Of ghosts, monsters, and men

By Michael Caesar C. Tubal

It’s Halloween season, and as someone who is chronically online, I have been enjoying the ghost stories and supposedly real-life supernatural encounters that Filipinos have been sharing on Threads, Meta’s microblogging platform. These stories have been going viral again, and I must admit that I have spent more time reading them than I probably should. I have also been following several subreddits devoted to similar experiences, some of which are genuinely unsettling.

Since I am currently in the mood for anything frightening, and having already devoted my previous two columns to contemporary literary works inspired by Philippine folklore and mythology, I thought it would be fitting to continue the discussion. This time, I would like to introduce three more works that approach horror differently but share an interest in the things Filipinos fear, whether supernatural or otherwise.

Let me begin with Dr. Leoncio Deriada’s Night Mares: And Other Stories of Fantasy and Horror, published in 1988. Deriada, a Palanca Hall of Fame awardee and one of the most accomplished writers from Western Visayas, demonstrates how local folklore can be used to explore the complexities of the human mind. Rather than relying entirely on frightening creatures or supernatural encounters, his stories draw from Visayan traditions, dark fantasy, and psychological horror.

What I find particularly interesting about Night Mares is how Deriada uses fear to examine human experiences. In stories such as “The Hunt,” the horrors can be read as manifestations of guilt, grief, and the pressures imposed by society. Meanwhile, “‘Twas Brillig” offers another interesting approach to fantasy, inviting readers to consider how history and colonial experiences influence the stories we tell and the things we fear. Although the book is currently difficult to find, I believe it remains an important contribution to Philippine regional literature.

If Deriada explores the psychological dimensions of horror through regional storytelling, Budjette Tan and Kajo Baldisimo take a different approach in their graphic novel series Trese. Here, creatures traditionally associated with the countryside have found themselves quite comfortable in the streets of modern Manila.

The series follows Alexandra Trese, a supernatural detective who investigates crimes involving beings from Philippine mythology. In her world, aswangs, tikbalangs, kapres, and other creatures are not merely characters in stories told by our grandparents. They exist alongside ordinary people, sometimes participating in the same criminal activities and power struggles that characterize human society.

What makes Trese particularly engaging is its treatment of folklore as a commentary to contemporary social problems. In “Case 1: At the Intersection of High Street and 13th Avenue,” for instance, the familiar figure of the white lady becomes part of a narrative involving violence and the darker realities of urban life.

Throughout the series, Tan and Baldisimo incorporate crime, corruption, and abuses of power into their supernatural narratives. The result is a fictional Manila where the distinction between human wickedness and supernatural evil becomes increasingly difficult to make. The creatures may be frightening, but ordinary people’s actions can be equally disturbing.

The popularity of Trese, which eventually received an animated adaptation on Netflix, also demonstrates how traditional Philippine mythology can find new audiences through contemporary storytelling. These creatures have survived generations of oral narratives, and it is interesting to see how naturally they have adapted to the modern city.

From the crowded streets of Trese’s Manila, let us return to the quieter, and perhaps more unsettling, atmosphere of rural and small-town Philippines through Libing-Isa, a graphic anthology by Malayo Pa ang Umaga.

Unlike Trese, which frequently places recognizable mythological creatures at the center of its stories, Libing-Isa takes a more restrained approach to horror. Comprising eleven black-and-white graphic short stories, the anthology explores grief, desperation, moral ambiguity, and the unsettling aspects of ordinary life. Its horror often comes not from what is explicitly shown but from what readers suspect is happening beyond the illustrations.

One of the book’s strongest qualities is its artwork. The stark black-and-white illustrations create an atmosphere that complements the disturbing narratives. The absence of color is especially effective when the stories already deal with uncomfortable subjects.

I also appreciate how the anthology lets some stories end without clear explanations. Admittedly, a few endings may leave readers wanting more, but I think that uncertainty is part of the experience. After all, some of the most disturbing stories refuse to tell us exactly what happened.

These three works do more than use horror for entertainment. Deriada explores the fears within us, Tan and Baldisimo use familiar mythological creatures to reveal society’s darker side, and Libing-Isa finds horror in the everyday lives of people who already face many problems without anything supernatural happening.

This also explains why I continue reading those ghost stories on Threads and Reddit, even when I know I should already be sleeping. Whether they come from anonymous strangers on the internet or from the pages of Philippine literature, these stories appeal to the same curiosity that has kept our folklore alive for generations. We want to know what is hiding in the darkness, even if we are not entirely prepared for what we might find.

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Michael Caesar C. Tubal teaches language, literature, and pedagogy at West Visayas State University College of Education. In his free time, if he is not reading or writing, he watches past episodes of RuPaul’s Drag Race or joins book clubs in Iloilo City.