Tales from beyond the grave

Desperate times require desperate measures.  But what if the story has come to an end and there’s nothing more you can squeeze out from it?  Could we really still communicate with those who had passed on?

My sister’s latest tests were not promising.  “She’s too weak to survive a heart operation,” said her doctor.  “Give her pain killers and expect her to live a hard, difficult life, maybe for another two years.”  The doctor said it with finality, but somehow, it gave us a bit of relief knowing that we would have time to prepare her and family for the inescapable end.  That night, I went down on my knees and prayed to our late father.  “Itay, please handle this for us.”  A week passed when the phone rang off the wall.  “Mom is dead,” my niece choked.  “She was all dressed up to go to church when she went back to her room and laid down on her bed.  All she said was, ‘My brothers and sisters are visiting me today.’”   “Wait!” I cried, “Her doctor said two years!”  Did our father plead her case and God took mercy?

Maria had been a widow for fifteen years.  Although she maintained a house in Manila, she also kept the conjugal house in the province.  An acquaintance suddenly showed up, saw the house and liked it.  “I want to buy your house,” he offered.  “May I see the title?”  Maria replied, “It’s in Manila; I’ll bring it over.”  When she returned with the documents, the buyer didn’t call.  Weeks passed without any word from the buyer.  One Sunday, Maria was startled when the lights in the corridor lit up.  When she checked the switch, the power was off.  She checked the time: 3 o’clock.  The phone suddenly rang.  It was the buyer.  Looking past the horizon, Maria whispered, “Danny, is it you?”

The sale was completed in 10 days.  Maria instructed her maid to remain in the house so she can brief the new owner and his staff.

When the new buyer moved in, the aircon in the guest room suddenly hummed to life, also the aircon in the master’s room, plus the lights in the garage, and again in the corridor.  Maria’s maid was freaking out.  “Señora, there’s somebody in the house!”

Not only that, the doors got stuck even when the new owner forcefully kicked them open.  “I tell you, maybe Sir Danny doesn’t want to leave this house,” said the maid trembling and shrinking to a puddle.

Maria gathered her courage and prayed.  “Danny, I know we both love this house, but for practical reasons, you know I should not keep it.”  As if in reply, the aircon stopped humming, the door hinges loosened up and the lights switched off.  Blowing a kiss heavenward, Maria took leave of the house and wished the new owners well.

One Suite Night

On a long weekend in Baguio, Carleen and Fred booked a two-bedroom suite in an exclusive club. On the first night, Carleen couldn’t sleep.  With the moonlight casting shadows in the balcony, Carleen saw a figure dressed in green and blue walking past the foot of the bed with a face as white as snow.  “Who is that?” she thought.  Carleen grabbed Fred and whispered, “There’s someone in the room, a thief?”  When they checked around, nothing.  Carleen said, “Let’s pray.  Maybe, that was a young soldier who lost his life in here.”

In a Marriage Encounter event held once again in Baguio, Fred and Carleen were house guests of a friend in his newly renovated house.  While praying the rosary, books, figurines, flower pots, and picture frames kept falling from shelves and tables, distracting and disturbing the prayer. Carleen, the sensitive one, remarked, “I don’t think I’d like to sleep in a separate room.  Why don’t we just occupy one room with the rest of his guests?  There are enough beds, anyway.” They did.  Throughout the night, Carleen fidgeted cause everyone snored.   Suddenly, the snoring stopped and a deep, painful, wretched moan filled the room as if someone was writhing in pain, asking for help.  “Do you hear that?” Carleen asked.  “Let’s pray,” Fred replied.  When they began to pray, the moaning stopped.  Fred went back to sleep, but not Carleen who sat up in bed, wide awake.

At breakfast in the veranda, Carleen and Fred felt this heavy breathing coming from behind.  It was like a huge dog, gnarling, about to pounce on them with his killer fangs.

Carleen and Fred exchanged blood-curdling looks.  “Do you feel that?” Fred asked.

“YES!” Carleen replied aghast.

“Let’s pray!”

The moment they grabbed the rosary, the white-knuckle feel vanished.

“Why are your senses very sharp towards such phenomena?” I asked.  “It must be my third eye that was open at that time,” Carleen surmised.  “It was also during this time that I took the Silver Mind Control program, practiced horoscope and tarot card readings, fortune telling, and other magic rituals.  They were all forms of witchcraft.”

How did you get rid of it?  “It was a sin.  I went to Confession, visited the Blessed Sacrament, prayed the rosary, and frequented the Holy Eucharist at daily Mass.”

“Oh goodness!” I exclaimed.  “Remember when we traveled to France and we stayed in this sweet chalet-type hotel below the La Salette monastery?  I thought it was such a charming, quaint, and homey little place and I felt rested and reinvigorated.  Little did I know that you were tossing and turning in your room, just like five more of our travel mates, including Fr. Dave Concepcion.  Father Dave, in fact, described it as seeing and feeling the ‘unseen’.”

With this, Carleen and I exchanged travel rites.   Whenever we enter a hotel room, Carleen pulls out her Sacramentals (Holy Water, Holy Oil, and Holy Salt) and prays/does the following:

• Prayer to Take Authority (to remove all forces of evil); Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be.

• Ask forgiveness for those who committed sins/offenses in this particular room.

• Prayer to your Guardian Angel.

• Prayer to St. Michael, the Archangel.

• Ask protection from Mama Mary and the saints.

• Ask Mary to clothe you, your family, and friends with her mantel of love.

• Sprinkle Holy Water on the bed, furniture, doors, windows, frames, and mirrors, invoking the Holy Trinity.

These will surely drive away the moans, the lamentations, the grumbles, shrieks, and screams of Fright Night Halloween, the unseen, and more.

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Email lettyjlopez@hotmail.com.