(Conclusion)
Markki Stroem, ARNOLD ALMACEN
Markki Stroem
Singer-actor
About five years ago, after competing in “Pilipinas Got Talent,” I moved into a condominium unit in Quezon City. It was cheap, cheaper than the other tenants’ rent, so I decided to take it. I brought along my Chow Chow, Mojo.
I had a driver/personal assistant who claimed that he had a third eye, and told me that weird things happened inside the condo. Sometimes, he said, the television would turn on by itself. And when he unplugged it, it would stay on for a couple of minutes more before abruptly shutting off.
There was an instance, too, where a chair moved by itself while he was vacuuming the floor.
The final straw for him was when a painting on my shelf, which was propped up by two Coke bottles, fell. The weird thing was that the bottles remained where they were, as if the painting flew over them! My assistant decided to leave soon after. I didn’t believe in the supernatural then, so I just shrugged it off.
I continued to live there. Before long, I started experiencing peculiar incidents, as well. One day, I found a big swarm of cockroaches under my bed. I went downstairs to call the maintenance people, but, upon returning to my room, the cockroaches were gone. I also started to get less work. I was depressed very often.
One day, I put my dog inside his cage, left my room and went downstairs to withdraw some money. I was out for less than 10 minutes. When I got back, I saw that the door to my unit was open, it was a big mess. I suspected that it was robbery, but my valuables were still there. Then, I noticed that the dog had managed to get out of his cage, it was locked.
So, after three months, I decided to move into a different unit upstairs. As soon as I left, gigs came pouring in: I got a judging stint in “It’s Showtime” for five weeks; my out-of-town shows doubled. There was positive energy.
Weeks later, I related what happened to Vice Ganda, while we were having coffee.
He told me that he had heard stories about the condo. He said that an old drug dealer used to live there. He was pushed off a window by someone who owed him money, and fell onto the car park below.
I did a little investigating myself. I talked to the lobby guard of the place and found out that the refurnished, two-floor unit where I stayed was the same one that belonged to the drug dealer. I was very frustrated that the owner didn’t tell me about it.
But I learned a valuable lesson, always ask about the history of the place you’re moving into. Who knows what lurks in the crevices?