Thursday, March 08, 2007
A NOT SO EXCLUSIVE GHOST STORY
I took this picture in Intramuros a while back, but didn’t get the name of this church or any historical information associated with it. It must have been because I was engaged in some interesting conversation with a fellow photography enthusiast who was with me at that time.
Anyway, I was simply enchanted by this church. It reminds me of the one in our barrio in Subic, though not as grand and majestic. Perhaps, it is because of this structure’s austere façade, which is evocative of the ghost story I've associated with our barrio church while growing up.
Part of the allure of Subic back then was its lack of electricity. Six in the evening was usually the time in which everyone would have finished up with their business of the day. And from that moment on, at my aunt's house, the kitchen and dining table would be illuminated by a single light source — a portable stainless steel Coleman-like lantern powered by kerosene or something. And wherever that portable lantern would be placed after dinner, that would be where the adults would congregate as well until they retire for the night.
The kids, on the other hand, would huddle somewhere in the living room that would get a trickle of light from that same light source. Without any television or sufficient light to sustain any kind of table game, we would just amuse ourselves with storytelling. The older cousins who lived in the barrio would always fill us with ghost stories, though they tend to be mere repetitions. Nonetheless, there were some good ones that never ceased to scare us out of our wits even after hearing them a hundred times.
Foremost of which was the headless priest who would appear in front of the barrio church around midnight — pacing back and forth while holding an open book. Supposedly, many local folks claimed to have seen it and would readily attest to its occurrence.
I believed this story; that is, until I reached early adulthood in New York, when I started going on bike tours around Long Island. The youth hostels where we sometimes stayed overnight were at the youth centers of the local churches. It was common to socialize with these local youths at the center during the evenings. After tiring of ping pong and billiards, we’d usually end up sitting at the front steps to trade stories. And almost always, these talks would segue to ghost stories.
One night, this lanky kid began to tell us about the ghost of a headless priest that haunted the church grounds. I sat there agape; realizing that our barrio couldn’t claim exclusive copyright for such apparition, for this headless priest turned out to be a universal phenomenon after all.
Labels: ghost story, Intramuros church
posted by Señor Enrique at 8:22 AM
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