.”

Lolo would always go on about the price. How it was something that was paid when it got its way. I never understood what it really was until he explained.

“It would not matter to us had the monster only taken lives, but it took something that only death should claim.”

My lolo’s brother had lost his soul to it.

Now, I don’t really believe in things like souls and monsters that listen in the night, but after lolo died the sounds began.

I could hear the skulls knocking against each other in its cart. I could hear the screams of its victims, begging for their eternal release. I could hear the last gasp of my lolo, pleading for his brother’s life.

“Please, take me instead.”

I wish the sounds would go away. I don’t know why they followed lolo and why they’re following me. I try to ignore them, but I can’t.

Every night they get louder.

————————–————————–————————–———–

Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Inspired by the Kuraret legends from La Union

Kuraret Illustration by Leandro Geniston
FB: That Guy With A Pen

Colors by Alexa Garde

Website: Lexa.us

The post Kuraret appeared first on Philippine Spirits.