03/01/2016, 7:56 A.M.
I work late at night as a customer service representative. My shift starts at 10 in the evening up until 7 in the morning. The work is mundane and thankless, but hey, it provides me my bread and butter and keeps me inches away from starving to death. Apparently, I'm stuck in this home-work-home cycle for almost a year now and nothing has come knocking at my door ever since. But, let me just clear things up, I am not living a boring life. I'm all fun and adventure; the kind that, you know, adults like me can only understand. Anyway, I'm writing this not to narrate how basically boring my job is, but I'm here to tell you something which I'm not really sure you'd believe in. Yet, I'm still tenacious to let you hear it. It happened just three days ago, and the details of it still give me these irritating spine-tingling sensations.
DAY ONE
02/27/16
I am Adam, 24, a literature student who ended up working in the BPO industry. Don't ask why, the reasons are futile. For almost a year now, I've been living in a decent apartment in a suburban subdivision. The funniest thing here is that my workplace is just 5 minutes away from my apartment, and Nancy, my girlfriend, lives just a couple of blocks away from mine. So, we always see each other every day. But, three days ago, Nancy told me that she needs to visit her sick granny in their province in Ilocos. She told me that she's actually dying and has long to see her favorite granddaughter. I said yes of course. Who wouldn't? It's her family. And we've just been seeing for eight months, I would be a total jerk if I act like an asshole not allowing her to go there. She'd be pissed for sure.
I live on 9th Street. I always reach my apartment by just saying "Nueve" to the motor driver. It's the nickname of the place, and I don't have the right amount of interest to try asking why, even though I'd been so nosy a lot of times. There's a destroyed light post beside an abandoned junk shop in front of my apartment, and that's where I usually tell the driver to pull over. But three days ago, while riding a motorcycle on my way home, the driver, who was a little too old to be working as a driver, suddenly told me something.
"You live in Nuebe?" he asked. The rain was hitting his face. Good thing, I brought a leather jacket with me and hid under its tutelage, away from the fever-threatening rainfall. It was already 7:30 in the morning but it seemed like it was still about to dawn. The place was still dark and, sadly, ultimately gloomy and was giving the feeling of dread.
"Yes, Manong," I answered. I called him Manong because obviously I don't know him. I knew all the drivers in the subdivision. There's Freddie, Agustin, Berto, Magno, Jimboy, Lot-lot, Merto, Casiano and Aling Ganda (who is the only female driver in the subdivision). But, this one driver, I haven't met yet.
"Don't call me Manong. I'm Norman. Berto's father. Berto's sick. He needed to rest. That poor child," he said. Now I see.
"You asked if I live in Nuebe. Why so?" Against the pouring rain, I tried to clear my vision and looked at his face on the side mirrors. He's really old. The dark lines circling his eyes tell it all.
"So, you already have heard about the incident on "Trese"?" he asked. "Trese" refers to 13th street. I haven't been there. The last time I was there was when Nancy and I looked for someone named Douglas, a computer repair man, to fix Nancy's laptop. But since then, I haven't explored that side of the subdivision that much. I always prefer to just stay in my apartment and watch some series. Or think of a new story to write. I'm a frustrated writer if you may ask.
"No. Been here for a year now. But no. I'm not sure what you're talking about," I answered. From where we were, I could almost see the light post and the abandoned junk shop against the heavy lines of rain.
"Oh, is that so? I think it was up in the internet. I'm not really sure, you know. I don't even know how to use the internet," he laughed, the one that fathers give when they're telling some bad jokes. "But Berto said it was posted there by someone. Blogger? Is that the correct word?"
"Yes. I am sure it's on the internet. Everything's on the internet now," I told him matter-of-factly.
"Okay, boy. Look it up," I hated how he called me boy.
"Yeah, I'll check it later," I answered.
We pulled over under the destroyed light post. I quickly gave him 30 pesos and ran straight into the apartment. The green, rusty gate of the apartment did not budge at first. It needs a little push before it can be opened. I stepped in when it opened and before I could even close the gate, the man suddenly shouted albeit the heavy rain.
"Prepare your heart. You may not like it."
I closed the gate after that. Creepy old man.
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02/27/2016, 9:37 A.M.
"Family of Three Brutally Murdered at the House on 13th Street"
March 01, 2015
DAVAO--A residential subdivision was shaken one rainy morning when a motor driver reported a murder incident at 13th St. Clara Subdivision, Davao City. According to the 49-year-old driver, he heard someone asking for help from the Magno house on 13th St. He saw that the gate was open and entered the house to see who it was. The witness told the police that he saw Mrs. Evelyn Magno (39), crawling out from the main door soaked in blood, missing her right arm. The woman was rescued but unfortunately was pronounced dead on arrival. The main suspect, Mr. Ignacio Magno (42), shot himself with a .45 caliber. Further investigations led the authorities to gruesome revelations. The only son of the couple, Steven Magno (5), was found chopped to death inside the family's freezer. The forensics reported that they found some bite marks on the child's body and some parts of the child missing like his fingers, toes and left ear. After the incident, rumors spread that Mr. Magno allegedly tried to eat his child and his wife. There are no statements given by both sides of the family.
Click here to see the photos!
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02/27/2016, 9:39 A.M.
"Igancio Magno: Philippines' Hannibal Lecter"
By @DieSomeMore
Cannibalism is the practice of eating human flesh by other humans. There are tribes around the world that practice cannibalism. The most popular of these is the Korowai Tribe of Papua New Guinea. Just recently, Davao City was shaken by a murder incident which involved cannibalism. But the local media did not have the slightest intention to further sensationalize the murder, as it was also ordered by the city's mayor, to avoid the feeling of dread and panic among its locale. Ignacio Magno, 49, a businessman, brutally murdered his wife and their only son one rainy morning in their own residence at 13th St, Clara Subdivision, Davao City. The media allegedly filtered the incident and only reported that the father just tortured his family, and that it's just another murder committed by a depressed, disappointed and deranged father. Yet, there are accounts circulating among forums in the internet, stating the truth that actually happened at the Magno residence.
Here are some of the most vivid accounts told by some people in one forum I am a member of:
@TheRevelation1989:
"He (Ignacio) was greatly depressed when he found out that his business is at the brink of bankruptcy. He started hitting some drugs and his family was not able to control him. A couple of days later, the wife started to come home rarely and stayed with her mother's house for some time along with their only son. The day the murder was committed was the day when the mother and the son decided to come back home and check Ignacio. When they went inside his room, the wife noticed that all of the windows of the room were covered with some newspapers and other stuff, and everywhere are their family pictures pinned on the walls. They saw Ignacio in the middle of the room, kneeling and as if praying. Before him was what seemed to be like an altar with lit candles and under the altar was the rotting corpse of their dog. The dog was missing two of its legs. This surprised the wife horribly and ran off with her kid. But Ignacio caught them and stabbed his wife several times. The kid was able to run into his own room and locked himself up. The wife suddenly lost consciousness. And while she was out, he carefully hacked off her right arm. He ate the arm right there and there like a wild animal. As if not yet satisfied, Ignacio looked for his son. When he caught him, he chopped the kid to death and ate some of his body parts as well. After consuming some parts of his chopped son, he kept him inside their freezer. The wife, woke up after a couple of minutes but was already dying. She crawled out into the main door. While she was doing this, Ignacio saw him. This time, it was told by some that the effects of the drugs he was taking wore off and suddenly realized the gruesome thing he did. He ran away from his dying wife and went into their room. He found his .45 caliber, pointed it to his head, and shot himself. The wife called out for help and was seen by a passing old man. The rest is history."
@prettygurl19:
"That sounds so fake. They all died. Where did you get all of this information?"
@animezen
"Yeah, dude! Unless you tell us who gave you this information about the murder that's the only time we'll believe you"
@TheRevelation1989:
"The media filtered it. The Magno had a housemaid who is now living somewhere in South Cotabato. She was an eye witness. She hid herself while the murder was going on. She did not dare coming out until the coast was clear. The media did not report her story after they interviewed her. Hey @animezen, @prettygurl19, check out her Facebook if you want to see her. I'll send you a link to her profile."
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02/27/2016 12:03 P.M.
Shit! I can't sleep. I shouldn't have clicked those photos. The Murder on 13th Street—bullshit. I shouldn't have read the articles at all. I can manage reading those kinds of stuff and seeing murder photos, but to think that it happened just a few blocks away from my apartment, that sends me the creeps. I'd better fix myself a glass of milk or something.
The rain's still hadn't stopped. I usually go to sleep easily in this kind of weather. I peered through the window. I live on the second floor and one lady who just moved in a month ago is living just one door away from mine. Before she moved in, I was the only tenant on this floor. Mr. Enriquez, the landlord, a single 36-year-old, occupies the first room on the first floor. There are four rooms below. Beside Mr. Enriquez's room, is the Gonzales's— family of four who rarely comes out from their room during weekend. Next to the Gonzales's are some Mormon kids who I heard are from Manila for some mission here in Davao. The hell I know. I usually get a greeting from them every time I come in and out of the apartment. "Good day, bro," is what they usually say. I am not the religious type so I normally snob them. Next to the Mormons are Mr. Enriquez's parents. I heard his father is already bedridden and his mother takes care of him every now and then. Obviously, the couple could no longer lord over the apartment so they gave the responsibility to their only son. This has been their source of income.
"Maybe Mr. Enriquez knows about the murder incident and keeps quiet so that people won't hesitate renting their apartment," I whispered to myself while stirring my milk. I don't normally drink milk but Nancy brought some last week and told me that it's good for me. Hey, I'm a good boyfriend, so I'll finish whatever she gives me.
I peered down the window again. The pavement outside was soaked wet and some pools of water were already forming. My table is next to the window in case you're wondering. Nancy told me it's better to eat when there's sunlight. It gives a "positive vibes" she said. As if. I'm not the type of person who likes being positive. Matter of fact, I live a very pessimistic life. The world also needs us, you know. Being negative can sometimes save your ass.
I sipped my milk and looked out the window again. This time, I caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a man in a raincoat standing beside the old junk shop. I squinted and tried to get a better look of the person in the raincoat. What is he doing in the middle of this pesky rain?
I think he saw me because he hurriedly left. I quickly opened my window. The cold gush of wind greeted me.
Where the hell did he go? Did he hide? I heard no one comes in that old junk shop anymore. The owner left it and told everyone that he'd be back but until now he hasn't. At least that's what I heard.
I closed the window after my sense of mystery immediately died out. Still, I'm a "frustrated" writer, and my sense of thrill and fun hasn't left me since college. When was the last time I read a book? Where are my books anyway?
Now that I read that article about the murder at the house on 13th street, I remembered a similar story I read when I was still a student. It goes with the same title actually. Who wrote it again?
I hurried to my bed and opened my laptop.
"The...House...on...Zapote...Street...by..." I slowly whispered while typing.
Then a knock on the door startled me. The knocking was persistent.
"Hey! I'm coming!" I shouted. I closed my laptop, wore a t-shirt and hurried for the door.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"I'll open it just wait!"
I unlocked the door. What I saw surprised me for a second but I quickly composed myself. Standing by my door was the lady who just moved in. She actually looked scared, and I could see that she'd been crying. Her eyes were red as hell. When I opened the door, the lady hurriedly entered and closed the door herself forcefully.
"Hey, what's happening? Are you being chased? Are you in trouble?" I asked her, sounding concern. I was not actually.
The lady was kind of 30-ish something. She wore a black blouse and a long, white skirt. Maybe she noticed that I was starting to feel awkward with the situation that she suddenly spoke.
"He's here," she said, letting out those words albeit her whimpers.
"Hey, what are you talking about?" I raised my voice. I was getting mad I think. I am not the kind of person who likes being in this kind of situation. I was thinking maybe she's got in trouble with her husband or whoever. I don't want to get involved.
"I summoned him," she mumbled. I could see now the rosary she's tightly holding. Her fingers twitching it every now and then. That bothered me. "It worked. I can't believe it worked," she whispered.
"What worked?" I was starting to get the idea that maybe she's one, crazy lady and could be dangerous. "Can you please leave now? Or else I'm calling Mr. Enriquez," I threatened him. This actually stopped her from talking nonsense and looked at me straight in the eyes. I did not like how the way she stared. The one you usually see on movies when a character gives a premonition of death or something.
"I summoned him," she said again. This time her words were very clear. It's as if all the noise around us muted in an instant.
"Can you please go out, now?" I said once more. Now, I was really getting mad but I couldn't shake off the feeling of dread and fear.
I opened the door and pushed her out. She did not stop me from doing so. But before closing the door, she suddenly whispered to me, her eyes locking on mine.
"Don't sleep. Or else, he'll eat you alive."
"Crazy lady!" Then I banged the door closed.
I'd talk to Mr. Enriquez later before going to work and tell him everything that happened just now. That's one shitty thing to happen in this kind of day. And I was not yet sleeping. I need to sleep.
I forgot everything. Even the story of The House on Zapote Street that I was searching earlier suddenly veered away from my mind. The rain outside continued pouring; the window was making a weird noise as the rain tapped on its glass. I closed it and peered down once more. The man who was wearing a raincoat earlier hasn't reappeared. The crazy lady next door was now starting to get inside her room. I could hear her door being shut.
I slept aftet an hour in spite of what happened that afternoon.
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I suddenly was awoken by a loud crash outside. It was like someone threw something very heavy on my door. I stood up from my bed and checked the time. It was still 5 in the afternoon, but everything was dark.
My feet felt cold as I walked toward the other wall to switch the lights on. The light flickered for a matter of seconds and finally flooded the room with its fluorescent white. I noticed it was rather chillier than earlier and saw that the window was open. I closed it, peered down on the old junk shop, no one was there.
I hurried to the door after washing my face. What made the sound earlier?
The door knob felt chilly as well when I touched it. Slowly, I turned it and opened the door wide.
I lost all my strength by what I saw.
The lady, leaning against the wall fronting my door, covered in her own blood. There's a visible slit on her throat and blood endlessly flowed from her neck. Beside her was a dead dog. She's dead of course and it's the first time I'd seen a dead person covered in her own blood.
I stumbled in horror and screamed.
There were writings on the wall.
"CURSED IS THE ONE WHO DARES TO GO TO THE HOUSE ON 13TH STREET"
I blacked out.