THE RETURNING SPIRITS

A TREAT FOR NOVEMBER- - I’d like YOU, my dear reader,  to ponder a bit on  the tales I am about to share. Three ladies – a doctor of medicine’, a university professor and a science teacher  who was a pharmacist by profession – had nothing in common except their DISBELIEF in ghosts. All three had scoffed at ghost stories and strange tales. But all that changed when each one , unexpectedly, came face to face with a returning soul.    

THE RETURNING SPIRITS

by mimi illenberger mapa

From  researches and personal interviews of people who willingly shared their experiences with returning spirits, I have learned one vital thing as a writer – ALWAYS KEEP AN OPEN MIND – DO NOT immediately jump into conclusions and refrain from labelling their  stories as “sounds true; just a fairy tale ; most likely exaggerated ; truly fantastic ; sounds like tales from the barbershop ;  and even, obviously kwento ni  Lola Basyang “ I am trying to be funny here but levity aside, there is more to life and the after life than meets the eye…even animals can be spiritual messengers.

I quite agree that in many instances the evidences of “spirit return” experienced by those who have lost friends and loved ones are nothing more than imagined sounds and voices and perhaps even self-created dreams and apparitions brought about by a strong desire for contact with the departed. But how does one explain a spontaneous psychic manifestation involv8ng a total stranger long dead?

From respected authors delving on the occult, a majority believe that the dead are still very much with us and in fact are, even at this moment,  trying to connect with us. The most common ways these spirits are trying to get our attention are through dream visits, scents, sounds and music,  butterflies, dragonflies and birds, rainbows and numbers.

THE WAIF IN WARD D – THE PEDIATRICIAN’S TALE

Criselda C., an paediatrician who now lives with her American husband in Canada, believes that spirits do come back. She tells us that her first and only encounter with the supernatural happened when she was still a medical student in the University of Sto. Tomas.

It was in 1980 and she had just arrived from Manila for the long Christmas break. As soon as she was home, her parents – both active Rotarians- told her that their club was in the midst of a fund-raising campaign for the indigent children confined in the various charity wards of their island province.  They knew their daughter had a soft heart for children and so they invited her to help bring the spirit of the season to the suffering youngsters, most of whom were terminal cases . Criselda readily volunteered her services.

Six years old Noynoy, was a patient in Ward D and had been diagnosed with advanced cancer .He was also from all indications an abandoned child. The day after he was confined in the charity ward for seriously ill children, his distraught  mom, a young widow, had left him to the care of the nurse on duty. The kind, elderly nurse agreed to keep an eye on the boy after the mother explained she needed to go home and get some cash to  buy the boy’s medications and would be right back before dark.  When the mother did not return after 24 hours, the hospital sent their driver to check on her. The driver learned from the widow’s neighbours that the woman had packed her things and gone home to  Masbate along her younger child. She failed to leave a forwarding address.

The boy cried himself to sleep every night and feeding him became  a constant struggle. He was obviously in pain and needed his mom. Moved by the young boy’s plight, Criselda’s parents took it upon themselves  to initiate a fund drive for the boy. Donations in kind, medical services and cash began to pour in from the city’s leading civic organizations. But the boy continued to cry out for his mother and his health continued to deteriorate.

 .  “Sabi ni Inay kailangan iwanan niya muna ako para maghanap ng pera. Sabi niya babalik siya kaagad. Bakit hangang ngayon wala pa siya Ate?”

 Criselda was now practically spending all her waking hours with the waif. She bought him children books, told him stories, spoon-fed him, massaged his aching limbs and even bought him a small transistor radio for a little music.. Each time he whined for his mother, she would cuddle and assure him that his beloved Inay was just busy raising funds for his medicines and would surely return as soon as she had enough money. The attention and assurances worked like magic. Noynoy became more cheerful and his appetite improved tremendously; willingly submitted himself to the ministrations of the hospital staff.

The large, furry teddy bear she bought him for Christmas also made the dying lad happy. He now had “somebody” to keep him company and to cuddle at bedtime.  The little guy was now a changed person but one thing became obvious, young boy had come to regard the medical student as his surrogate mother.

“Ate Crissy, sana bago ka bumalik sa Maynila, nandito na Inay ko.” The child wistfully whispered as she tucked him to bed one evening. “Malulungkot na naman ako pag alis mo.”

But all too soon it was time for her to return to Manila and it broke Criselda’s heart to leave the waif behind. She made her parents promise they’d continue to keep an eye on him and to go on inquiring about his mother’s where about. She also requested them to keep her posted on any development.

Two months swiftly rolled by. It was a Sunday afternoon and Criselda was alone in the dormitory’s reception area, reviewing for an exam. It was siesta time and most of the lady boarders were upstairs resting. And so, when the door bell sounded she decided not to wait for the receptionist to come out and open the door.

She was speechless with surprise when she saw the once bedridden Noynoy looking so healthy  and happy in the company of this smiling young woman whom she instinctively knew was the boy’s missing mother. Both were smiling widely at her.

 As she continued to stare at them with utter bewilderment., the child lifted his hand and blew her a goodbye kiss.

“Ate, salamat at paalam .” She heard his voice in her mind and her heart leaped out. But before she could move, both visitors had disappeared into thin air….

The phone rang, it was her mother on the line . The hospital had just called, she told her daughter sadly. Noynoy had drifted into a coma a day earlier and died in his sleep about an hour ago.

From what Criselda’s family had gathered, Noynoy’s mother had packed her things the very day  she had returned from the hospitals. . She had gone back to her hometown to raise some money and to leave to her other child with her parents-in-law.  The ferry boat she took on her return  to Manila had caught fire and sunk. She was among those lost at sea.

It took a while before the poor, unschooled grandparents of Noynoy to succeed  in tracing his whereabouts. His mother apparently failed to write down the hospital’s name and address  and this resulted to a lot of confusion.. But the oldsters,  with some help from former neighbours, were able to trace their dying grandson’s whereabouts and were with the boy for a week before he finally succumbed to his illness.

THE SPECTRAL OLD WOMAN – TWO HORRIFIED SISTERS SEE A GHOST .

Two sisters – a ten year old and an eight year old -  traditionally spent their long school holidays vacationing with their grandparents who lived in an ancient colonial mansion in Hacienda Sta. Filomena in Negros Occidental. And this particular summer respite was nothing different.

The huge bedroom occupied by the youngsters opened to face an altar on the opposite wall. There stood a life-size statue of the Virgin Mary with a vigil oil lamp that was kept burning day and night at the foot of the altar.. Here, their pious grandparents spent their early morning and evening hours praying; it was also here that the two girls , together with their Lola Milng,  gathered for the Angelus prayers each night after the church bells sounded the end of day.  

One late afternoon, the girls were still playing in the vast orchard when they heard the church toll.. Without waiting to be called, the two girls ran to the house. They knew their grandma would be waiting for them to join her in praying the rosary.

They hurriedly went upstairs, straight to the dimly lit corridor where the altar was.  The doors of the other rooms were ajar and they could see there was nobody there..

“Lola, we are here now. Shall we pray?” The older girl announced loudly, as she pulled the arm of her younger sister towards the corridor. Both girls were ravenous and could hardly wait to finish with the prayers so they could have their supper.

From somewhere farther from the doorway, a figure emerged and approach the girls. It was an old woman in a white nightgown and long, greyish hair. At first glimpse, the sisters thought it was their grandmother in her bedclothes until they discerned her better by the light of the burning lamp near the altar. Her head was poised fixedly in a grotesque angle which made her look like an ashen statue with a twisted or, perhaps, a broken neck. She passed in front of them, barely a meter away, neither glancing or speaking to them.  The spectre floated towards the opposite side of the room where there was an open window with a ten meter drop to the ground. Arriving there, she just melted away into the darkness beyond, leaving in  her trail the over powering scent of kalachuchis, champacas and azucenas – common flowers associated with funeral wreaths during those times.

The horrified girls were speechless and immobile for a few seconds. When their senses returned, they could only stare at one another , seeing their fright reflected in each other’s faces. Clasping hands, they rushed out of their bedroom into the corridor and out to the living room.

They found their grandfather in the sala, drowsing in a rocking chair. They dropped on the floor beside him, panting and still unable to speak. Then old man immediately noticed something amiss with his chatterbox granddaughters.

“Porque tan calladitas, ninas? Que pasa? (Why so quiet girls? What is going on?)” At his remark, the younger child burst out, sobbing hysterically.

There was a strange woman in our room Lolo and we think she may have jumped out of the window….” The older girl tremulously explained. Their grandmother who had just come out of the bathroom over heard the words and thought a thief or an intruder had entered the house. Shrieked and pandemonium broke loose.

At once the male servants were called in and directed to summon the hacienda rondas  who came leading hunting dogs. A thorough search was made of the house  and grounds but no trace of the strange visitor was found.

The incident was dismissed as the product of the kids imagination, as the hallucination of two youngsters. However, the girls, now octogenarians themselves can never be persuaded to think so. To this day, Inday and Nena haven’t wavered in their story.

“ We simultaneously saw this…this ghost. How could we both be imagining the same spectre at the same time? “ Lola Inday stressed.

How, indeed?

THE RETURNING SCHOLAR-  A TEACHER’S REVELATION 

Professor Haydee shares with me her creepy tale. Listen to her story:

“ This happened a lifetime ago it seems. Central Philippine University was not the prestigious university it is today and I was the young teacher temporarily taking over  History 101 class in room 413. Its regular teacher was on sick leave. I was familiar with most of the history students since a majority of them were also under me in my Political Science 1 class.

On our third day together, I decided to give them a short quiz. After the test , I gathered their papers and interchanged them for correction. “Exchange papers” was a common practice with us teachers for speedy checking of papers and immediate recording of  scores/grades.

When I was calling out their scores, I called out a name that was unfamiliar with a perfect score that was unsigned by the corrector. I quickly glanced at the students and made a head count. I had initially called the attendance  and knew everybody was present but I just wanted to double check.

‘ Who corrected this paper of Berting A‘ ? You did not sign your name as corrector.’ I reproached the class in general but nobody answered. As a number of heads turned questioningly at their neighbours, I could see the apprehension in their faces.

I was about to dismiss it as a harmless joke when I suddenly realized something was amiss. It was a warm day but the room had suddenly become chilly and the smell of burning wax was in the air.

“ Ma’am, parang amoy kandila. Ang lakas nang amoy. Nakakatakot!” one girl from the back row suddenly blurted out. The remark was instantly echoed by a few others.

It was all I could do to stop the girls from panicking. “Control yourselves. I’ll dismiss you early because after all, we’re  done checking the  papers  and it’s a weekend tomorrow. But let’s do this slowly and quietly, one row at a time”  I told the class. I felt the creeps  but had to keep my composure. “ Boys, boys stop teasing the girls.”

The students nervously filed out of the room. To hide my own agitation, I kept my eyes on my record book, pretending I was trying to review their scores. But the truth was, I was also frightened. The room was getting frigid by the moment and the  burning wax smell assailed my senses.  Air condition classrooms were unheard of during those days.

I was about to pick up my things and leave when I saw this hazy form seated in a chair nearest the window in row 6. He was good looking in a scholarly sort of way. He had a pile of books on his lap and his free hand held a pair of reading glasses. The light blue t-shirt with the school insignia on his left breast pocket was the recognizable uniform of the College of Liberal Arts  more than two  decades ago when the school was still CPC.

I had a hard time controlling my teeth from chattering. From where I was, I noticed his lower torso was nothing more than a smoky haze and I could see right through him. ‘ I will have a mass said for you. Please don’t disturb my class again.’

As promised a mass was said for Berting. I also decided to take the old school registrar into my confidence. She had been with the school for many, many years and I hoped she might be able to shed some light on the incident.

For a moment, the registrar was speechless, gazing into space as if searching her memory. Suddenly, she became excited… “Let’s concentrate on the 1950s. I think I remember the boy. Give me a week to look up his files.”

I learned Berting had an impressive record – honor student, star athlete and consistent medallist in collegiate oratorical/declamation contests.  He was killed by a hit and run vehicle in front of the school house. He was in a rush to cross because he was already late for the quiz on History 101 . A  sad gossip made the rounds among the students in the wake of his death…  the young man left behind a pregnant girl friend.  His parents confirmed their plans to marry that summer. The poor girl in her grief miscarried their child.

What was amazing was the fact that Professor Haydee’s test coincided with Berting’s time of death – the same month, day, subject and even the room. It seemed that Berting finally managed to take the quiz he missed decades ago.