home life personal


A few days ago marked our 3rd year in our current home, and we’ve settled in quite nicely. I would say that the house has settled in quite nicely, too, with all of its why-haven’t-I-noticed-that-crack-before “settling” cracks that I’ve been seeing.

Looking for a house had been a fun experience for me, albeit sometimes frustrating.  You find something you really like, but maybe not in your price range.  Once, I found a house within my price range, in the neighborhood I liked, and though I would have preferred it to be brand new, I decided that, what the heck?! With that price, I can live with it being “pre-loved”, so to speak.

I had seen the house in the classifieds for a while already, and I wondered why it had taken long for it to sell.  It was advertised as a 2-story, 3 bedroom, 2 bath, 2 car-garage home, at a very competitive price, in a nice, gated neighborhood near my Mom’s house, so I was surprised to see it still available after a few months of browsing.

I finally decided to take a look at it, so I called the number on the ad.  The lady who answered the phone seemed nice, and said I could see it anytime, just go to the next door neighbor when I drop by.

And so I went.  First look at the house got me excited.  It was a freshly painted,  white, 2-story house with a low gate, and a balcony on the second floor.  Had to look inside now, for sure.

As instructed over the phone, I trooped over to the neighbor’s, rang the doorbell, and told the elderly lady that I was interested in the house next door.  She shuffled back inside, I assumed to call someone who would show me the around, but she came back out with a set of keys and instructions to return them to her when I was done.

Hmm… No one to go with me, or feed me sweet bullcrap so I am persuaded to buy the house? Strange, but ok! Not what I expected, but that was also fine by me, since I didn’t have to pretend to like anything, or say things I didn’t mean, had a sales person come along.

Back I trudged, and let myself in through the front door.

Inside was empty, save for a few cleaning materials, and had been pretty clean, though a bit dark for my taste.  Can’t recall now why that was.  Maybe because of the color of the walls? Or was it because only the front of the house had windows? I continued to poke around a small room and shower at the back, for the help, maybe, and a small laundry area.  Downstairs bathroom was clean, but I noted, as my flood-trained self would, marks on the wall where flood water could have gotten to.  That was going to be a problem.

Anyway, I still wanted to see the upstairs, but I was in a quandary.  Should I close the front door? Should I lock it? Leave it open? Invite a potential maniac into the house while I was upstairs, defenseless, by myself?  (Remember, I had come alone, as any respectable single person would. Would they really, though?)

I decided to lock the door.

I went up, a bit nervous, to be honest, as this was a stranger’s house, and I was by myself, after all.  Also, the air was still and arid, and the quiet made my ears tingle, if you know what I mean.

There was a bathroom at the top of the stairs, and 2 smaller rooms, which were alright, except that the built-in cabinets needed repair. So far, so good.

I opened the door to the master bedroom, and was greeted by windows overlooking the street and the door to the balcony, which I saw from outside. I was taken aback, though, when, looking to my right, I saw a large, wooden crucifix sitting atop of an old, wooden chest (“baul”).  What the h***? Two candles flanked the crucifix, but, of course, they were both unlit (OA na yun, kung nakasindi).


This was what horror movies were made of, I thought to myself.  This is how a horror movie usually begins! (I know, because I do love my horror films.)

(Side note: I should’ve taken a picture, but I didn’t of think of that anymore at that time, nor would I have wanted to, because, you know, I might see something else, besides.  It would’ve been a great picture to show, here, though.  Too bad. )

Needless to say, I bolted out the room and got out there as quickly as my little size-8 feet could take me.

Up until this day I wonder why, of all the things to leave in an empty house, the owner would leave an old, giant crucifix and an old wooden chest.  Why not a small crucifix on a plastic table? Maybe that would be less spooky, but then again, maybe not. And why not have someone show the house so potential buyers don’t go all Lorraine Warren (from “The Conjuring”?) when they see that big surprise?

We may never know the answer to these questions, but I still wonder, at times, what had happened to that house, and if anyone lives in it now.

Maybe I’ll drive by one of these days and let you know.





By supernormalgirl

Single, 40-ish mom, travelling this world as any normal, girl-next-door would. Is both positive and negative, yin and yang, good and bad. A forever 'tween. Has a love-hate relationship with food, and food wins most of the time. From Manila, Philippines.

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