MESSAGE FROM TWO LOVERS

MESSAGE FROM TWO LOVERS

By: Joel P.Salud

They almost made it to Bataan.

The sky was unusually downcast for that time of the month, almost desolate, though not nearly pitch black.

Juni, the associate editor of a lifestyle magazine, and his staff of photographers and writers, were assigned to do a feature on the history of Bataan.

It was the kind of assignment no editor or writer would ordinarily want to do, except for the prospect of advertisers coming in to sponsor the feature. At P120,000 a full-page ad, journalistic ethics may be temporarily suspended, or so they say.

Dampness hung in the air like freshly washed linen. The somnolent dusk, awash with the scent of the cool night wind, made the late afternoon suitable for sleeping. Surprisingly, however, the whole staff was wide awake and alert, raring to get started so as to make the most of the trip.

As the day unwound, slowly slithering into nightfall, the group began rearranging and packing their things inside their dark blue van. From a distance, they saw where they would make their first stop for the day—an old, historic lighthouse at the old abandoned port at the foot of the steep cliff.

Through the years, Rodel’s family had befriended numerous sailors and seafaring merchants. Most of whom brought them vases, jewelry and other gifts every time they docked at the port.

It was one of those numerous visits that Rodel’s great great grandmother, Estrellita, then 16 years of age, met Chiang, a young 18-year-old Chinese-Filipino boatman from Manila.

After a few visits, the two fell in love. The lovers used to rendezvous at the old lighthouse.

Rodel stood up and, pointing at the wall near the small window, said that the soft white limestone allowed the two lovers to make inscriptions on the wall.

Jhen, Mark, and Cynthia could barely read the scratch marks, but they were distinguishable just the same. The messages were written in old tagalog. They were short love letters, a record of meetings, dates and time. Estrellita and Chiang actually recorded in stone the days, times, and goings on each time they met at the lighthouse.

How romantic, Cynthia said, taking a long swig from her beer can. Mark could only laugh at her comment.

However, not all inscriptions told happy stories. One inscription, presumably from Chiang, spoke of a certain José, a Spanish-Mexican sailor who wanted to have the young Estrellita for himself. The inscription did not elaborate. However, Rodel knew the whole story.

One evening, while Estrellita and Chiang were inside the lighthouse, José barged in with the couple of Spanish soldiers, demanding the arrest of the young Chinese-Filipino trader.

By this time in Intramuros, Manila, the Chinese community was being harassed by the Spaniards for no apparent, justifiable reason. The Spanish soldiers dragged Chiang and Estrellita out of the lighthouse where the young Chinese-Filipino was shot pointblank in the head. He was killed instantly. Estrellita fearing for her life, ran back to the lighthouse until she reached the top. José vowing to claim Estrellita’s chastity before killing her, tried to rape the poor maiden.

But it was too late. Upon reaching the top, Estrellita leaped from the ledge to her death, her head and body crashing on the jagged rocks below. Her last words were, according to those who knew the story, “Hindi kita mahal!” (I don’t love you!).

The group did not say anything, as the garbled sound of waves smashing against the cliff wall punctuated the silence.

Juni, who by then had already consumed about four cans of beer, stood up to go to the john. It was a small room at the side of the window. While the caretaker continued to relate his story, Juni excused himself and went in. The room was dark, save for the feeble light coming from the rechargeable lamp.

As Juni relieved himself, he noticed moisture building up on the mirror next to where he was standing. A chilly breeze rose inside the small room as the midnight moon hurled patches of light where Juni stood wide-eyed.

Suddenly, Rodel, Mark, Cynthia and Jhen heard Juni scream from within the bathroom. They rushed to see what happened. There they saw Juni, immobile, his eyes fixed on the mirror beside him. On the cracked mirror, words spelled out as droplets of water ran down the unpolished glass.

“Hindi kita mahal. . .”

Juni, they all remembered, is a Spanish mestizo. The group fled the lighthouse. .

The Haunting at Concha Cruz Drive (BOOK 1)

THE HAUNTING AT CONCHA CRUZ DRIVE

By: Joel P. Salud

Marc, a young man in his late 20s, was cruising inside BF Homes Subdivision in Parañaque City along with his two pals. They were speeding along at about 40 kms/hour on a quarter-mile long road known to BF homeowners as Concha Cruz Drive. This long stretch of asphalt used to be a venue for drag races among teenagers in the early 80s.

Ronnie, one of Marc's friends riding with him motioned for them to stop. He wanted to relieve himself by the grassy area along the right side of the road. It was nearly midnight, and all was quite as usual. There was not a car in sight.

After Ronnie finished doing his business, the group went back on the road, cruising along Concha Cruz on their way to EI Grande Avenue to bring home their friend Jen.

About two hundred meters before the nearest intersection, they were surprised when a black sedan pulled up along their right side. Its windows were heavily tinted so that neither Marc nor his friends could see into it. The Black car stopped right next to Marc's, obviously spoiling for a drag race. Marc, the son of a race car driver, was just too ready to oblige the unknown challenger.

As both car drivers gunned their engines repeatedly, the three young boys noticed the window of the black car slowly being rolled down. Marc and Jen rolled down their own windows to see who they were racing against. What they see inside chilled their blood.

Inside the black sedan, Marc and Jen saw a young man and a young woman, dressed totally in white, their clothes drenched in fresh blood, their ashen faces streaked with blood that seemed to be pouring from head wounds.

Both lay lifeless on their seats, looking like victims of an accident, with their bloodshot eyes staring unseeingly ahead.

Marc immediately stepped on the gas pedal and sped away from the sedan, which remained motionless. When Jen looked back, he saw nothing but pitch darkness, with only the light from a lamppost flickering feebly in the distance.

They rushed to the nearest house on Concha Cruz, where they knocked frantically until someone finally opened up for them and let them inside. All three were shaking from head to toe; pale from absolute fright. Upon hearing what happened, the lady who let them in, Mrs. Tirona, told them to sit down and listen to a story...

During the early 80s, Concha Cruz was the place to be if you were a race car enthusiast. Teenagers, beginning at nine in the evening, would converge at a certain portion of the road to drink beer, play some loud music from their expensive car stereos, and rev up their "loaded" engines. Most of them lived in BF Homes and adjacent subdivisions.

Eric (not his real name) was one of the top racers of the bunch. He drove a jet black Toyota Macho Machine which his father gave him for his 23rd birthday.

One Sunday afternoon, Eric and his girlfriend, Jenina, were cruising down Concha Cruz Drive when a rival racer - Bernard - pulled up at his side and challenged him to a race. The two cars were right at the very spot where the starting line was drawn. Eric tried to beg off, at the request if Jenina. But Bernard was insistent. Eventually, he managed to provoke Eric into accepting challenge.

As the two drivers gunned their engines, Jenina tried to strap on her seatbelt, asking Eric to do the same. But before she could do so, the two cars lurched ahead, careering down Concha Cruz Drive at top speed.

All of a sudden, one of Bernard's tires blew out. As the car swerved and skidded off the road at close to a hundred kilometers an hour, Bernard's car hit Eric's Toyota, crashing the black sedan into one of the trees. Without seatbelts to protect them, Eric and Jenina had no chance of surviving. Eric died instantly from massive head and facial injuries. Jenina's head cracked open on impact when she hit the dashboard. She died a few hours later on an operating table.

Bernard walked away with only minor bruises.

Eric and Jenina were dressed in white during their burial.

The black car still haunts Concha Cruz Drive to this day.

"Sometimes, the there are witnesses who claim they still see Eric and Jenina drive down the street, flagging down cars driven by teenagers, showing the kids their wounds.

It's probably their way of warning kids not to race down Concha Cruz Drive. .