After disembarking, Cecilia cautiously made her way down the familiar ghost-infested road leading to her house. Every creak and whisper from the shadows made her flinch and squeak, her nerves stretched tight like a drawn bow. The night air was thick with an unsettling silence, broken only by the rustle of dry leaves skittering across the pavement.
As she neared the dreaded intersection marked by the ancient balete tree, her heart pounded violently against her ribs. The tree's gnarled branches stretched out like skeletal fingers, casting twisted shadows that seemed to reach for her. She swallowed hard, steeling herself for the inevitable.
Then, suddenly, there they were—the very entities she dreaded most: ghosts, specters, and ghouls, their pale forms illuminated by the moonlight, eyes fixed intently on her. Cecilia's face contorted into a grimace, as if she'd just swallowed a mouthful of sour vinegar. "Oh no, they saw me!" she muttered under her breath, bracing for the usual barrage of eerie whispers and ghostly taunts.
But before she could even run away, something unexpected happened. The ghosts scattered—faster than she could say "scram"—their ethereal forms darting away like startled pigeons. One particularly lanky specter tripped over a root and stumbled headlong into the pavement. Another let out a high-pitched wail that sounded more like a cat in distress than a fearsome spirit.
Cecilia blinked, her fear evaporating as she stared at the empty intersection, now eerily quiet except for a few stray sheets of paper tumbling lazily in the evening breeze. She glanced left and right, a puzzled frown creasing her brow. Something about the scene just didn't sit right.
Clicking her tongue twice, she took off after the fleeing ghosts. "Hey, you inconsiderate delinquents! Come back here! After haunting me for twelve years, you run away from me, and I don't even get a 'hi'?"
Like a scene from a 1920s silent movie, a great chase ensued, but instead of a mass of people chasing that one person, it was Cecilia who was chasing the masses.
She followed a ghost down a narrow alley. "Hey, you! I see you, come back here and haunt me!" she screamed at the female specter. The ghost quickly phased through a wall, leaving Cecilia in the dust.
She backtracked and got out of the alley, just in time to see the old lady who always pestered her, "Hey, you! Grandma, wait for me, you always annoy me at night, why wouldn't you annoy me now?" The old lady, upon seeing Cecilia waltzing towards her, lifted her 'Saya' (traditional Filipino long skirt) and phased into the ground, waving goodbye to Cecilia as she sank into the pavement.
She turned around, and then she saw him, the ghost of Adres's son, sitting on the bench. Tired, Cecilia planned to just ignore the ghost, looking away from the bloodied face. She kept on walking past, pretending that she couldn't see or hear the crying ghost. She had only taken a few steps when she stopped; she couldn't pretend not to hear the sad and heartbreaking sobs. "I'm going to regret this… I'll definitely regret this!" She let out a soft sigh, closed her eyes, and turned around.
Slowly, she approached the crying ghost, and as she approached, she witnessed a miraculous transformation. She could not explain why, but the bloody and gruesome appearance disappeared. To her, the scary-looking ghost now appears like an ordinary young man. "Excuse me? Are you okay?" she nervously asked the specter.
The young ghost lifted his head to see who had asked how he was. When he saw Cecilia, someone whose reputation is all about running away, he rubbed his eyes just to be sure. "Are you talking to me?"
Cecilia nods and sits next to the young man's ghost. "Why are you crying?" She saw the skepticism in his eyes. "I know you're hesitant, but I'm here to listen and maybe to help? I'm Cecilia. What's your name?"
"Wally," he smiled, "I guess you already know that I am the son of that drunkard, Andres."
"What happened to you? What happened to your dad?" She asked, though she already knew it was a tragic story.
Wally clasped his hands together and looked up at the sky. "I wanted to go to a concert, but my dad said no. So I did what most teenagers would do…I snuck out." He paused a while as his voice began to tremble. "On the way back…the bus I was in got into an accident and I died on the spot"
Wally stood up, tears freely flowing, "My dad…my poor dad blamed himself for my tragedy. He kept on saying If only he had said yes, if only he had come with me…then this would have never happened." He sat back down and buried his face in his hands as he cried. Cecilia rubbed the ghost's back to comfort him. "I stayed because I can't stand seeing my father like that; he kept blaming himself, but in reality…it was all my fault. I'm the one at fault, not my dad. It was me; everything that happened to me is my doing."
"It's not your fault, and your father is also not to blame." She held on to Wally's hand. "When I'm free, if you want, I can help talk to your dad and explain to him that he is not at fault."
"Really? You'll do that for me?" Wally clarified, unable to believe that Cecilia, who was known for running away from ghosts, promised to help him
Cecilia raised her right hand. "I promise," she assured him as she traced a cross over her heart.
Wally dried his tears and, with a big smile, expressed his gratitude, "Thank you, thank you very much!"