FROM RAIN, TO LIGHT
The Firefly Lake has always been considered sacred in Barangay San Marcelo. Quiet, blue, and deep. But despite its beauty, there is an unspeakable fear that envelops the residents. From grandparents to the youngest children, there is only one reminder: “Don’t go near the middle of the lake.”

There is no clear reason, but only stories. Until the irrigation project from the municipality came. Part of the lake’s edge had to be dug up to make a canal. And that’s when the nightmare began.

THE DISCOVERY
The day was hot, the surroundings were almost dry, and the workers worked quickly. Until the backhoe suddenly stopped. Not because of a rock or a tree root—but because of the sound of metal on metal.

They dug further. There appeared the first coffin. Heavy. Rusty. Nameless.

The second followed… the third… and by the end of the day, seven were found. All steel. All sealed.

The police were called. The media arrived. The barangay people rushed in. One of the coffins had an old notebook stuck to the side—it looked like a diary. And in front of the authorities, the coffins were opened… one by one.

The bodies were not rotten. They were not fresh either. It seemed that they had been deliberately hidden in a way that would not easily decompose. The newest of them was a young girl, wearing a bracelet with the name: Isabel De Castro.THE DE CASTRO FAMILY
The news spread quickly: an entire family was inside the coffins. There was a father, mother, two children, grandparents, and a baby. All had a small piece of paper placed on their chests with the same last name: De Castro.

Mang Ernesto, an 83-year-old retired teacher, was the first to fall silent in shock. “They are. They are the family that suddenly disappeared in 1993,” he said.

According to him, the De Castro family owned almost half of the land around the lake. They were kind, helpful, and always gave out free rice during harvest time. But one night, the entire village woke up to a series of screams from the De Castro house. Some said there was a fire. Some said there were armed men. But the next day… everything was quiet. The entire family was gone. And their house—in ashes.

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No investigation. No charges. And their land? Gradually it ended up in the hands of a few powerful people in the barangay.

MARCELA’S DIARY
Inside the old diary found in the coffin of Aling Marcela—the mother of the family—every detail of their last night was written.

“There were men who forced us to sign a deed of sale. They said our land was needed for a politician’s ‘development project.’ Ernesto refused. Suddenly, a gun was pointed at us. Isabel’s mouth was covered. Grandpa and Grandma cried, but they told them to be quiet or they would kill us immediately. They took us to the lake. And one by one they put us in iron coffins. They said it was better than burying us alive.”

When this was aired on television, the entire town was speechless. Several senior officials confessed—they were involved in the murder, in exchange for position and money.

ISAGANI’S STAND
In the midst of the chaos, one man stood up. Isagani De Castro, the son of the youngest child of the De Castro family. He was not included on the night of the crime because he was only one month old and was left at the nanny’s house in another town. He grew up not knowing about his real family—until the news of the coffins.

As his identity was recognized, his nanny’s memories slowly returned—the stories of the “husband thrown out and the baby saved.” Through DNA tests and diary entries, it was proven that he was indeed the surviving De Castro.

He did not harbor anger. But he did not remain silent either.

He issued a statement:

“I never experienced the love of my real family. But now, I know them. Not as corpses in a coffin, but as people killed because they did not bow to greed. It is time to right the wrong.

JUSTICE AND RESURRECTION
With the help of lawyers and patriots, Isagani filed a lawsuit against the children and grandchildren of those involved. The agreement was released, the signatures were fake and forged. The lands were recovered. And instead of being sold, a Museum of Justice and Memorial of De Castro was built there, where seven coffins (no longer moved), photographs, and the diary can be seen.

In the lake itself, a memorial was established: “Under the Sea, Truth Rises.”

The former lake of fear is now a lake of hope. It has been turned into a spring for the irrigation of the entire barangay. And every year, Araw ng Liwanag is held—a commemoration of the night of darkness that will never be repeated.

END
Although the lives of the De Castro family were not restored, their memory was honored. With every child learning in school, with every plant growing from the water of the lake, and with every vow of a new generation to never again let evil remain silent—the spirit of family is revived.

And Isagani? He is now a barangay captain.

And in his office, a copy of a diary page hangs:

“Truth is like water. No matter how hard you try to hide it under… it will still rise and rise.”