In the heart of Quezon City, Philippines, there's a street that locals avoid once the sun dips below the horizon. That road is called Balete Drive, named after the gnarled, ancient balete trees that line it—trees long believed to be gateways to the spirit world.
But it's not just the trees that make people cross to the other side of the road or speed past without looking.
It's her.
The White Lady.
The legend tells of a young woman, dressed in a flowing white dress, with long black hair cascading down her back. Her face is pale, sometimes hidden, sometimes bloodied, and always sorrowful. She appears at night, usually to lone drivers. Some say she steps into the middle of the road, forcing drivers to swerve and crash. Others claim she appears inside the car itself—glimpsed in the rearview mirror, sitting silently in the backseat.
But the story of who she was differs with every telling.
Some say she was a teenager assaulted and murdered by a taxi driver while trying to get home late one night. Others whisper that she was a wealthy young woman forbidden by her family to love a man of lower status. Heartbroken, she committed suicide under a balete tree. Whatever her origin, the rage and sorrow in her spirit were powerful enough to bind her to Balete Drive for eternity.
—
I arrived in Quezon City during the monsoon season, when the rain falls so heavily it feels like the sky itself is weeping. Balete Drive was not far from my hotel.
It was a narrow, dimly lit street, the balete trees twisting into grotesque shapes against the stormy sky. Their roots snaked into the ground like veins, and their branches reached out like skeletal arms.
I was warned not to drive there at night.
"If you must," said the elderly hotel owner, "never look into your rearview mirror after midnight."
But curiosity is a dangerous thing.
I borrowed a car and, just before midnight, turned onto Balete Drive. The road was slick with rain, and the headlights barely cut through the mist. The trees loomed overhead, casting eerie, moving shadows.
Halfway down the road, the temperature in the car dropped so suddenly that my breath fogged the windshield.
Then—movement.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure in white standing by the roadside.
At first, I told myself it was a trick of the light, a plastic bag caught in a tree, anything but what it seemed. But the figure began to move, gliding toward the car without a sound.
My heart pounded.
I pressed the accelerator.
The figure vanished.
Relieved, I let out a shaky breath—only for a cold, chilling presence to settle in the backseat.
I glanced up.
There, in the rearview mirror, was a woman in white, her head tilted down so her hair obscured her face.
A low, keening sound filled the car, like the sob of someone who had lost everything.
I remembered the hotel owner's warning and tore my eyes away from the mirror. I didn't dare look back. I drove faster than I ever had in my life, bursting out of Balete Drive and into the city lights.
When I finally stopped, the backseat was empty, but the smell of damp earth and a faint floral scent lingered in the air.
Locals say that once you see the White Lady, she follows you.
Not always immediately, but eventually, she will find you again—in a reflection, in a dream, in a darkened room when you're alone.
And when she does, you must not show fear.
Because if you scream, she will take you with her—to wherever broken souls like hers must wander for all eternity.
—
To be continued...
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