The Night the E-Bike Took a Turn

Hello, my little corner of the internet! For the past month, I've been working on this blog post, constantly revising it to reflect my changing circumstances. It's a departure from my usual style, and I've been hesitant to share such a personal story. But I hope you'll find something valuable in it. This whole situation began in October, and the pressure to post it has been building ever since. Finally, in December, I'm ready to share it with you all. P.s this photos that you're going to see are just random tree photos that i just add so it would have like a picture and i hope you would understand that i don't have like actual picture during that situation and you will know why as you continue reading

---

It was a Sunday, just another ordinary day. My sister came over to help my brother with a project that was driving him (and me, frankly) crazy. She's always been the artistic type, while I'm more of a practical thinker, so I was happy to leave the creative endeavors to them. I settled into the living room, my usual spot, and started browsing webtoons.

I got lost in a particularly spooky story about a man who killed his neighbors. It was a chilling tale, the kind that gets under your skin. The protagonist was a young woman who was convinced her neighbor was a murderer, but no one believed her. As I read, I couldn't help but think, "What if I were in her shoes? What if I had to face something like that?" It was a strange thought, a bit morbid, but it stuck with me.

---

Later that evening, I went to my sister's house. It's a bit of a drive, about two kilometers away, but I needed a change of scenery. We talked, laughed, played mobile legends on her phone, and the hours flew by.

Around 8:00 p.m., I knew I should head home. My mom wasn't exactly thrilled about me staying out late, and I didn't want to push my luck. But as I prepared to leave, I realized my sister's husband couldn't drive me back. Their motorcycle was out of gas, and the nearest gas station was a good distance away.

"Don't worry," I told them, "I'll just walk." I knew it was a long shot, but I was determined to get home. There weren't many jeeps around at that hour, but I figured I could flag one down eventually.

I set off, my feet pounding the pavement. The night air was cool, and I could hear the crickets chirping in the distance. I felt a pang of regret for not bringing my glasses, but I was too stubborn to turn back.

As I walked, I started to feel the fatigue setting in. My legs ached, and my stomach rumbled. I desperately needed to get home, but I was running low on cash. I tried to call my dad, but my phone battery was dying. I texted a few friends, hoping they could send me a few pesos so I could call for a ride. No luck.

Just as I was about to give up, I spotted something on the ground. A 50-peso bill! I snatched it up, feeling a surge of relief. "Maybe I can flag down a jeep after all," I thought.

Before heading home, I decided to check in on a friend who lives in the area. I knew he was gone, visiting family in Leyte, but I wanted to see if he was back. I walked up to his house, but it was empty. I turned around and continued my journey.

It was then that I saw it: a white e-bike with a black tarp. I waved it down, and it pulled over. There were already two young women and an older man inside. The driver, a man in his late 30s, seemed friendly enough. The girls looked about my age, maybe a year or two older. And another man right beside the driver

I tried to open the door, but it was stiff and wouldn't budge. I'd ridden these e-bikes before, and they were usually easy to open. I asked the driver what was wrong, and he told me to wait a second. He fiddled with something on the side of the steering wheel, and then the door creaked open.

I hesitated for a moment, feeling a prickle of unease. But I was exhausted, and I just wanted to get home. I climbed inside, and the driver started driving.

He told us he needed to stop at a welding shop nearby. The older man in the front seemed skeptical. "Isn't it a bit late for that?" he asked. But the driver insisted it would be quick.

We turned onto a road I didn't recognize. It was dark, and I wasn't wearing my glasses, so everything was blurry. I tried to make sense of the surroundings, but nothing seemed familiar. As we drove further, I realized we were heading towards my classmate's house, which was miles away from the welding shop.

I was confused. I looked at the girls sitting beside me, and they were exchanging worried glances. They looked at me, their eyes wide with fear. My heart started to pound. This wasn't right.

The road was narrow and winding, lined with trees and fields. There were no houses in sight, just endless stretches of green. I felt a cold dread creep into my bones.

We finally arrived at a place the driver claimed was the welding shop. But it wasn't a shop. It was a huge, abandoned house, with peeling paint and broken windows.

The older man in the front told us to get out. He thought the driver was trying to rob us, maybe even worse. We tried to open the doors, but they were locked. We had to climb over the doors and jump out, our hearts pounding in our chests.

We started running, holding hands, the older man leading the way. He told us to stay close, to not let go. Behind us, the driver was chasing us in his e-bike, driving like a madman.

The older man yelled for us to run into the banana field. We scrambled through the tall stalks, our legs burning, our lungs screaming for air. I could hear the driver's shouts behind us, but we didn't dare slow down.

We ran and ran, until we finally reached the main road. We were back where I had originally flagged down the e-bike.

The older man told us to keep running, to head towards the main road where there were more people. We ran, our hearts pounding, our breaths coming in ragged gasps.

We finally found a house with the lights on. We knocked on the door, desperate for help. The people inside were kind and welcoming. They let us in, gave us water, and listened to our story. They offered to drive us home.

The homeowner's husband drove me back, keeping a watchful eye on the road behind us. He made sure the driver wasn't following.

When I got home, I couldn't speak. I was too shaken. I thanked the homeowner's husband, but I couldn't even look him in the eye. I went inside and locked every door and window. I checked the CCTV footage, but there was no sign of the driver.

I couldn't sleep. I lay in bed, my mind replaying the events of the night. I was terrified, but I was also grateful to be alive.

I confided in my best friend, the only person I trust. She told me to drink water and use my nebulizer to calm down.

The next day, we went to the police station to file a report. I was scared, but I knew I had to do it. I didn't want to let this go. I didn't want to be a victim.

I'm still processing what happened that night. It was a terrifying experience, and it's changed me. I'm more cautious now, more aware of my surroundings. I'm grateful for the people who helped me, and I'm determined to share my story so that others can learn from my experience.

This situation wasn't new to me. Back in kindergarten, I was kidnapped, as my mother told me but i couldn't remember. There were about ten students, including me, who were taken from the place called Freedom School in our town. It was an extension of the DCCS, or Danao City Central School. Thankfully, we were rescued quickly. However, I can't remember everything that happened because I was still young and in kindergarten. This time, though, I can recall everything except the face of the man. I simply cannot remember his face.

On around november, I was called back to the police station for a lineup. It was like a scene from a movie – a room with one-way glass, several men seated, and the task of identifying a suspect. Two girls had previously described the perpetrator, and I was asked to see if I could identify him among the lineup. Sadly, the man the girls described wasn't present. I also learned the names of the two girls involved: Veronica and Kyla. The older man they mentioned is named Brandon.

The man remains at large, roaming the city. I can't recall his face, leaving a lingering possibility that I might encounter him again while riding an e-bike. The thought haunts me – what if one day I wouldn't recognize him, but he would recognize me.