To see is to believe.
We’ve been raised to trust only what we can prove and to root our decisions in facts and firsthand experiences. But sometimes, the world bends and twists beyond what the mind can grasp, leaving us with mysteries that science and reason cannot explain. It’s in these dark gaps of understanding where an old truth takes hold: sometimes, believing is the only way to see.
The mountains offer more than scenic views; they hold secrets, shadows, and stories that seem to seep from the rocks and trees. Driven by curiosity, I posted an invitation on Dakilanglaagan’s Facebook page, calling for travelers’ most chilling encounters in the mountains. The stories trickled in, each stranger than the last, and I trimmed them to eerie snapshots, flashes of the unexplainable. Real or imagined? I’ll leave that to you. But remember—if you doubt them, refer back to the first line.
Haunting Encounters in the Mountains
Invisible Companions at Mt. Pulag
Jared, exhausted from his dayhike from Akiki jump-off to Saddle Camp, heard a group of campers setting up near his tent. Too tired to look, he drifted to sleep, listening to their laughter and clinking pots. In the morning, eager to chat, he stepped outside, only to find he was completely alone. Puzzled, he hiked back down and asked the DENR ranger if the other group had left earlier. The ranger stared at him, frowning. “Nobody else was here this week.”
The Giving Tree (Alto Peak)
As Maria prepared to capture the sunrise at Alto Peak, she noticed a group of hikers brewing coffee nearby. Curious, she approached, asking why they hadn’t camped closer. The organizer glanced at the lone tree by her campsite and explained that when they arrived around midnight, the tree was oddly glowing with fireflies—and a towering dark figure descended silently from its branches, slowly pacing around the tents. No one dared move closer after that.
The Lonely Boy at Mt. Mandalagan
No one knows why they call the campsite “Lonely Boy,” but Glyth saw him there. Past three in the morning, while crouched by the trees, she spotted a child sitting quietly on the roots. She froze when he looked straight at her and whispered, clear as day, “Why did you abort me?”
Children’s Laughter (Mt. Bandilaan)
Kyla prepared for her vlog atop a Siquijor tower when she heard children laughing below. Glancing down, she saw no one. She brushed it off, but then a high-pitched scream echoed from beneath. Again, no one. A cold chill traced her spine, and she hurried down to her waiting tricycle. The driver glanced at her pale face and whispered about the three children who haunt Mount Bandilaan, where they’d died long ago in an accident.
Til Death Do Us Part (Mt. Kanlaon)
The guide called for his group’s sudden departure from Margaha Valley, ignoring their complaints. He had no choice; they didn’t understand. Every time he took a photo of them, he saw her and him—the couple who’d fallen from the cliffs during a selfie gone wrong. No one could see them, but he saw them in each shot, lingering, watching, and reliving their final moments.
Lake Nailig’s Cold Grip
While her friends chatted, Gel fetched water from the fog-covered Lake Nailig. As she rinsed the dishes, an icy touch traced her hand. Startled, she shone her headlamp around. Nothing. Dismissing it, she continued, but again, the cold touch slid over her hand—a feeling like fingers, impossibly frigid. Her breath caught, and she fled, leaving everything behind in the dark.
The Extra Face
The guide did a head count: six hikers. But when he looked at the group photo he’d just taken, he counted seven faces. Worse still, one of those faces was his own—but he was behind the camera, not in front of it.
The Wrong Guide
The lone hiker arrived at the crater campsite an hour late, his friends relieved. He’d been lost, but fortunately, the guide had found him, giving directions to the summit. But when he looked around, the guide at camp didn’t match the man who’d led him. The man at the summit had been… someone else.
Time-lapse (Lake Janagdan)
He’d left his camera to capture a time-lapse of the sunset over the lake, reviewing it later with his friends. The video played perfectly until halfway through when it went pitch black. Then, something slowly moved across the screen toward the lake. They watched as the shape faded into the water before vanishing entirely. When he replayed the footage alone, there was nothing but a beautiful sunset.
The Tent Shadow
While cooking, Harvey noticed a shadow inside his tent. Thinking it was his girlfriend, he checked, but the tent was empty. He shrugged it off until he glimpsed the shadow again. His girlfriend saw it, too. He checked once more, finding nothing. A chill settled over him as he recalled that the tent had belonged to his cousin—who’d died in it on his last trip.
Footsteps Outside (Mt. Maculot)
Three hikers went ghost-hunting around the campsite while their friends rested in a tent. When they returned, they found the pair inside, pale and shaking. The two explained they’d heard footsteps circling their tent for hours, stopping only when the others returned. But when they checked outside, there had been no one there.
Thou Shall Not Pass (Mt. Naupa)
Ana led her colleagues up the narrow, winding path to Mt. Naupa, headlamp beams cutting through the dense shadows around them. The air grew colder as they trekked higher, and her footsteps quickened, pulling her ahead of the group without realizing. Pausing, she turned to let them catch up. When they finally did, she settled into a slower pace, and they continued together in silence, the eerie quiet of the night stretching between them. Soon, they reached a small river that glistened darkly under the moonlight. Just as she was about to step forward, her friends halted abruptly, eyes wide, faces pale. Confused, she asked what was wrong, but they only pointed, frozen in place.
Following their gaze, she squinted into the misty shadows—and froze. A figure moved through the fog ahead: a woman with long, tangled hair obscuring her face, and a white dress that seemed to drift as though floating. The woman glided silently over the rocks and river, her form barely brushing the ground. She watched, heart pounding, as the figure moved forward without a sound, no splash breaking the still water. The woman’s head tilted ever so slightly in their direction, though her face remained hidden beneath her hair, and just as quickly as she had appeared, she melted back into the darkness, leaving the river silent once more.
Playlist at Chalet Hill
Spotify had always been his companion, especially on nights when he and his friends escaped the city for the quiet of the mountains. As usual, he’d brought his portable speaker, hoping to set a mellow soundtrack to their evening. But this time, he’d forgotten to charge it, and by ten o’clock, it had died completely. Resigned, he set his phone aside and lay back, letting the mountain silence fill the void. Eventually, he drifted to sleep, with only the faint rustling of trees and distant animal calls breaking the quiet.
The next morning, he was surprised when his friends commented on the “playlist” he’d chosen, especially the haunting, unfamiliar songs that had played after midnight. They chuckled, describing eerie melodies that seemed to echo through the campsite, strange lyrics in voices none of them recognized. He laughed nervously, but his mind raced. His speaker had been dead. He hadn’t played any music at all. When he checked his Spotify history, there was nothing queued after ten. The songs they’d heard—whatever they were—had come from somewhere else entirely.
Have you had a similar experience? Share your story below! For more chilling tales of the unexplainable, visit your nearest bookstore—particularly Precious Hearts Pages—and look for Mga Kwento sa Dilim: A Collection of Bizarre Philippine Ghost Stories. You can also find more of my stories on Wattpad under Playlist ni Kamatayan. Wishing you a hauntingly fruitful week, and remember: sometimes, to believe is to see.
Dakilanglaagan 