A Ghost Story for Halloween

840 words



         Boo! It's Halloween...

         When my brother and I were in the elementary grades, we occasionally invited friends next door to study with us. We had a wide table in the living room and we did our homework there. This we all looked forward to because my mother helped us solve problems and understand difficult English words with the aid of our Webster Dictionary and Encyclopedia Brittanica. Two of my friends were third graders, just like me.  The oldest, Emilia, was a fourth grader and knew more tricks than we did.

         This group study was a good set-up because we always waited for the fun we would have after our assignments were done. For example, if the moon was bright, we went out to play bato-lata. This local Visayan dialect is akin to Kick the Can in the English language.

         One particular night was markedly different from the others. For one thing, it was moonless. Not a single star was blinking.  Somehow, the atmosphere gave us an eerie feeling.  In addition, it was damp and gloomy.  It seemed as though the thick dark cloud might fall at any moment. Even the kerosene lamp flickered every now and then for no apparent reason.

         While we should have been busy with our assignments for a unit test the following day, the older kids were whispering to each other, which made us, younger ones, curious. Out of the lull, Emilia suggested we gather around her to hear a story she’s been wanting to tell.

         “Get closer, get closer,” she prompted us and we did. Thus, she began her story this way ….



                   A beautiful girl entered an exclusive school for girls in the city. One day, the family driver was sick, preventing him from driving the girl to school.  That day she walked to school, a speeding car hit her, as she tried to cross the street. It was fatal.

         Strange things happened while the novena was going on in the girl’s house the night after the funeral. Her mother said she smelled her daughter’s favorite perfume as prayers were offered for her departed soul. The same thing happened the following night.

         On the third night, the family noticed a dim figure, resembling the girl, standing at the door to the prayer room, watching them as they finished the rosary. When it ended, the apparition silently moved away and they saw her glide down the stairs towards the street.  They even watched her stop a tartanilla (a passenger cart pulled by a horse, something like a horse and buggy), as she stepped inside.

         The middle-aged driver did not bother to look at his passenger as he asked,

          “Where to, Miss?”

         “Just move on. I’ll tell you as soon as we get there.”

         He then proceeded to whip the horse, which was acting weird… somehow lethargic.  Whereupon, he lashed him again, and soon they were on the outskirts of the city.

         It was a quiet ride except for the sound of the horse’s hoofs and the unsteady roll of wheels as they went down the bumpy dirt road. The driver soon noticed that they were approaching the cemetery, but went on anyway in as much as the passenger had said nothing yet.

         Just as they approached the gate, the passenger said,

          “Driver, this is my stop.”

         He then pulled the reins and the cart’s wheels stopped as the uneasy horse halted.  For the first time, the driver raised his brow, but did not dare to look at his passenger.          

         “Thank you for the ride,” the passenger said.

         “Hey, wait a minute, lady.  How about your fare?”

          “Oh,” she groaned. Raising her head, she came forward, and bringing her face close to him, said,

          “I have no money, but you can take the cotton from my nose and mouth….”

         Before the poor, startled driver could react, the horse galloped away, overturning the cart and throwing him unto the ground.

         As I listened to Emilia, I felt queasy, although, I prided myself on being brave. Being so engrossed in the story, I did not even realize that everybody had left silently. Feeling a chill and developing goose pimples, I imagined myself in a wide-open space, among tombstones with different shapes and sizes of skulls and broken bones scattered all around. I saw those bones move, as piece by piece, they fit into place, engulfing me.  Then a strong wind touched my skin and suddenly blew the light out.  A thick mantle of darkness surrounded me, as I heard a faint whisper, “Girl, watch out, she’s here…”



         That was long ago.  Looking back, however,  it was not the sad tale of this poor little rich girl who came back as a ghost, which terrified me and drove me wild that clearly stood out; rather, it was the pain from the hard slap from Grandpa. He was awakened from his sound sleep by my colorful screaming, as I ran in hysterics towards any place or anybody who would shield me from terror!