Remember that feeling? Lights out, huddled under the blankets, heart trying to break free from your chest? Yeah, we’ve all been there. We’re talking about the horror movies that haunted our childhood.
For some, it was Chucky with his creepy grin or Freddy Krueger invading dreams. For others, maybe it was the grainy terror of “The Ring” or the jump scares of “Paranormal Activity.”
Me? My childhood nightmares wore a very specific shade of VCD plastic. See, summer vacations at my Lola’s were a mixed bag. On one hand: endless plates of pancit, being spoiled rotten, and the kind of freedom only grandparents could get away with.
On the other hand? Lola’s house was old. Like, really old. With creaky floorboards, dusty portraits of stern-looking ancestors, and an atmosphere that screamed, “Baka may multo.”
And then there was the silong.
That dank, spiderweb-infested space beneath the stairs was like something out of a Filipino horror movie itself. And nestled in that silong, amidst stacks of old newspapers and boxes that smelled suspiciously like mothballs, was a treasure trove of bootleg VHS tapes.
My cousins and I, fueled by boredom and that special brand of “walang kamatayang” curiosity only found in children, stumbled upon Lola’s hidden stash. What we didn’t know then was that those tapes held the key to a whole universe of childhood trauma, expertly curated by whoever decided to film “Shake, Rattle, and Roll” and its many, MANY sequels.
The Curse of the “Shake, Rattle, and Roll” Franchise
Let me set the scene: imagine a bunch of ten-year-olds, hopped up on sugary mango juice and the promise of adventure. Now, picture these kids huddled around a flickering TV, the air thick with that distinct “luma” smell of old electronics.
Oh, and did I mention the brownout?
Yeah, because nothing screams “atmospheric horror” like watching a creepy doll come to life under the flickering light of a gasera.
“Shake, Rattle, and Roll,” those tapes were called. And let me tell you, they shook, rattled, and rolled my young, impressionable mind straight into years of therapy (not really, but it felt like it!).
Each tape was an anthology, a buffet of Filipino horror tropes that left me sleeping with the lights on for years. We’re talking about vengeful spirits with a penchant for white dresses and long, black hair. We’re talking about creatures straight out of Filipino folklore: manananggals, tikbalangs, kapres, you name it, “Shake, Rattle, and Roll” had it, ready to scare the bejeebers out of you.
The Horror That Haunted My Dreams (and My Sinigang)
One story, in particular, has stayed with me. I don’t remember which “Shake, Rattle, and Roll” it was (because, frankly, I’ve tried to block them all out), but the imagery remains seared into my brain.
Picture this: a family, very similar to ours, gathered around the dinner table. They’re having sinigang, the steam rising from the bowl as the mom ladles out portions. Everything seems normal, until you notice one thing…
The soup…it’s moving.
Not like, bubbling moving. Like, something is swimming in it.
And then, the thing emerges.
It’s a pale, bloated hand, reaching out from the depths of the sinigang. The family screams, the camera zooms in on the hand as it grabs the tablecloth, dragging the entire feast to the floor.
Cut to black. Cue childhood trauma.
For years after that, I couldn’t look at a bowl of sinigang without feeling a shiver of fear. Every time Lola lovingly ladled out a serving, I’d be mentally preparing for a hand to shoot out and grab me.
Beyond the “Shake, Rattle, and Roll”: The Legacy of Filipino Horror
Looking back, I realize the brilliance of those Filipino horror movies. They understood something universal about fear – it thrives in the familiar.
It’s not about monsters in far-off lands or ghosts in haunted mansions. It’s about the things that go bump in the night in our own backyard. It’s about the stories our lolas told us, the shadows that danced on the wall when the lights flickered, the creaking silong that held a thousand whispered secrets.
Filipino horror, much like our culture, is a melting pot. It draws from our history, our beliefs, and our fears, creating a unique brand of terror that resonates on a deeply personal level.
Sure, Hollywood has its jump scares and CGI monsters. But Filipino horror? It gets under your skin. It lingers in the back of your mind, whispering doubts and anxieties.
And that’s what makes it truly terrifying.
So, What Did We Learn?
Those VHS tapes under Lola’s stairs may have scarred me for life, but they also taught me a valuable lesson: fear, like a good adobo recipe, can be passed down through generations. It becomes part of our shared cultural DNA, shaping the way we see the world and the shadows that lurk within it.
So, the next time you’re feeling brave, I dare you to delve into the world of Filipino horror. Just don’t blame me if you find yourself sleeping with the lights on. And for the love of all that is holy, be careful what you eat – you never know what might be lurking beneath the surface.