Seventeen years ago, something terrible happened at the Aragon Mansion. Twin girls were born. Six months after, one of the children was dead, the father was stabbed dead by the nanny who had vanished without a trace, and the family matriarch was declared insane. The patriarch, once the richest and most powerful in the smallest seaside town of Sidagon in Iloilo, closed their mining business and lived like a hermit.
Now, Celine Aragon and her mother return to the decaying seaside estate to fulfill a final condition in the dead patriarch’s will: bring the grandmother home for one last visit before the estate is sold off.
But once there, Celine discovers more deaths, dark truths, and furtive shadows. The longer she stays in the mansion, the more she is haunted by flashes of places and people she has never seen and moments she could not possibly remember. As the arrival of the matriarch approaches, Celine begins to question the story everyone was told.
In a town that believed in the rising of the Bakunawa—the moon-eater—she starts to wonder if the real monster was never myth at all.
Some families don’t bury their secrets. They feed them.
And the longer the secrets stay alive, the darker they become.
FREE READ: PROLOGUE OF “THE SECRETS OF ARAGON MANSION”
“WELL, THAT’S ALL I HAVE TO SAY. THIS IS GOODBYE.”
He drained the last of his black coffee before setting the cup down with a soft clink. Slowly, he rose from his chair and stared down at the woman across from him.
There was no warmth in his eyes. Only disgust.
“I am so glad this is the last time I’m coming here,” he said. “After all these years… I finally found what I was looking for.”
His old, crooked hand reached toward her face, brushing briefly against her wrinkled cheek before pulling away, as if touching her offended him.
“…and it’s no thanks to you.”
He sighed heavily and straightened up, eager to leave.
“At last, Lu and I can live normal lives. Away from this place. Away from you.”
He turned toward the open door, where Rosa, the patient’s nurse, stood waiting with his coat folded neatly over her arm.
As he stepped in front of Rosa, another nurse passed by in the corridor and greeted him warmly by name.
“Good morning, Don Rosauro.”
He returned the smile, but a strange feeling tugged at him.
He knew that face. Or thought he did. Something about her stirred a memory just beyond reach.
But before he could ask the nurse, Rosa pressed the coat into his hands.
When he looked back, the nurse had already vanished around the corner.
He shrugged. Maybe she was no one he knew.
He glanced back one final time at the person he visited.
The old woman looked pathetic.
Her body was bent with age, her once elegant face blotched and faded. Her white hair, cut short at the neck, looked thin and brittle. Years ago, it had been long, soft, and dark brown.
Now she sat motionless in a dull, gray hospital gown in a private room of Iloilo City Medical Center’s Mental Health Unit, staring blankly at the untouched food on the table.
Her hands trembled slightly. Her cracked lips hung parted.
But he knew she couldn’t speak. Not anymore.
For seventeen years—ever since he had her locked away—she’d been kept heavily medicated. He had made sure of it personally. The drugs kept her quiet. Weak. Obedient.
Only sometimes did he ordered the dosage lowered. When he needed signatures. Or answers.
Answers she never gave him.
Even half-drugged and barely aware, Alicia had remained stubborn to the bitter end.
But none of that mattered now. He no longer needed her.
“I’m not sorry to say this,” he said coldly, “but… I hope you rot in hell, Alicia.”
Then he walked out smiling.
That was why he never noticed her blinking rapidly after he left.
Never saw the slight curl of her upper lip.
And he certainly didn’t know that ten minutes earlier, while his back was turned, Rosa had slipped a thick envelope into the pocket of his coat…after the faintest nod from Alicia herself.
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