One of the oldest universities in Cebu is a place of life and youthful energy by day. But its foundations are built upon a dark, forgotten history. During World War II, it served as the headquarters for the dreaded Japanese Kempeltai—a place of imprisonment, torture, and death.
Decades later, the past refuses to stay buried.
It was during the university’s Intramurals. A group of students including a sports editor we’ll call SerKoro, was spending the night on campus. The air was hot, the energy high. Then, at 11 PM, a total blackout plunged the university into an eerie silence.
That’s when they heard it.
From the direction of the underground chorale headquarters, a song began to echo through the dark halls. It was not a melody of celebration but a haunting, dissonant chant that one witness described as “a song from hell.” Alarmed, they asked a friend in the chorale. The answer sent a chill down their spines, “Wala man mi nag-practice.”
They tried to shrug it off, settling back onto their mats. But at the witching hour of 3 AM, the campus itself came alive with a memory of war.
While lying in the dark, the entire parking lot outside erupted with sound. The crisp, rhythmic stomping of Japanese military marching echoed through the night. Then, a sharp, guttural shout pierced the air: “BANZAI!”
But the marching soldiers were not alone. The students, frozen in terror, began to perceive other phantoms. The desperate crying of a mother. The innocent, out-of-place sound of a child playing with a ball.
The most horrifying vision was reserved for their friend with the third eye. Through tears of sheer terror, she whispered what she saw materialized beside them. A severed head, rolling on the ground, its eyes staring into the void.
The blackout ended. The sounds vanished. But the terror of that night remained. The students had not just heard ghost stories but had lived through a residual memory of the campus’s most traumatic past, a night when the veil thinned and the horrors of the Kempeltai headquarters replayed itself for a new, horrified generation.
For those who were there, the memory of the marching, the shouting, and the severed head is a chilling certainty. It was a day they would never forget as they went home in the dawn. The old university may educate the future but it is forever haunted by the ghosts of its past.
The next time you find yourself on campus after dark, listen carefully. You might just witness the faint sound of marching boots, a reminder that some horrors never really die because they just wait for the right moment to be heard again.
Asa kaha ni nga university, bai?
