The World's Most Shocking X-rays

Source: http://ph.news.yahoo.com/photos/the-world-s-most-shocking-x-rays-1316666922-slideshow/shocking-x-rays-photo-1316666644.html

The Ozone Disco

The Ozone Disco
The Ozone Disco at one time was a trendy hotspot disco in Quezon City that caught on fire. Due to mass panicking, nobody was able to get out alive. Some people near the location hear ghostly disco music in their houses at night and see faint people dancing.

A fire at the Ozone Disco Club in Quezon City, Philippines broke out shortly after midnight, Philippine Standard Time, March 18, 1996 (04:00:00 PM, March 17, 1996, GMT) leaving at least 162 people dead. It was officially acknowledged as the worst fire in Philippine history, and the world's worst nightclub fire since the 1977 Beverly Hills Supper Club fire in Southgate, Kentucky.

Ozone Disco, located along Timog Avenue corner Tomas Morato Avenue in Quezon City, was opened in 1991 by Segio Orgaoow. Its building had previously housed a jazz club named "Birdland". The disco was operated by Westwood Entertainment Company, Inc.
The fire broke out on March 18, 1996. At the time of the fire, it was estimated that there were around 350 patrons and 40 club employees inside Ozone Disco, though it had been approved for occupancy for only 35 persons. Most of the club guests were high school and college students attending graduation or end-of-the-school-year celebrations.[6] Survivors reported seeing sparks flying inside the disc jockey's booth shortly after midnight, followed by smoke which they thought was part of the party plan of the DJ.
Many of the bodies were discovered along the corridor leading to the only exit, piled up waist-high. Quezon City officials were quoted as saying that the club's emergency exit had been blocked by a new building next door, and that there was no proper fire exit. It was also reported that the exit had been locked from the outside by the club's guards, who had thought that a riot had taken place.
Even though the incident happened, the structure which housed the disco is known for its haunting's until today. The people who live near the location of the disco house hear faint disco music and see ghostly people dancing when darkness falls. They also claim that the people were the victims of the fire.

The Ozone Disco in Manila was the scene of a fire that caused the death of 162 revelers on March 19, 1996. The burnt-out shell of the club still lies vacant and undisturbed -- except, apparently, for ghosts. Passers-by report strange noises and sightings. Investigators, grieving relatives and friends of the victims say they have seen apparitions. Some photographs appear to show floating, whitish figures.

In a bid to put the spirits at rest, Joseph Stephen Santos, who lost a cousin in the fire and heads the Justice for Ozone Victims movement, invited the questors to hold a séance on the site. Questor Josie Buenafe, a teacher at an exclusive boys' school, called up the spirit of Ed. He said that while the victims wanted to be remembered, they urged their loved ones to let them go. Ed said there were only 60 spirits left in the Ozone and asked the questors to return for another meeting on the first anniversary of the fire.

In March this year the questors were back. This time they tapped into the spirit of Joey, who told them the details of what had happened on the night of the fire. Thought to be the deejay, Joey explained that when disco-goers saw smoke bellowing from his booth, they assumed it was just part of the show. Joey grabbed an extinguisher and tried to douse the flames, but was finally overcome and engulfed in the fire. He said he could "find the light" and move on to the next world, but had stayed to help the other spirits who were having trouble leaving.

Today, the Ozone's old neighbors have gone. A once-flourishing design shop next-door now stands vacant. On the other side, separated from the Ozone plot by a wall, is the restaurant and club of a recently built hotel. Workers in a glass shop two doors down say they don't hear anything unusual, but no one works late. "We all go home at night," they say.

Perez says there are far fewer spirits in the remains of the Ozone Disco than there used to be. "But many still remain, mostly because they are concerned for the welfare of their loved ones, who are still grieving. Unless the living learn to let go, the spirits will stay in the disco and will not find peace."

Source: http://www.asiaweek.com/asiaweek/97/1017/feat2.html

Also view Ozone from Wikimapia: http://wikimapia.org/606228/

Many family members of the victims in the accident had tried contacting the souls of their love one thru a medium. Rituals were also held outside the once flourished discotheque regularly to assist the spirits of the victims to leave the world in peace. A man assisting in the ritual was said to have being processed by one of the spirit of the victim during the accident. The processed man could illustrate the process of the fire breakout in vivid clear details. Today, the street is still very quiet; workers around the neighborhood had said to experience fewer ghostly encounters and they never carry out work at night.

Source: http://www.hauntedamericatours.com/ghosthunting/phillipines.php

Grave Encounters (2011) - Official Trailer [HD]

THE OLD HAUNTED STONE HOUSE

It is the oldest house in Tiaong, but long abandoned and decaying from disuse, a relic historied with elements of a colonial past and a war-time occupation by the Japanese, rebuilt from the damage wrought by the bombardment during the American liberation. Now it stands, a dying landmark, prey to vandals and petty thieves stripping it of wires, doors and metal scraps, lovers seeking a trysting place, treasure hunters still in search of Japanese caches of treasures. The imposing stone structure with the central garden sculpture built in 1927, is a testament of the efforts and conceptions of two men: Isidro Herrera and an architect of great renown in his time, Tomas Mapua.
The garden sculpture of Elias - in the middle of the horseshoe-shaped pool - was inspired and drawn from Jose Rizal's El Filibusterismo. The sculpture of the half-naked Elias, in his brawn and bravado, subduing the crocodile, holds frozen in time the smoldering rage of the filibusters against the Spanish dictatorship.
Alas, for some, the crocodile has also stood as a symbol of the bourgeosie's cruel greed, and Elias, the common man that takes up the struggle against the collective burgis.
HISTORICAL NOTE: The house was built in 1927 to Thomas Mapua's architectural design. The back part of the house was damaged by the bombings at the end of the Japanese occupation; repairs and additions were done in 1950 by C. Gonzales, a Candelaria architect. The facade persists of Thomas Mapua's original architectural design, including the Elias sculpture and the garden's other concrete structures.

The Ghosts Within
Many say it's haunted. Headless soldiers in Japanese uniforms, helmets in hand. An elderly couple in regal white slowly descending the circular steps, completing the descent as a headless apparition. The rattling of doorknobs. Doors that suddenly refuse to open. The sound of shackled walking and the dragging of chains. The heavy cold air that wraps around the intruding guests.
Many have tried to brave through a night. My brother's karate group, brown and black belters, visiting for a weekend of instructions and exhibition of their martial art skills. Another, a nephew and his barkada, aware of the ghosts, intent to tease and draw them out of their ethereal habitats, their nerves augmented by alcohol and fraternity. None lasted to the midnight hour, skedaddling back to Manila, their machismo bruised and tempered.
Some believe the spirits have claimed the space and have joined together to hinder and stall all efforts to sell or demolish it.
Recent caretakers continue to tell of an old lady in the traditional ghostly garb of white, her white hair loose on her shoulders, lingering around the rooms, with a penchant for conversing with their little children, bringing them to giggles and laughter.
Its hauntedness is kept alive by the townfolk – stories from the diminishing number of old-timers who remember the olden days and a constant replenishing source of sightings from passers-by as they steal glances at the framed glass windows and doors sometimes catching shadowy forms moving about – stories that resuscitate as the October days march into Halloween night.
Some of us still suffer a connection with it, a common bond with a shared past, hoping, searching for a way to save it. And I, one of them. I was born in that house, haunting me with memories of the halcyon days of a childhood wrapped in trimmings of provincial gentry, fondly remembered, not for its previleges, but for the wonderful windows that opened, that took us to ricelands, the coconut plantations, the hills and rivers of rural Tiaong, the warmth of its people, the color of their endless stories and mythologies. . . and inevitably, the reason to come back.
Yes. . . the old house, i visit it frequently. It has been stripped empty; the rooms now open, mere joists and beams. Still, easily, when I close my eyes, the sounds of a bygone past engulf and sometimes, a cold air gently embraces me. Yes, that old stone house, it is both that. Haunted. . . and haunting.

Source:  http://www.stuartxchange.org/AncestralHouse.html

Insidious

    Yesterday, I was terrified, scared and whispering in sheer terror about this movie “Insidious”. The last time that I screamed while watching a movie was “The Dawn of the Dead”. This movie Insidious has it all, the frights, the acting skills of the actors, the plot of the story and most important the story itself.

    I recommend not watching Insidious by yourself; you need to have a friend or a bunch of cousins with you because the movie was so terrifying you can’t go to bed.

    I like how the director plays with actors and how he/she captured the audience’s attention.

Two thumbs up for Insidious.

Tiniente Gimo and his family.

Tiniente Gimo
from Jemina's Stories
Saturday, September 27, 2008

This is probably the most famous aswang story of all time. It has even been referenced to in a few Filipino horror movies. I will try to recount the version of the story as I heard it told so long ago.

This is the horrifying but sad tale of Tiniente Gimo and his family.


Tiniente (Filipinized Spanish for Lieutenant) Gimo was a person of some note in his town of Dueñas in Iloilo, a region in the Visayas. He and his family were considered 'lahi ng aswang' (a clan of aswangs) and he wasn't one to hide the fact. Although he didn't flaunt it, he wasn't shy about it either. He knew the power he held over people and their fear was enough to make him claim the power that his bloodline gave to him.

One of the teniente's daughters studied in a university in the city. During a break, this daughter invited two of her classmates to come to her hometown for a visit. The young ladies agreed, excited at the prospect of going to a town they had never visited before.

They were greeted with enthusiasm by the teniente's family and as was customary in the Philippines, a small party was prepared. The lady visitors were fed and entertained. As the night grew deeper, one of the young ladies asked (let's call her Juana) what the sleeping arrangements would be. Gimo's daughter said that the visitors would be sharing a room with her.

And so off to bed they went. Because they were in a small town, no big beds were available so they all agreed to sleep on mats on the floor. Juana slept in the middle, tucked in between Gimo's daughter and their friend.

The two girls soon drifted off to sleep but Juana found that tired as she was, she just couldn't bring herself to sleep. Filipinos refer to this feeling as 'namamahay', which is when your body and mind are still in the process of adjusting to a new environment and thus cannot perform a certain routine. This was what prevented Juana from sleeping. It was also what kept her alive.

The party went on outside even as the night deepened but to Juana, instead of fading away, the noise just seemed to get a little bit louder. She heard more people coming, being greeted, there were sounds of suppressed laughter, soft giggles and whispers. "Must be the party for tomorrow," she thought. "They're really throwing a big one."

Since she couldn't sleep anyway, Juana decided to get up and take a peek at the activities through the window. When she lifted the cover, what she saw stirred fear in her heart. On the clearing not far from the house, people were gathered together in a circle – a few women were busy cutting spices and vegetables, some men were talking and drinking while others were sharpening knives. There were children as well. And there, through the shrubs, more people were coming.

In the middle of the circle was a fire and over the fire was a larger-than-usual iron cauldron. If these people were going to cook, they were going to cook something big – bigger than a full-grown chicken or a goat.

Just then, Juana heard Teniente Gimo's voice just on the other side of the wall, talking to another man.

"So which one is it?" the man asked.
"The one in the middle and the other one's on the right," Teniente Gimo said.
"Okay. I'll bring three or four along in case there's a struggle."
"Let's just hit her on the head. Keep her quiet that way."
"True."
"And bring the sack to carry her with. We'll take care of the other one."

Juana didn't need to hear any more just to understand what the two men were discussing. The 'one in the middle' they were referring to was her! The fire and the iron cauldron, all those vegetables and spices the women were preparing, the sack… they intended to butcher her and her friend!

Juana's survival instinct kicked in. She debated for a while on whether to wake up her friend or not but the men were coming up the stairs and if her friend woke up suddenly, there's no telling what she would say or do. They could both be in bad trouble if she delayed for another second.

Juana hurried back to the sleeping girls on the floor, pushed Gimo's daughter towards the middle, lay on the girl's right and covered everyone's head with the wide blanket. That way, the heads were hidden underneath. She tried to calm herself to prevent from shaking. Soon the door opened slowly and noiselessly.

Juana didn't know how many men came for Teniente Gimo's daughter that night. All she felt and heard were soft footsteps, a few whispers and a loud thud as they hit the young girl on the head. They were very quiet, as if they were used to doing what they did. They didn't even wake up her friend, who was sleeping so soundly just an arm's length away from Juana. Teniente Gimo's daughter lay moaning next to her.

The men quickly wrapped the bleeding girl in the sack and carried her away.

After the men had left the room, Juana got up, tried to wake her friend for the last time, failed and decided to go at it alone. She opened the window across the one facing the clearing where they were presently beating the body inside the sack and carefully but fearfully climbed down.

As soon as her bare feet touched solid ground, Juana began to run. She didn't care where she was passing through – all she knew was that the main road was in that direction. She hadn't gotten far when she heard shouts and screams from the group. They had opened the sack and found out the terrible mistake they made.

Enraged, Teniente Gimo cried for everyone to check the house, find the girl, THE girl they wanted, she who was supposed to be in the middle, she who was supposed to be in the sack, she who was supposed to be the one they should be prepping tonight, she whose throat they should have slit.

Behind her, Juana heard the commotion and simply assumed that people were now climbing the stairs, opening the door to the daughter's room and finding that only one was left behind and the other had run away. It would only be a matter of time before they found out where she was headed. So Juana kept on running over the grass, the rocks, the pebbles that cut her feet, the sharp thorns of the shrubs and the slimy dead things underneath her.

But those who were in pursuit of her were men – grown men, men taller than she, with longer legs, with strength stolen from the other men and women they had slaughtered before her poor friend. As the men with the torches began to gain on her, Juana felt panic rise from her legs to her heart, threatening to turn her legs to stone. She could never outrun these men and if she could hide, where? They probably knew this area very well and could find her easily.

But right in front of her, a tree stood. It was tall enough but not so tall that she couldn't climb it and it looked strong, with a thick truck and even thicker leaves. Juana had no memory of how she managed to climb the tree that night but there she cowered, shaking, mouthing prayers for the Virgin to protect her, to please not let them see her, hear her, smell her.

The voices grew nearer and so did the footfalls. Not only the men came in pursuit. There were a few women as well, some of them holding torches, some gripping a thick tree branch and others, still holding on to the knives they used to cut the onions and the tomatoes. Light from the torches illuminated the branches and the leaves of the tree as the mob passed underneath her. If one of them ever looked up…

But no one did. The crowd of angry men and women who tried to come after her came and went. They couldn't find her. A few hours later, which seemed an eternity to Juana, they came back again, walking this time, tired and hungry, their torches fading but they came a few feet away, no longer passing under Juana's tree.

Although the crowd had gone, Juana stayed hidden in the tree. She waited for the dark sky to turn gray and very carefully, painfully climbed down. No one was in sight and she was too far away to actually hear anything from where Teniente Gimo's hut stood. Besides, it was morning and if they did party on last night, they would be too full and tired to care today. Juana brushed the thought of her other friend, the one she left behind, away and began to run again, towards the main road.

At this point, I no longer remember how Juana got help. Maybe she stopped a passing bus or jeepney or maybe a person with a good soul came across the fearful girl with the wild eyes. But she did get help and she did find her way home, safe and alive. She never went back to the town of Dueñas, not even to see if the tree that saved her life still stood.

As for Teniente Gimo and his clan of aswangs, it is said that the incident devastated him. It was his own beloved daughter after all. They packed up and abandoned their home and moved someplace else. Where he and his family are now is only whispered about and whether they are still hunting and luring human prey, it can only be guessed at. Who knows? They could be in your town.

Source : http://www.pinoyunderground.com/showthread.php?p=3206820