Thrice prior, The LaSallian dispatched writers to stay on campus overnight to scope out the numerous urban legends that haunt the University’s grounds, seeking to sense any presence that might stalk its hallways beyond operating hours. This budding tradition began in 2010 in celebration of All Souls’ Day, with follow-ups in 2013 and 2018. It was nipped of a sequel due to COVID-19 lockdowns.
This year, it was revived once more by a motley crew of staffers, including three writers from the publication’s Menagerie section. Unlike past iterations that were overnight affairs, the exploration was cut short by the Office of the Vice President, who only permitted the crew to complete their rounds within school hours. This made for a rather fruitless investigation, leaving only a four-hour window beginning at sundown.
Worse yet, even though the visit took place in the middle of the term’s Independent Learning Week, the school was still bustling with life, with most hallways brightly lit until 10 in the evening. With unbending curiosity, the staffers split off into three teams to cover all bases. There was no choice but to trudge into the shadows, since only the night could reveal whether these ghostly encounters would be benign or malicious.
Phola
St. La Salle Hall (LS)
The night began with a stroll through St. La Salle Hall. Being the most historic building on the Manila campus, it boasts a rich heritage that dates back to the 1920s. I don’t particularly believe in the existence of spirits, but if any place on campus harbored paranormal activity it would be this one. Over the years, many stories have been told about what roams the halls after dark: mysterious sightings, odd sounds, and strange encounters with the unknown.
The corridors of the iconic structure were traversed twice—once with the Menagerie writers, then together with Photo’s Kenosis Yap, Alfraz Jammang, and Kiolo Marzan, and Web’s Ramon Enrico Martinez.
The first stop was Medrano Hall, which was daunting to explore in the dark because of its numerous nooks and crannies. Other eerie details include the jail-like bars that lead to the Brothers’ quarters on the fourth floor as well as Mezzanine 229’s narrow and dark stairwell to a locked office. A picture of a saint can be seen when you peer into the door. Despite the odd details, everything else was typical.
In an unnoticed enclave within the facade of LS is the mezzanine, one of the most intriguing parts of our exploration. The wooden staircase was connected to a hallway littered with abandoned items, chipped saintly statues, and even a pile of broken glass with an unfamiliar nameplate atop of it. The abandoned rooms’ erratic layouts brought a feeling of unease. One room had an office with a small window peeking into a narrow “classroom” lined with desks that I would never want to sit alone in. Another looked like an infirmary with rows of cabinets and a discarded mattress. The first thing that caught my eye was the glowing green exit sign that led to nowhere, with chains attached on the wall.
One room was occupied. Curious about their unusual office location, we asked the staff to share anything uncanny they experienced. They shared stories of random door-knocking, goosebumps during early morning shifts, and even shuffling from the rooms that we had just entered. Though we had no firsthand experiences of the paranormal, there’s no denying that there is something strange about the mezzanine.
Our final stop in LS was the Chapel of the Most Blessed Sacrament, where a massacre occurred during the Japanese occupation in World War II. Initially, we were barred from entering due to ongoing construction, but we were allowed the second time around. Upon entry, the air felt thin; the space seemed to stretch out endlessly. We lingered by the entrance until we gathered enough courage to explore. Right before leaving, we shrieked as a dark figure ominously walked towards us, with the statue of the crucified Jesus glowing outside. Our panic quickly turned into awkward laughter when we realized the figure was one of the maintenance staff. He mentioned that while unnerving things don’t often happen, he sometimes sees shadows floating around the chapel from the corner of his eye.
Br. Connon Hall (Connon)
The journey from LS to Br. Connon Hall felt nearly peaceful, thanks to the cool air and festive decor scattered around the campus. It was around 8:50 pm, so sightings of other people were becoming sparse. The group decided to take the elevator to the 4th floor, where we entered one of the offices.
However, all we found were dim hallways and dark supply rooms. Our trip down the stairwell was just as mundane. The supposed paranormal energy felt absent here, possibly dissipating after the renovations done in 2018. Beyond the peace and quiet, our exploration of the SPS building proved to be entirely uneventful.
Henry Sy Sr. Hall (Henry)
The group decided to explore Henry Sy Sr. Hall last, hoping the lights would dim as the evening fell. The 14-floor structure, built in the 2010s, does not share the same assemblage of creepy tales and spooky encounters that its older neighbors do. Nonetheless, our expedition pushed through in hopes that the hours of darkness would unshell peculiar events. By 9:32 pm, the only thing amiss in the area was the absence of foot traffic. Despite the emptiness of the halls, the lights continued to illuminate the building. Most of the halls, rooms, and offices were restricted, but one of the fifth floor multi-purpose halls was unlocked. Still, nothing felt eerie about the vast space of empty seats. Even with the tall mirrors all around the hall, everything about being there felt ordinary.
The next stop on our hunt was the Cory Aquino Democratic Space, but this proved to be futile, too. Without the usual hustle and bustle seen during the day, CADS was simply an emptier, quieter, and windier version of its usual self. There was an aura of stillness that resonated more peace than fear. Making our way back to the office with no evidence of the unusual, the exploration of the Henry Sy Sr. Hall simply felt like a rare opportunity to observe a moment of tranquility in one of the busiest spots on campus.
Maxinne
Br. Andrew Gonzalez Hall (Andrew)
Our journey began with a slow descent from the campus apex, the night unfurling with a top-down exploration of the Br. Andrew Gonzalez Hall. Being the youngest building of the Manila campus, it has yet to carve out a deep well of chilling tales like its older predecessors, but it still contains its own air of unease.
Heavy metal doors slammed behind us as we were met with a practically identical floorplan on every level, reminiscent of liminal horror images on the internet. But unlike their hidden threats, none lurked behind Andrew’s sharp corners. The lone peculiarity of the night was the sharp ‘ding!’ announcing the faculty-only elevator landing on our exact floor, though there were no staff to be found during this University break, much less beyond 8 pm.
Science and Technology Research Center (STRC)
On the topic of elevators, I’d heard that the one located in the Science and Technology Research Center was rather unsettling. The photographers of our party snapped away at it, switching the inner light off for full effect.
I stepped into the claustrophobic box and the doors shut before I could locate the hold button, trapping me with none but the faint red glow of the digital number display. There, in the pitch-black ascent, even my atheism bowed to the Filipino-Chinese and Catholic beliefs I was raised on; or maybe it was primal instincts kicking into gear. The ride was achingly slow, and my vision suddenly felt much wider on all sides—as if something was ready to reach out at any moment.
When I returned, the rest of the party—Audric Vitangcol, Brean Lucero, and Ash Reyes of the Photo section, plus Jean Rondel Ponce of the Web section—hopped in. An unpleasant buzzing noise filled the elevator to signal that it was overloaded, and so I stepped back out into the hallway. Later on, once we’d finished circling the top floors, we all managed to occupy the elevator without any problem. This sprung jokes about how it probably detected the weight of a spectral figure.
Enrique M. Razon Sports Center (Razon)
Moving along quicker than expected, our party decided to hit the Enrique M. Razon Sports Center, which was not initially a part of our agenda due to time constraints. We focused on the lower floors, particularly the abandoned and now-restricted Gold’s Gym area, as well as the fifth parking level. Both had become nothing more than dump sites for stockpiled furniture. Although these forsaken spaces lent an ominous air, the true horror might have been where our tuition was going, given the expanse of facilities and resources cast aside instead of utilized.
Gokongwei Hall
Rather than crescendoing into a climax, the night ended with an uneventful stop at the Gokongwei Hall. Amid University-wide asynchronicity, students still dotted the study hall’s seats and cushions nearing 10 pm. Having heard about creepy encounters along the warp zone connecting Gokongwei to St. Miguel Hall, we gave it a shot, only for it to be completely devoid of any presence beyond ourselves.
Claire
William Hall
Our team was last to leave the publication’s office. Our team, consisting of Photo’s Michael Hamza Mustapha, Angekyla Barroquillo, and Precious Arroyo, Web’s Clark Siao, and myself, walked through the St. Joseph Walk with our first destination in mind: William Hall. The stretch of fluorescent lights was beaming; our pathway was clear as day. A few students were roaming the campus, and construction workers were banging their tools and metal plates—an unlikely setting for a supposed frightful night of seeking paranormals.
Upon arrival, Michael suggested we take the stairs to heighten the suspense. We found ourselves exploring the building from bottom to top, but we were met with nothing but the chilling winds and our heaving breaths as we trudged up the staircase.
Eventually, I am reminded of a hushed story in the William Shaw Theater. A little kid was witnessed laughing around the area during the dead of night. Since then and now, however, a recurring child at night is a doubtful presence inside a university. I suddenly realized that as we trudged upstairs, the atmosphere seemed to get lighter, as if we had avoided an uncanny place. Michael’s suggestion was a good idea after all.
St. Joseph Hall (SJ)
The group continued to St. Joseph Hall. This time, we explored SJ starting from the sixth floor, which finally brought the ambiance we were expecting in a paranormal night. The hallway equally extended to dark ends, with only the dim light in the middle to guide us. The microbiology laboratories had rays of light within from their refrigerated samples. Each floor was absent of staff, so as far as we knew, we were the only ones in the building.
The bland trip from William Hall aggravated the assumption that it’ll be the same with all buildings. However, there was something different about SJ. It might be a fleeting feeling caused by our boredom. From the sixth floor to the fifth, the team was lively. Jokes were shared occasionally, and exploring each crevice felt like we were merely curious visitors than paranormal seekers. Michael, Angekyla, and Clark were leading the team, while Precious and I stayed behind as we peeked inside the classrooms, crickets outside the windows, and picture frames on the wall; anything to keep our interest. But then we heard it—exactly three solid knocks from the door beside us.
Precious and I looked at each other with wide eyes, silently confirming from our stare if we heard the same thing. When we both nodded, we quickly ran to catch up with the others. We told them what we heard, and while some even doubted if we heard right, we were sure of it. I’m not an easily frightened person, but it might be because of my initial feelings about the paranormal in this building that I knew what we heard wasn’t a figment of our imagination. The entire team went back to the room Precious and I pointed to, but we didn’t hear anything again. As we passed SJ402, my heart slowly calmed down.
St. Miguel Hall (Miguel)
When we arrived at St. Miguel Hall, everything seemed to return to normal. The building was blindingly bright and there were staff wandering on each floor. As a Liberal Arts major, I’ve heard of stories that occurred at Miguel: the wide hallways are markers of a former hospital, the smell of Sampaguita coloring the air is a telltale sign of a ghost, and the haunts of a girl who died from choking before graduation day. Eventually, as we ended our exploration, we did not encounter anything similar to these stories.
Velasco Hall
Our last stop was at Velasco Hall, which was said to be a former hospital. Once again, we fell into our routine of opening unlocked classrooms and illuminating every dark corner with our flashlights. Still, nothing. Before we officially left the Velasco Hall, we braved the fire exit. From there, we looked down at the Bloemen canteen, where students roamed oblivious to our adventure.
Grand buildings, dimly lit hallways, and curious students—everything seemed to set the scene for a ghost hunt, yet the experience we craved remained elusive. The previous batches of The LaSallian staffers sent out on these expeditions were granted liberties that we did not have, mainly being the freedom to explore the campus beyond operating hours to be rid of any disruptive forces. This was supposed to be the key to unlocking the realm between day and night so we could immerse ourselves into a world to which we did not belong, yet it was dangled above our heads mockingly.
