Midnight Stories: Old ghosts of isolated islands

About Midnight Stories: October is the month of spooks and things that go bump in the night, so what better than a series of scary stories to get you in the mood for Halloween? Read on.

A ragtag band of video journalists who worked for a certain popular reality game show from 2004 to 2011 had lots of stories to tell when they returned from their shoots.

For a month or so, home would be a scattering of huts or resort-cottages in the midst of dense old-growth jungles, limestone cliffs, and lonely stretches of beach in Tarutao and Ranong in Thailand and Peleliu and Koror in Palau.

The rock islands themselves would be empty save for the cast and crew, the detritus of World War II-vintage aircraft, tanks and ships and the remnants of past tsunamis that washed up on the beach, including mismatched pairs of slippers and broken TVs.

The desolation was complete. One couldn’t even strike up a conversation with those who delivered food and other supplies by speed boat because of the language barrier.

So no one was really surprised when they started experiencing unusual events before long—including encounters with doppelgangers. One was that of program manager who they saw arrive at the mess hall and engage in animated conversation with a companion there, only to see the real program manager arrive later from one of the islands with a group he had been with the entire day.

Another was that of one of the researchers, whom they left at the mess hall only to find him asleep in their sleeping quarters when they got there.

They also recall a segment producer who walked about headless until he bumped into a researcher and “regained his head”; the nightly visitors who prowled the campsite grounds in sailor or prison garb and disappeared in the glare of hastily-switched-on Frezzi lights; and the yell of a female executive who had volunteered to stand watch that night.

One such apparition suddenly appeared in the footpath ahead of a group returning from a tribal council as they were walking back to their sleeping quarters. The group gave chase, certain it was one of the castaways playing a prank on them. But a quick check of the castaways in their bunker showed they were all accounted for, fast asleep and with clean feet—a clear indication they had not been out walking in the muck.

By month’s end, nothing scared the production team anymore—not the beings they saw going into their sleeping quarters at night who would disappear by the time they reach the door; not the island rangers in their native dress who died in the 2004 tsunami but who still kept watch over the sleeping castaways; and certainly not the wraiths you saw only in the corner of your eye but which disappeared when you turned to look straight at them, in the dim footpaths between the huts.

They’d seen human figures that kept their backs to them, looking like no one known to reside in the campsites. Figures that resemble the locals in build, dress and color but who could not possibly be on this rugged and mountainous island because they knew everyone else besides themselves who were there.

But seeing as they could not leave the island until the shoot wrapped up, they manned up and adjusted to the situation.

Exhausted by day’s end, they would gather in the mess hall, or check their gear and footage while working up the courage to hit the showers.

They took to going about their business in twos or threes—trying not to jump out of their skin when the tsunami horn sounded to signal noontime tsunami drills, taking only quick showers and constantly looking over their shoulder to make sure they were not being followed or watched by anything that was not of this world. — BM, GMA News