Christopher Dela Crus was a quiet student in an agricultural strand at a local Filipino high school. He enjoyed planting flowers, veggies, and everything that could grow. One day, Ms. Veronica assigned him to a group of three classmates: Angelou, Reymon, and Noelle.

  Their assignment? Plant any kind of veggies in the school garden. The deadline is two weeks, on Monday.

  Excited but overwhelmed, the team walked to the school garden — only to find it overtaken by thick and wild grass.They were determined and returned the next day with tools from home: shovels,slacks,gloves. They spent days cutting grass, digging in the soil and finally planting seeds. With a last splash of water, they saw their hard work settling on the soil.

  Two weeks passed. Monday arrived.

  Ms. Veronica was taken to their garden with pride by their group, expecting to see green sprouts, but instead she saw dead plants. Lifeless, withered, and dry.

  “What happened here?” she snapped, furious.

  The group stood frozen, confused and heartbroken. They had watched those plants grow just days ago.

  That afternoon, the kids left in

  solitude. Ms. Veronica stayed late at school to work on her computer. As she typed, a quiet rustling echoed down the corridor. She paused. Was anyone there?

  She grabbed a stick and cautiously followed the sound. In the shadows, she saw her.

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  A woman—covered in soil, tangled with grass—stood motionless.

  Ms. Veronica gasped, stumbling backward, clutching the stick.

  However, before she could shout, the woman attacked.

  The next morning, students crowded the school entrance. Christopher pushed through and asked what happened.

  “Ms. Veronica,” someone whispered, “she… she’s dead.”

  Later that afternoon, while waiting to go home, Christopher sat quietly, sketching in his notebook. Drowsiness overcame him, and he dozed off.

  When he awoke, the sun had set. The school was nearly empty. But in the silence… he heard crying.

  Soft. Sad. Distant.

  He stood and followed the sound. Down a hallway, through a doorway—closer. But then, something felt wrong. His body trembled, and before he could react, something rushed at him.

  A figure—wild, with tangled hair and dirt-streaked skin.

  Christopher grabbed a nearby stick and swung—but the figure caught it. With inhuman strength, it twisted the weapon from his hands. He ran, but tripped. As he turned, expecting a final blow… nothing.

  Silence.

  Then— a slap.

  His head snapped to the side.

  Another slap.

  Darkness.

  When he awoke, he was bound—hands tied, a cloth in his mouth. Tears streamed down his face.

  Then the voice came.

  “I’m Agatha,” she whispered. “I was killed by high school boys. Buried in that garden. Forgotten.”

  She stepped closer, holding a shovel.

  “I need someone innocent to take my place. To switch souls.”

  She raised the shovel—and the soil began to fall.

  The next morning.

  Christopher sat in class, smiling politely. His voice was calm. His face, peaceful.

  "Ma’am," he said to the teacher, “May I go to the restroom?”

  She nodded.

  He stood, walking slowly.

  But if you looked closely… his head twitched. Just a little. Like it didn’t belong to him.

  And as he walked away, a smile lingered… too wide. Too still.

  To be continued...