PHANTASM: Fears and Frights of the Living

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Published in Davao City, Philippines

This publication is protected by copyright and permission should be obtained from the publisher prior to any prohibited reproduction, storage in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or likewise.

To obtain permission(s) to use material from this work, please submit a written request to The Blue Bridge

ashsbluebridge@gmail.com.

Bridge the gaps. Upraise the discourse.

The Official Student Publication of Ateneo de Davao University Senior High School MacArthur Highway, Bangkal, Davao City, Philippines

PHANTASM: Fears and Frights of the Living

Copyright © 2022 by The Blue Bridge

Foreword

The crux of being human lies in the inherent truth that no matter who you are, there’s bound to be something that leaves you wondering about the possible horrors that lurk beyond your senses. The ability to feel fear the awareness of having to flee from predators and spend the night in caves to avoid what lurks in the shadows is essential for man's survival.

The custom of remembering the community centered holiday Halloween and its mysteries and magic continues as the spooky season draws near. Superstitions and representations of supernatural beings like ghosts are prevalent around this season. Amidst these, there are also phantoms we often forget that haunt us in our everyday lives the ghost of our fears.

The Blue Bridge has compiled the members' most creative works that explore this theme From literary works to art, Phantasm 2022 allows you to confront and conquer your darkest side Experience a dark, whimsical tale filled with ghastly ghouls and unfathomable horrors as you travel through the dreamscapes of our writers and artists

Elliot Dimasuhid Editor in Chief

STAGE 1...

CHILDHOOD

Once, in the sepia tone of our memories, we catch a glimpse of our five year old selves slinking beneath the table with our miniature plastic swords as the bad guys lurked around the corner with weapons drawn. At night, huddled behind our rugged blankets, we could finally pretend to be the knights and princesses in our hidden blanket castles, fearful of ghosts and demons from the night. Nothing compares to the lingering aftereffects, and ripples of even bigger self-inflicted fears in this stage.

STEPS

BY ALEXIA DESPARES

One step. “Ma, look!”

My mother smiled at me, Eyes like crescent moons.

Two steps. “Da, hurry!”

My dad laughed, And I shrieked as he caught up in a flurry.

Three steps. Four steps. “Don’t stray too far, dear!” “Wait, don’t go th !”

The world faded in a blur.

When I blinked, Ma wasn’t near, And my Da, I couldn’t hear. I burst into tears. They’re not with me.

Five steps. Suddenly, I’m swept in a hug. “Ma’s here.” “Do you want Da to carry you?” They’re back. Will they always be here?

ALL TOO MUCH TO BEAR!

BY LAWRENCE MEDIJA

A rip, tear, and cut!

Tightness, a door slammed shut. How could one ever dream?

On the separation of a child's greatest team?

Eyes looking into mine, Not here! Not there!

All too much to bear!

Without them, could I still be doing fine?

Heart skipping beats, a nervous gasp of air, Where are they? Why aren't they there?

Everything, all at once, all a blur.

I miss it back then; I miss how things were.

At the end of the day, I will always stay, in my favorite place, A much-missed embrace.

SAY MY NAME

BY FRANCINE NICOLE ALEJANDRO

My faith keeps me up in the dead of night; Hands clasped in penance, my tears fall in fright. "If you cannot sleep, you will hear her weep," says Sister Lilith at Sunday worship.

"Repent, and you will settle your thoughts right."

I recite the creed and pray to saints to heed my plight. Hail Mary for Her grace, glorify Christ. I hear her creep, curse the shivers I reap.

My faith keeps me up in the dead of night.

Snatcher of peace, my guest without an invite, Is this the only way we reunite?

I feel her breathe, chanting prayers I keep. "Just say my name, and I will let you sleep." "Faith, I know you visit me out of spite."

My Faith keeps me up in the dead of night.

SILHOUETTE

BY FIONA SOPHIE BALAOD

The clock struck one— And there, panic began; I stood up and shunned a light along the pavement Then a thud echoed throughout the basement.

Stunned, she looked back; darkness. Shivers as the wind blows; around I looked.

Every inch, every second, the old wooden door shrieks as it closes The last wind blows; I peeked.

Behind the tree, along the glistening streetlight

A silhouette, a woman Runs her blood cold, door shunned closed, yet... Again, I peeked, with nothing in sight.

Folding my written letters on the working table I felt a stare pierce right through my soul That woman, maybe she was here. Maybe I was never alone.

THE BARN

BY JASMINE KIELE OSORIO

unwelcoming gloom resides inside the barn, concealed beneath the pile of hay. Everyone who An visited, young or haunted by the terrors of unfamiliar darkness. Rumor has it that elderly Anna, who used to own the antique barn, fell into her demise a few weeks after purchasing the handsome stable her late wife wanted.

To boast strength and vigor, big men and women came time after time to the daunting nightmare. Mama used to say, “No one has ever left that place unhinged,” before bed. “Not even your papa.” Papa never spoke a word of telling, and I never sensed negative foretelling of the stable despite legends of accounts. If there is a person to discover what’s beneath its mysterious demeanor, it’d be me. But cats never should have wandered in their curiosity, for I witnessed, with my little eyes, the darkness becoming of me. ‘MISSING LITTLE BOY’ was plastered all over town that afternoon.

TENEBRAE

BY ALTHEA CLAIRE J. SILAGAN

THEYsay the night is dark and full of terrors, and no truer words have been said on a cold Halloween evening. In a small town called Moriville, Adelaide has been gearing up for trick or treating, as it was her favorite thing to do during Halloween. She has been consequently doing this for many years and not once has she missed the occasion.

Together with her friends, they would dress up in their costumes and go around the town, knocking on doors. “Trick or treat!” they shouted synchronously, smiling from ear to ear as someone opened the door from one of the houses they went to.

Every owner of every house they went to seemed to be delighted by the group of friends and the joy that they brought every time they would knock on their doors and ask for treats, as innocent children do. Mrs. Smith even commented that Adelaide and her companions were the best dressed for this year’s Halloween. True enough, no one can outshine the bright and colorful costumes that they wore this season. As to why they chose this theme on a holiday that is centered around grim and darkness, no one knows.

“We gathered plenty of treats today. Great job, guys!” said Adelaide as she checked through her basket, thrilled at the number of sweets they accumulated for the day. They were proud of themselves and began to high five each other.

“I hope he will be happy.” one of her friends said enthusiastically. They were walking around the street as the sun began to set and darkness started to loom around the town. “Hurry! It’s getting dark and we don’t want to be late,” said another fellow from their group, and they now ran in a rush.

They stop at an old abandoned house and begin to knock on the door, knowing well that no one will answer it. Nonetheless, it wasn’t locked and they entered the residence together. Not a single sound was made as they made their way inside, with gloom, dust, and cobwebs surrounding the place.

They stop at yet another door—only this time, it seems to be leading to the basement of the house. The group nudges at each other, wondering who would be the first to go down the stairs. Adelaide finally gives in and is the first to make her way into the basement, her friends following her thereafter.

“Just like we promised,” said the girl.

“We hope you like it,” and they began to lower their baskets as a shadowy, hideous figure began to emerge from the darkness.

Finally, Adelaide had her friends made their annual offerings to Tenebrae, the dark and monstrous entity who lives in their small town and has been haunting the place for centuries. Indeed, the night is dark and full of terrors, more so when you see him up close.

ADOLESCENCE

There is a subtle moment, a turning point in time when a series of significant firsts transform youth into an age of maturity the period of time when a first heartbreak, first love, and first dream were more than simply scenes in a novel; they were beginnings. With arms spread wide and eyes closed, the first free fall into a taste of adulthood was more than simply a preview of what was to come; it was a rite of passage.

Depicting the pleasures, perils, and misadventures that go along with growing up, Stage 2 captures heartbreaks and moments of self discoveries in adolescence. But beyond the prose and the metaphors, this stage tackles the sensations of seeking academic validation, teenage insecurities, and the challenges attached to the path of maturity in a light that teases out the relatable quandaries surrounding relationships. Binding individual experiences, this stage retraces the complex route of life’s many firsts, navigating the possibilities of beginnings that hit close to home.

ALL THESE A'S

BY PHOEMELA NICOLE GUTIERREZ

I couldn't help but dwell That I didn't do well. I wish there was a spell, To change the answers That I couldn't tell.

All these A's, Tests that I aced, Are they worth the chase?

Working at a fast pace

To be the first place. It wasn't my intention To seek validation; It was out of desperation.

Failing my education was my biggest frustration.

NUMBERS

BY SIRACH DEL FIERRO

One hot, humid night, I was surprised when I suddenly felt a dash of cold breeze hit my body. Goosebumps then formed quickly as I tried not to open my eyes; afraid that I might see something—that’s where I went wrong. When I thought I could escape, I was put in a chokehold. She entered my mind as she covered my ears tightly with her ice cold crusty hands. I couldn’t hear anything except whispers. "Try harder; where was that girl who shone, who prospered?" She said it as if she knew what I did, as if she fully knew who I am.

I’ve always been an achiever growing up. I was that kid who represented the class during quiz bees, the kid who read the encyclopedia instead of playing Chinese garter, and the kid who everyone envied because of her top one title in their class. I enjoyed learning. I was the happiest when I gained information that I'd never encountered before, or when my classmates and teachers applauded me for knowing the answer to every subject’s oral recitation.

Well, that girl is now long gone. “What am I without my academic achievements?” I ask myself repeatedly whenever an inconvenience comes my way. I am just a mere teenager who dwells in frustration because she has lost her talent for learning. One who is burned out but trying her best to get good grades. Not for the sake of learning, but just so that her parents wouldn’t be disappointed in her or so she wouldn’t be disappointed in herself.

Since that night, my consciousness of high grades worsened. I did things that were wrong just to get the numbers that I thought would define my worth. I was anxious when I didn’t study for at least half the day. Every time I took a break, she knocked on my mind and slapped my senses. And whenever I got grades unworthy of her standards, she followed me around and haunted me in my dreams. I thought that if she could visit me every night and torture me in my sleep then she can kill me. Afraid of her voice, and existence; she was not someone who motivated me to work harder but someone who I feared.

LIE AWAKE

BY CARMEL ROSERG DELIGOS

I constantly lie awake at night, Haunted by thoughts of darkness, Filled with anxiety and fright, Formed from paranoia and sadness.

Afraid to utter or hear the word goodbye, My fears I can no longer fight nor hide,

Afraid that if I close my starlit eyes, I’ll wake up with you no longer by my side.

To see myself as either blessed or cursed, From exhaustion worrying and crying for hours, To hope in death for me to be first, Rather than to see your grave of flowers.

I constantly lie awake at night, Not knowing which is worst, Just as I can no longer sleep tonight, To imagine or dream of losing you hurts.

With Death’s shadow that we cannot shun, Burning tears of lost brim under the moonlight, Nowhere to hide, no way to run, I lie awake at night.

STAGE 3...

ADULTHOOD

Adulthood is wrestling with a different reality. You will meet people who bask in the tailwind of those that have gone ahead, going with the flow and taking things one at a time.

The complete unknowability is terrifying there is a certain degree of disillusionment that comes with moving from one phase of life to another.

Once you do step out once and for all with a diploma in hand, the real world can nudge you to change. Your future, unemployed self may not necessarily reward your past college self in ditching to study for an exam to spend a night out with friends you now barely talk to. What are the appropriate words to say when the past, younger self is stubborn? Stuck in its own time, making its own choices? How does one begin to reconcile with the past?

CALENDAR

BY SIRACH DEL FIERRO

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen,

It was something I have never seen. The calendar flipped as quickly as the lightning Its pieces were flying, and I was caught in the ground shaking.

Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, I didn't know what to do. Papers flew as the wind blew in a circular direction There were cuts on my neck and arms as I cried for protection.

Twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, I wonder if I could come out alive.

Suddenly, it stopped dead quiet silence As if nothing ever happened.

Twenty-five,

Where my life paused.

I thought, “maybe that was the cause?”

People are already in their careers while I am out here living in fear.

I cleaned my wounds with whispers on a tune I covered my ears, ready to fight.

But the voices grew bigger and swallowed me deeper, I prayed and prayed, hoping that someone would be my savior.

BINGO

BY SIRACH DEL FIERRO

As I stepped on the unleveled, stone-filled ground, I look down to the side, to the back, and then down below. Is this safe? Oh, yeah, I wouldn't know. I smiled from ear to ear when I reached the deepest part. The silence was calm but pumped, was my heart. I told myself as I sat down, with flashlight lit, “I’m free”

That’s when I jinxed thee, When I thought the farthest was the escape flee, It was an even greater opportunity to torment me.

The familiar sound of thumping footsteps, The eyes I couldn’t see but I knew were targeted only at me. I looked at my side, no. I looked below, no. I looked to the back, Bingo. Secluded and forgotten. I found myself in a pitch-dark cave.

I thought I was brave. But at that moment, all I wanted was to be saved.

Bingo

DOLL

BY FIONA SOPHIE BALAOD

A glance at the streetlight, A doll in the rear sight Sitting in a jeepney in the middle of a cold night I find pages in my mind; long I have read. Tears long I have kept.

It’s scary How a little girl playing with her doll beside me Shatters the bottled tears, never have I thought I carry As she makes me reminisce, the peculiar innocence I had When I was a child When I was once—a child.

I miss it. The comforting feeling of not knowing Never have I thought the more I know about the world, the more I lose that comfort. The comfort that years ago, saw the world as a place of beauty A place of hope and peace A cradle so pure and sweet Yet again, it is still beautiful. But never will I see the world again The same as how I did When I was once that girl, the girl holding a doll

THE FOOTPRINTS

BY MIKYLLA CERVANTES

A worthwhile life is lived with a strong sense of purpose and fulfillment in everything it beholds. One is built with the elements of a vibrant youth to love and grow; to weep and then learn; to be young, innocent, and carefree. After all, each moment that encompasses the route of sailing to carry the footprints along with time is a treasure that makes up every facet of existence.

But how complicated would it be? That amidst a great perspective, one stumbles to find their footprints slowly fading, washed along the sea and carried by the wind through the coarse sand of time; consoled to go forth amidst the fear of losing tracks on the way back home.

Will it be scary? To feel lost and confused reverberating the sound of the falling rain, shadowing the pavements of everlasting chances to continue a vanishing story. Walking the same way in suddenly engulfed flames, yet to be put out by the same heavy rain. Still, many laugh while others cry.

But when the sun's rays peaked over the horizon, clumped dark clouds grew farther away, straying to cast light on the vibrant hues. Footprints that have faded suddenly emerge as softer, finer lines. To continue a tale that was once believed to have vanished, unclear yet altered.

Despite the heavy rain, the sun overshadowed the horizon once again. Never ceasing to exist, it replaces the gloomy hues of the storm to pave the way for another spectacle of growth— a little complicated to be seen through the lens of the inevitable changes.

Letting the invisible wings clasps the untouchable horizon, only to realize how tiring but fulfilling it has been. Always yearning for what’s left along the pavements in exchange for an uncertain kiss in a vast sky—foretold to be destiny and life.

In the end, life must be lived in everything it beholds, with a sense of meaning and purpose, despite the looming fear of forgetting and changing, faltering yet never standing again. To remarkably transcend the heights of our pavements and the shifting imprints of our time, it takes courage and passion to strive for growth and love, surpassing fear.

SEA, SAND, SORROW

BY ALEXIA DESPARES

It felt like the sea.

Except this was not the sea. It was not the product of God’s manifestations in His out worldly grace, nor did it feel like someone’s ideal version of serenity. No, this sea was my own doing; gloomy with its vast expanse of inky sand, and salty with the lapping of the crashing waves against the shore.

It was a condemnation. A mockery.

I was all alone. No matter how many times I circled the island no matter how much I desperately cried out, there was no one to answer. I was stuck floating in a reflection of my own tears, all alone.

“Help me,” I cried. “Don’t leave!”

But no one was there. No one to leave, no one to stay, no one to help. The sand lay flat against the ground, sure between the gaps of my toes, but I could feel its darkness looming over me. It crept over me; its cold, grainy fingertips. The irrational fear of being alone– where no one would even notice how little my life already flickered, settled in with dread.

“No, no, no, no, no ” I chanted, stumbling across the planes of sand I’d already walked over a hundred times in search of someone. Each step I took faltered, and I sank heavier and heavier into the trembling roves. Or maybe the darkness at the

corners of my eyes crept towards my irises, a blessing underneath its haunting disguise.

I couldn’t swim away. Each time I tried, I would grow rigid and stop, and the waves would swallow my desperate screaming. Salty water would fill my lungs until I choked on my tears, and the pain would fade away in a flash of white light. It would always, always lead me back to the island, shivering and gasping and sick with the knowledge that no one was here to help, to comfort, to check if I still breathed.

Those were the times I cried, pathetic and sorrowful and so so alone. My limbs grew heavy and my knees trembled; and the sand would provide me with rest with its uncomfortable clasp, swallowing each drop of tear down to the roots of its earth. The waves would lick my feet in a mocking apology.

There was a bitter vindication in slowly withering away, piece by piece, lost in the sorrow of your own faults. A defeated resignation, trapped in the nightmarish fear of being left behind.

“Don’t leave. Stay,” I rasp. It is quiet. I’m all alone.