The Day I saw a Ghost

The Day I Saw a Ghost

 

The air hung heavy with the scent of history, the kind that clings to old stone walls and whispers stories of forgotten lives. It was a sweltering summer day, the kind that makes the city feel like a furnace, but inside the dungeon, a cool breeze whispered through the cracked stone walls. We were there as part of a history class requirement, a group of college students venturing into the bowels of a forgotten past.

 

The dungeon, located near the Pasig River,in Intramuros Manila was a labyrinth of dark, damp cells, each one a silent testament to the harsh realities of a bygone era. We were told it was the cell of Jose Rizal, the national hero of the Philippines, and the weight of history pressed down on us as we stepped inside.

 

The cell itself was small, perhaps 20 square meters, with a single, stone stairway that let in a sliver of light. The air was cool and damp, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat outside. As we explored, I ran my hand along the rough stone walls, tracing the grooves left by countless hands over the years. I imagined the despair, the fear, the loneliness that must have filled this space.

 

We were laughing and joking, trying to lighten the mood, but the silence of the dungeon was heavy. It felt as if the walls were closing in on us, as if the spirits of those who had been imprisoned here were watching our every move.

 

I was exploring the whole cell with only the source of light coming from the stairway entrance. Suddenly, I felt a chill run down my spine. I turned, my eyes scanning the room, searching for the source of the sudden unease. My classmates were still laughing, and scaring each other, their voices echoing in the cavernous space, but I felt a presence, a weight in the air.

 

In the dim light, I saw it. A silhouette, a thick fog-like figure, hovering in the corner of the cell. It was the same shape as one of Casper's uncle in the movie, but this was no cartoon. This was real. It was looking at me, its eyes burning with an angry, almost grumpy intensity. It felt like I was disturbing its peace, intruding on its solitude.

 

The figure rushed towards me, its mouth open in a silent scream. I felt a wave of fear wash over me, a primal terror that froze me in place. I screamed, "I saw a ghost! I saw a ghost!"

 

My classmates, startled by my sudden outburst, rushed out of the cell, their screams echoing through the dungeon. They looked at me, their faces pale with fear, and I knew that I wasn't joking. I was trembling, my body wracked with terror, and I could feel the cold sweat beading on my forehead.

 

One of my classmates, a girl named Clang, looked at me with a mixture of fear and disbelief. "You're really pale," she whispered, "and you're shaking. You're not kidding."

 

From that moment on, I knew that ghosts were real. They were not just stories, not just figments of our imaginations. They were real, and they could be dangerous. I learned that day that you shouldn't play with the supernatural, that you shouldn't look for them, because they will find you.

 

The experience left me shaken, but it also left me with a sense of awe and wonder. I realized that the world is a much stranger and more mysterious place than we often think. There are things out there that we cannot explain, things that defy our understanding. And sometimes, those things come knocking on our door.

 

I left the dungeon that day with a newfound respect for the unseen, a realization that there are things in this world that are beyond our comprehension. And I vowed to never forget the day I saw a ghost.